"Interested in chatting a bit? About today's operation and some... background information." Lemont extends an inviting gesture: "I have fresh Colombian beans in my office, much better than the dishwater from the cafeteria."
Refusing would seem suspicious.
Song Heping nods, follows Lemont into the room at the end of the corridor, but keeps his right hand within ten centimeters from his waist holster.
Lemont's office is unexpectedly simple.
A metal desk, two encrypted computers, a bookshelf with books on Middle Eastern history and religion.
The only noticeable item is a small electronic device on the windowsill, with a green light flashing regularly.
"White noise generator," Lemont notices Song Heping's gaze: "Standard procedure. You know, in this place, even the walls have ears."
His smile carries a hint of something.
Apparently, this intelligence station chief knows there are adversaries within the joint team.
