Greg Rucka - The Last Run: A Queen & Country Novel

ALSO BY GREG RUCKA

THE QUEEN & COUNTRY SERIES

Private Wars

A Gentlemans Game

THE ATTICUS KODIAK SERIES

Walking Dead

Patriot Acts

Critical Space

Shooting at Midnight

Smoker

Finder

Keeper

STANDALONE

A Fistful of Rain

The Last Run is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2010 by Greg Rucka

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

B ANTAM B OOKS and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Rucka, Greg.
The last run : a queen & country novel / Greg Rucka.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-553-90788-9
1. Women intelligence officersFiction. 2. BritishIranFiction. 3. Espionage,
BritishIranFiction. 4. London (England)Fiction. 5. IranFiction. I. Title.
PS3568.U2968L37 2010
813.54dc22 2010010561

www.bantamdell.com

v3.1

To Jay
and
to Evan,
With all my love.

For Tara Chace, it was the fall that did it, the absurdly long pause that came between missing the handhold and slamming into the ground. Like all falls that are too far, this one lasted long enough for her to realize what had happened, and what, as a result, would inevitably happen next. It was a moment of perfect clarity; not of vision, but of self-awareness, and Chace saw herself then as she had only four other times in her life. She saw herself as the woman she wasfrankly, honestly, without self-pity, judgment, or false modesty. Who she was, who she had been, and who she wished to be.

Then she hit the ground, her back impacting first, followed almost immediately by her skull.

The first such moment of clarity had occurred when she was only ten years old, the day her mother, Annika Bodmer-Chace, informed Tara that, come the spring, she would be attending a boarding school in Cheltenham, England, and would no longer be living in Switzerland with her mother and father. The conversationif it could be called suchhad occurred in the sitting room of the Geneva house, with Chace seated in a chair so large it had threatened to swallow her, and her mother on her knees before her, speaking gently and sweetly in French, holding both of her childs hands in her own as she imparted the news. When Chace looked past her mother and out the window, she could see snow falling with a sedate grace.

For your education, her mother told her with the same, bright smile that made men and women alike wonder what other sweet lies and promises it concealed. You must be educated like a proper lady.

Like you? Chace asked.

The smile broke wide, Annika laughing. At thirty-four, she was a near-perfect mirror for the woman Chace would grow to become, the same golden blond hair and sky blue eyes, strong and fine-boned. The only marked difference were in the first creases of age in her flawless skin, lines made by laughter that Chace would never share.

No, Annika said. A proper lady.

The understanding had been sudden and complete then. The cascade of dueling infidelities between her mother and father had reached its breaking point. Chace knew they were separating, and understood that divorce would follow, that it would be ugly, that it would be brutal, and that her mother would never, ever change. She saw in her mother a vision of herself as she might be, selfish and spoiled and utterly oblivious to the pain she inflicted upon others, a woman-child who would never grow up.

Which meant Chace was going to have to, and quickly.

The second of such moments occurred when Chace was twenty-two, in her last year at Cambridge but down to London for a long weekend with a group of her peers, amongst them the only one she called a friend, Rachel Beck. This was in the days on the cusp, after the Cold War but before the Global War on Terror, before the Firm had been reduced to advertising openly for new recruits. For two years, Chace had been vetted with deliberation by SISs talent-spotters at the university until, finally, assured of her loyalties, intelligence, and potential, she had been invited the night before to a discreetread: secretmeeting in a cramped office situated in the basement of one of Londons finer hotels. Chace, who had long since developed a strong suspicion of what was really going on, had attended the meeting, in part to assure herself shed been correct, but mostly because the secrecy and deception involved had appealed to her.

Arriving for the interview precisely at twenty minutes past three in the afternoon, Chace had found an empty room, two chairs, a table, and a tea set on the sideboard. Touching the pot with the back of her hand, shed found it scalding hot. Shed ignored the refreshment, taken a seat, smoked a cigarette, and had begun contemplating smoking another when a small and rather sad-looking man entered the room. He made no apology for keeping her waiting, and Chace had liked that, because, of course, shed understood the delay as intentional. She was certain shed been followed to the meeting, and wouldve been surprised if she hadnt been under surveillance within the room itself.

The man gave his name as Mr. Smith, and producing a file from his bag, he proceeded to relate a comprehensive and remarkably thorough accounting of her life up to and including that very day. Everything was laid bare in the most clinical fashion: her family, her friendships, her education, her vices, her lovers, her indiscretions, including one or two that Chace herself had tried to forget. It was a recitation of facts, devoid of all judgment but her own.

Then Mr. Smith had said, There are those who feel you could be of great service to your country, if you chose to dedicate yourself in such a direction. I speak, Miss Chace, of a lifetime of service, of challenge and sacrifice that will be known to only a very few at the highest levels of Government. It is a life without public recognition, without common reward, but it is, at its heart, greater and more vital. A secret life, to be sure, but one where what you do and say cannot to overstate italter the course of history.

Mr. Smith had paused, perhaps to give Chace the opportunity to speak, but she didnt take it. After several seconds, with no change of his expression, he continued.

Very few people are invited to this calling. Of those who answer, even less actually succeed. You could be one of them.

Chace remained silent.

Certainly, this is not a decision to be made with haste, Mr. Smith said. By the same token, it is not one that can be indulged. An answer is required before midnight Sunday.

Chace nodded, smiled, whereupon Mr. Smith recited a phone number for her to remember. If she was interested, she was to call the number and say that she was staying in London for the week. If not, she neednt bother to call.

She left Mr. Smith in the basement, making her way on foot to meet Rachel and the others near Sloane Square, struggling with her thoughts. By the time she reached them, though, she had come to a decision: she would forget Mr. Smith and his phone number, along with everything else hed said. There was an appeal to the offer, to be sure, and it wasnt a fear of failing that restrained her; she had no doubt that, of those few who were called, she would certainly be one to succeed. But it was that same vanity, ultimately, that held her in check.