The meeting took place in the confessional of a disused church. The metallic booth, rich in lead, offered a safe refuge from the spy-cams and voice monitoring procedurals, the only refuge that existed in these paranoid times.
One man acted as confessor, another as priest.
‘Are the preparations completed?’
‘They are. It was easier than we thought; she is not worried about security it seems.’
‘There is no reason for her to be.’
‘That is true.’
A pause, only the solemn rhythms of the calm breathing of the men filled the empty church with life.
‘You are clear about what happens next?’
‘You are clear about the limits of your authority?’
‘That is a trick question. I have no authority. I have no mission or context apart from the obvious pattern of my life.’
The ‘priest’ nodded, a thin smile of satisfaction played briefly on his lips.
‘Then go. Ready yourself. Our success depends on your dedication.’
‘I will not fail you.’
‘We hope not.’