Breaking Cover

3

An hour later, with a still-fuming Fane gone, Peggy Kinsolving came into Liz’s office. If Liz had been asked to name her most valuable member of staff, Peggy would have topped the list. She was in her early thirties now, having joined MI5 after first spending two years in MI6. Seconded to MI5 to assist Liz on a tricky case, she had found the work more suited to her skills, and her career prospects better, on the defensive side of the intelligence business. A former librarian, Peggy combined a researcher’s precision and love of detail with a growing aptitude in the field. She had become a brilliant interviewer, transforming her undergraduate interest in drama into a professional asset as an intelligence officer.

There was something different about her this morning, and it took Liz a moment to twig. ‘Where are your glasses?’ she said suddenly as Peggy sat down.

‘I’ve got contacts. What do you think?’

‘You look great,’ said Liz, a little taken aback by the transformation. The Peggy she’d first come to know had been an uncertain bookish girl with rather wispy hair. In those days Peggy had worn horn-rimmed spectacles, which never seemed quite to fit her face. Over the years Liz had come to recognise that during an investigation the sight of Peggy pushing her glasses firmly into place meant that she was on to something, and it had always lifted Liz’s heart. But as Peggy had become more confident her appearance had subtly changed. Now she often wore her hair up, held in place by some sort of clasp, and instead of dun-coloured jumpers and skirts, she went for blues and lilacs. The contact lenses seemed to complete a transformation that had been slowly taking place for years, and for the first time Liz saw that the eyes that had been hidden behind the spectacles were a rather remarkable blue.

‘What does Tim think?’ asked Liz.

‘Oh, Tim!’ said Peggy, sighing. ‘He hasn’t even noticed. If there’s a typo in the edition of Donne he’s reading, you can be sure he’ll catch it. But if I walked through the flat in biker’s leathers he’d just ask me when supper would be ready.’

Liz laughed, though she sensed that something in Peggy’s attitude had changed. Previously she had treated her partner Tim’s academic absent-mindedness as a joke and had laughed fondly at his eccentricities. But now she sounded irritated.

‘Give him time,’ Liz said soothingly, but Peggy just shrugged.

‘How is he otherwise?’ Liz persevered.

‘Oh, he’s all right,’ said Peggy, sounding resigned. ‘But he’s got seriously into civil liberties. He thinks it’s today’s big issue.’

‘Maybe it is,’ said Liz, who was essentially well disposed towards Tim. She found his attachment to vegetarianism and Ayurvedic medicine difficult to take and thought him rather wet in a donnish way – he was a lecturer in English at King’s College, London – but she knew he adored Peggy, and Liz thought he was good for her.

‘Possibly, but being Tim, he’s gone for it hook, line and sinker. He thinks Edward Snowden is a hero. Says Orwell didn’t imagine the half of it – soon we won’t be able to breathe without the state monitoring our exhalation rate.’

‘Oh, dear. That must be a bit difficult to live with. But I’m sure he’ll mellow a bit when he thinks about it. Can’t you reason with him? He must know that you’re no advocate of massive state surveillance. He’s lived with you long enough. You’re in a pretty good position to explain the balance between freedom and protection. He knows how hard we work and what we are trying to do. Tell him that if we had even a third of the power of surveillance that he’s imagining, our job of keeping people safe would be a lot easier.’

‘I’ve tried. But so far he’s not listening. He wants me to go to a lecture with him tonight at the university. It’s on civil liberties, naturally. It used to be poetry readings he dragged me off to, or lectures on diphthongs in medieval literature. But now it’s Snowden he’s obsessed with instead of the Metaphysical Poets. When the Guardian published all those revelations, Tim didn’t read anything else for days.’ She shook her head wearily. Then she asked, ‘Have you heard of Jasminder Kapoor?’

‘Sounds familiar.’ Liz racked her brains for a moment. ‘I know – she’s the civil liberties woman; I heard her the other morning, on the Today programme. She edits some magazine, doesn’t she?’

‘That’s right. It’s a monthly called Democratic Affairs. Tim brings it home. He gets it at the College. She lectures in the Law department there but I don’t think he’s ever met her.’

Liz nodded; she’d occasionally leafed through copies of it in bookshops. ‘There’s some pretty wild stuff in it, isn’t there?’

‘Well, Jasminder Kapoor’s own stuff is pretty balanced, I think. But some of the others who write for it seem a bit off the wall.’

‘I remember thinking she sounded rather sensible when I heard her on the radio.’ Jasminder had been on the programme with an American politician, talking about the remaining prisoners in Guantanamo. The American, a conservative Republican, had grown heated, suggesting that his interlocutor was either a naïve dupe or on the side of al Qaeda. Kapoor had made her points very calmly in the face of his blustering, suggesting that his caricature of an argument did as much damage to democracy as its extremist opponents.

‘I agree. She’s the person giving the lecture tonight.’

‘Actually, that could be quite interesting,’ said Liz.

‘I hope so. It’s called “Security and Democracy: Where’s the Conflict?” I think Tim will be very disappointed that she’s not more radical in her views.’

They turned to business. Liz chaired an inter-agency working party on the activities of foreign intelligence agencies. Counter-espionage had been something of a poor relation to counter-terrorism for a few years, but now the focus was back on it, following an increase in cyber-attacks from various countries and renewed aggression from Russia. Resources had been moved on to the subject in MI6 and GCHQ and Liz had been put in charge both of MI5’s work and coordinating it with the other agencies. She had asked Peggy to move with her.

‘You remember we decided we needed to brief the CIA on our meetings,’ Liz said. ‘I’ve been thinking about the best way of doing that. I’m not sure we want to invite them to come or to send them the minutes. There might be some sensitive UK cases we wouldn’t necessarily want to share with them. It might be better if we set up a regular briefing meeting with Grosvenor. We’d probably get more feedback from them that way too – and learn what they’re doing.’

The CIA Station in London was known as ‘Grosvenor’ from its location, along with most of the rest of the US Embassy, in Grosvenor Square, though soon it would move to the Embassy’s new quarters in Wandsworth.

‘There’s a new Head of Station now, isn’t there?’

‘There is,’ said Liz. ‘Andy Bokus has gone. The new man used to be here as his deputy a few years ago. You probably remember him. It’s Miles Brookhaven – you know, the guy who was attacked in Syria and then did a rather good job in Sana’a. I think you should go over and meet him. Then you could be the contact point with the working group.’

‘Me?’ Peggy looked surprised. ‘Wouldn’t he expect you to do it?’

‘No. Why would he? I should think he’d be pleased to see you. After all, we are offering him a regular briefing.’ And, of course, hoping to get something in return, Liz thought, but didn’t say.

Something else she didn’t say was that Miles Brookhaven was someone she’d rather not encounter just then. Their paths had crossed when he was at Grosvenor previously. Liz had nothing against him – the problem back then was that he had made it pretty clear that he was keen on her. Too keen, as far as Liz was concerned. It was one thing to be friendly with her CIA counterpart, quite another to be the recipient of flowers, phone calls, and unsolicited invitations to dinner. That was several years ago and he had probably grown up. For all she knew he might be married now. He’d obviously had quite a tough time professionally during the intervening years and the Agency must think highly of him – Head of the London Station was a big, important job. Still, it would do Peggy good to represent the Service with the Americans and it would enable Liz to put off meeting Miles again for a bit longer.

‘Ring the Embassy and make an appointment,’ she said to Peggy. ‘Let me know if there’s any problem. And I hope you enjoy the lecture tonight.’