[b]Washington D.C.
08:11 Local Time[/b]

Smiley stood at the curb outside his hotel and waited his ride. He wore a brown mackintosh to ward off the chilly morning. Within a month Washington would be more than warm to Smiley's English sensibilities, but for now he was at home in the nippy morning of the early spring. Underneath the raincoat was the finest suit Smiley owned, which wasn't saying a whole lot. He'd went home after another twelve hour day at the Triskelion, reviewing files and plotting the next move for the offensive. He'd asked Fury to set up some sort of makeshift living quarters for him on site, just a simple cot and tea kettle would suffice, but Fury nixed it on the grounds he needed something resembling a social life. Smiley, never a social butterfly, had gotten several requests to attend dinners and parties of Washington's movers and shakers. He denied them as a matter of course. Back when he did things like that, it was Ann who took the lead and Smiley took part to keep her happy. With nobody to keep happy, he saw no reason to waste time on vapid conversation and underdone chicken.

A black sedan pulled up to the curb, the passenger window rolling down with an electronic hum. Michael Stevenson sat behind the wheel and nodded at Smiley as the older man got into the car. 

"Hullo, Michael."

"Mr. Smiley," he said in his quiet way. "Big day today."

Stevenson started the car down the street and navigated them through the fairly busy Washington traffic. Smiley looked in the rearview mirror and saw a navy blue sedan pull into the street a few seconds behind them. The windows were tinted, but Smiley knew the car belonged to the Russian embassy. What the Russians didn't know was that they had their own watchers. Smiley's small team of janitors and pavement artist tailed the tailers and inserted a bug in the car while they were busy chasing Smiley through the park. He pulled a receiver out of his jacket and flipped it on.

"Он ездит, как сука," a voice said in Russian.

"Michael you speak Russian. Translate for me."

"He's talking about my driving," said Stevenson. "Not favorably." 

"Я не понимаю, почему мы должны следовать за ним. Он старик, который идет на работу и с работы."

"Now one of them is complaining about you," Stevenson said as he guided them onto the freeway. "They say all you do is go to work and the hotel. There's nothing worth following."

"Good," replied Smiley. "Let them grow bored. Bordeness breeds sloppiness."

"Why are the Russians so hellbent on you, sir?"

Smiley gazed out the window. They were heading towards downtown DC. The Washington Monument loomed ever larger. Smiley never visited Washington, even when he was head of the Circus. Ann always talked of going, she was almost certain Bill Haydon would bring her with him one weekend he was visiting the Cousins. It never materialized, and now Bill was dead some twenty years past. 

"I helped destroy their intelligence agency," said Smiley. "They took offense to that, but I was just returning the favor for what they did to mine."

Stevenson said no more. They listened to the two Russians, Stevenson providing a running commentary. They complained about the traffic, one of the women they were sleeping with here in Washington. Smiley noted which one complained and made a mental note to have the janitors follow him for the next week to find the woman and set up an operation.

"Nervous, sir?" Stevenson asked.

"Not in the slightest, Michael," Smiley replied. "I've been through inquests before."

Stevenson grunted. Smiley could tell the young man had enough nerves for both of them. It was curious how quickly the man took a shine to Smiley. He'd appropriated the agent after returning for Jakarta. While he was stateside, awaiting reassignment he could work as valet and stringer to Smiley. In that short time, Stevenson grew very attached to him. Maybe it was because of the grueling interrogation Smiley put him through, he needed to prove without a doubt he was a committed patriot. Maybe it was sheer sycophantry, a desire to please Smiley so he could get a plumb posting. Smiley sensed something different at the heart of the matter. He collected proteges the way one might collect stamps. The aura he emitted attracted many a young and impressionable mind to come and learn at his side. Smiley sensed they could sense his desire for their devotion. 

Like many childless men, Smiley had many surrogate sons. There had been Guilliam and Fawn at the Circus in the 80's, and now Stevenson and potentially Coulson. He told Brent Jackson he was not the parental type, but he was most certainly the father type. And he played it well.

After more traffic and a struggle to find parking, Stevenson escorted Smiley up the steps of the capitol building and down its polished marble floors. The architecture greatly impressed Smiley. Westminster was grand in its own way, but the House of Commons and 10 Downing Street seemed a lot smaller when compared to the House of Representatives chamber and the White House. After a security check, Smiley and Stevenson were given visitor passes and a young man who was a senator's aide escorted them through the capitol halls. They went down and down into the building's bowels until they arrived to polished wooden doors.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Stevenson will have to wait outside," the aide said with a frown. "Mr. Smiley only from this point."

Smiley took off his mackintosh and handed it to Stevenson, who looked crestfallen at having to wait outside.

"I'll be back," Smiley said with a reassuring pat on Stevenson's back.

He waited until the big man was seated on a bench near the meeting room before following the aide inside. The room looked like a conventional chamber congress used except for the cube. A giant glass cube sat in the middle of the room, a large crescent-shaped table with six chairs inside of it and facing a smaller desk and a single chair. Four men and two women were sitting at the crescent table inside the cube. As the aide led him towards it, a guard did another pat down and checked for any recording devices. After his nod of approval, a soundproof door was opened to allow Smiley into the cube. He walked in, the vacuum-sealed door closing behind with a pop of suction.

"Mr. Smiley," the chairman in the center of the desk said with a soft smile. Underneath him read the words Sen. W. Brown, South Carolina. "Welcome to this special session of the Senate Intelligence Committee. Please, have a seat."

Smiley unbuttoned his suit coat and took his seat at the small desk intended for him. He made sure his posture was perfect as he faced the six senators who held the future of his spying career in is hands. He wanted to be upright and stiff as a board as he faced whatever this firing squad had ready for him.