Made of Fire

Prologue DUBAI, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES The fifty-eighth floor penthouse of the JW Marriot Marquis was elegantly styled in warm fabrics and walnut furniture. As she straightened the jacket of her pebble-grey trouser suit, Nadia Mishra was ushered inside by a manicured, goateed assistant perfectly buttoned up in tailored royal blue. The far wall of the penthouse suite was made from solid glass, filled with six a.m. cloud drifting in off the sea. A tall man in a white suit and brown brogues stood in front of the window, his back to Nadia and a tasteful living area between the two of them. “Excuse me. Mr Mikkelsen,” the assistant said. Henrik Mikkelsen turned his head. “Thank you Akil. You can leave us now.” Akil ghosted out of the suite, closing the door gently behind him. Nadia strode across the penthouse carpet in black heels high enough to elevate her five-foot frame to a lofty five-three. Due to her slim, diminutive frame and youthful features, colleagues and associates forever underestimated her. Exactly how she liked it. “How was the flight?” Mikkelsen asked, his narrow grey eyes locked on the glass. Nadia had never spoken to the Chairman before. Very few had met him in person. His accent carried a light Danish undertone, but she knew nothing else about him. In fact, until their meeting, she hadn’t even known his name. “The forecast looks very uncertain,” he said, staring into the cloud, his sun-tanned brow furrowed under think, silver hair. Nadia looked out over the skyline. The upper floors of glass towers puncturing the cloud. “Where have you flown in from?” he asked. “Tokyo,” Nadia said. “You must be tired,” he said. “Come, sit.” Mikkelsen directed Nadia over to a pair of sofas facing each other in the middle of the room. “Can I interest you in some breakfast?” he asked, waving a hand over a platter of breads, meats and cheeses spread over a shin-high walnut coffee table. “No I’m fine,” Nadia said. “I had something on the plane.” “Do you know why I called here?” Mikkelsen asked. “No.” Nadia said, though she had her suspicions. Mikkelsen picked up a pink cardboard folder. He opened it and looked over Nadia’s personnel file. “Greek father, Indian mother. Recruited from Oxford. You speak eight languages?” “Nine, now sir.” “Well, you come highly recommended,” Mikkelsen said, leafing through Nadia’s file. “You’re an analyst. Correct?” “Yes, sir,” Nadia said. “Rising through the ranks quickly, I see,” Mikkelsen said. “Did you have any involvement in the Maelstrom project?” he asked. “No sir. Above my clearance level.” “Good … It’s time for some fresh ideas,” he said, spreading marmalade on a piece of French bread. “What is your analysis of our current situation, Ms Mishra?” he asked, taking a bite. Nadia shifted uncomfortably. “In your professional opinion,” Mikkelsen continued. Nadia paused a moment. “Well, I would say, sir, that bearing in mind the recent events in Alaska, coupled with the current operational schedule, the organisation is vulnerable to both internal and external attacks.” Mikkelsen chewed on the bread, glancing again at Nadia’s file, before closing it and relaxing into the sofa across from her. Nadia poured herself a tea as Mikkelsen ate. She leaned back against a pile of sumptuous velvet cushions and took a sip. “I take it that you’ve heard of our problems with one of our assets and his young associate?” Mikkelsen asked. “Deathstalker and RunRabbit?” “Yes,” Mikkelsen said. Everyone she knew was talking about it. Vasquez and the girl with the scar were quickly becoming an urban legend everyone feared. They’d strike when you least expected, leaving projects in tatters and bodies in their wake. One of her colleagues had even joked that if you said the girl’s name five times in a mirror, she’d appear and cut you from sternum to abdomen. Personally, she found most of the conjecture ridiculous. And she wasn’t about to share it with the Chairman. “I’m making them our priority one situation,” Mikkelsen continued, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a cappuccino napkin. Nadia sipped on her tea, nodding along. “The pair of them are a virus,“ Mikkelsen said. “I can see them infecting us from within. Committee members getting cold feet. A senior leadership team who couldn’t run a warm bath. And to compound the issue; more rogue assets.” Nadia set her cup of tea down on the coffee table. “Would you like me to run a report, sir?” “I’d like you to take over our global operations,” Mikkelsen said, dusting breadcrumbs off his fingers. Nadia was relieved she’d put down her teacup, or she felt sure she would have spilled it over her suit in shock. She was fiercely ambitious and didn’t put any limits on herself, yet this was huge and completely out of the blue. “If you think you’re up to the job, that is?” Mikkelsen asked. “Of course,” Nadia said. “Who do I report to?” “Directly to me,” Mikkelsen said. “As of this morning, the senior team has been disbanded. And all operational heads have been instructed to report to you. There’s too much regional governance within the committee. Too many mavericks. Too much complacency. It’s time to tighten the apron strings; at least until we fix the leaks and flush out the infection.” “Will it affect the current schedule?” Nadia asked. “I’m putting a hold on things until I can guarantee the integrity of the committee,” Mikkelsen said. “No one is beyond suspicion, understand?” “Yes, sir,” said Nadia. “And we have another problem. A very British one.” “I’m aware of it,” said Nadia. “I’ve seen the communication.” “Can I trust you to take care of matters?” Mikkelsen asked. “I already have a solution in mind,” Nadia said. “For which problem?” Mikkelsen asked. “We have so many.” “All your problems, sir.” “Excellent,” Mikkelsen said, rising to his feet. “Then I will make the necessary arrangements.” Nadia followed suit and shook his hand. “Thank you for the opportunity, sir.” “Can I expect a strategy plan by tomorrow?” Mikkelsen asked. “You can expect one by lunch,” Nadia said. Mikkelsen breathed a heavy sigh and looked out of the window, to where the sun was rising and burning through the thick carpet of cloud. “Things are looking clearer already.” Nadia made her way out of the suite, stopping and turning by the door. “Regarding your first priority, sir,” she said, as Mikkelsen returned to his breakfast. “Do we have any idea where they are now?”