“That little operation you"re running in Europe at the moment, Stephen, Operation MACE. It"s getting a little loud, a little too noisy,” said C.
They were sitting in the Chief"s garden at his home in Tunbridge Wells. It was the Chief"s one place of sanctuary, away from the machinations of Whitehall. It was a sultry day and the cool glasses of white wine made a refreshing respite as the two men sat on the garden terrace eating lunch. “I mean, we can"t have chaps bombing and taking potshots at each other out in the open. It goes against the grain of covert intelligence work,” continued C.
Masterman, who had been summoned to the Chief"s private residence that very day, knew that when C was in full flow with his theorizing, it was better to let him lead and see where it ended up.
“So how"s
