He stood up, buttoned his jacket.
It wasn’t a microphone. It was a release button for a dozen hidden speakers around the warehouse. And from every speaker blared the theme music from Nightingale 3: Blood Protocol —loud, triumphant, absurd.
He stood up. “Three weeks ago, we lost a real agent in Minsk. His name was Peter. He was fifty-three, wore cardigans, and his ‘legend’ was a regional sales manager for agricultural feed. He was executed by a man the world knows only as ‘Koslov.’ A man who, thanks to the Nightingale films, now believes MI6 is a circus of one-liners and gadgets.”