Breaking Cover

35

‘So the mystery deepens,’ said Bruno Mackay.

He was obviously in better spirits and recovering from whatever it was that had happened to him in Libya. His yellow spotted tie demanded to be noticed and his pinstripe Savile Row suit disguised his thinness – or perhaps he’s regaining a bit of weight, thought Liz. Somehow she would feel more comfortable with the old self-satisfed, patronising Bruno than she had with the rather grey shadow of himself of a few weeks ago.

‘Yes. Now we seem to be looking for two people,’ she said. Liz had just finished describing her meeting with Mischa. They were gathered in the same conference room in which they had first heard from Charlie Simmons that something was stirring and might be heading their way. They had moved on a lot since then but it was still impossible to know whether what they were now learning had any connection to what Charlie had reported.

This was the frustration of counter-espionage, thought Liz: too many vague leads, too little hard intelligence. She wanted to see the threat – like she could see the terrorist – and to understand what she was trying to prevent. But this was more like walking into a dark room, knowing someone else was in there too, reaching out to try and touch them while at the same time dreading making contact for fear of what they might do.

‘If I’ve got it right,’ said Peggy, ever practical, ‘what he’s saying is that there are two foreigners in the country – and we don’t know what nationality they are pretending to be – who are manipulating people in a position to do damage to the intelligence services. I don’t see what we can possibly do with information that vague.’

Liz said, ‘Hang on a minute. Mischa was more precise than that. What he was saying was that they came here with the broad brief of finding ways of damaging and weakening the country. They first focused on the intelligence services and on getting alongside our critics and encouraging and helping them. That sounds like a classic subversion operation. But then he said that recently the operation has changed its aim because they have got close to two people, a woman and a man, who are actually in or very close to the intelligence services – that means us and you, Bruno, or else possibly GCHQ. It’s less likely to be Defence Intelligence.

‘Mischa said that the two Illegals are working in partnership, as they have done before, though whether here or somewhere else, I don’t know. Since they each have a different intelligence service in their sights, they’ve renamed the initiative, which is now called Operation Pincer.

‘Make of that what you like,’ Liz concluded with a shrug. ‘But,’ she added, ‘you can be sure that if the FSB are congratulating themselves on a success, then it’s serious. If they’ve penetrated us and you, Bruno, we’re right back to the Cold War. Heaven knows what damage will be done.’

‘Well, it certainly sounds terrible,’ said Peggy. ‘And so clever as to be almost incredible. Are you sure Mischa is kosher, Miles, and not just spinning us a story to get lots of your lovely dollars?’

Miles Brookhaven shrugged. Like Bruno he wore a suit, but his tie was striped and his shirt a white Brooks Brother button-down at its most conservative. He said, ‘Our Kiev Station thinks he’s reliable. He’s given them some good stuff about Russian activity in Ukraine.’

‘From what he said to me,’ Liz responded, ‘it wasn’t brilliant work on the Illegals’ part. They got lucky. Something happened that they weren’t expecting, and they took advantage of it. Though I don’t think Mischa’s brother put it that way to his bosses. It sounds as though he’s taking credit for a brilliant coup.’

There was silence in the room for a moment.

‘This doesn’t make sense,’ said Bruno. ‘How could someone who looked at first as though they would help undermine the intelligence services, suddenly get inside one? None of us is going to start employing Wikileakers or Snowdenistas. Not nowadays.’

Peggy said, ‘They might not be one of us. Think back to the Cold War. We used to try to recruit the window cleaner at the Soviet Embassy or the gardener at the flats where the Bulgarians lived. They often turned out to be very useful.’

‘True,’ said Bruno, with a grin. ‘But even MI5 wouldn’t have regarded a window cleaner as a coup, so I don’t suppose the FSB does.’

Peggy groaned, Miles smiled and Liz said, ‘I don’t think it’s the window cleaner at all. I don’t know how this has happened but I think the female they’ve targeted has recently joined either one of the intelligence services or perhaps the Home Office or the police or even the Foreign Office. Anyway they’ve got themselves inside and that’s why Mischa’s brother is so excited. The male target’s either not in play yet, or their position isn’t as helpful.’

‘I would guess romance is involved somewhere in all this.’ It was Miles speaking.

‘Romance?’ said Liz.

‘He means sex, Liz,’ said Bruno. ‘He’s just too well brought up to say so. You know, the old-fashioned honey trap. In that case we’re looking for a lover boy pursuing the female target.’

‘Don’t be so sexist,’ said Peggy. ‘It could be a seductress.’

‘It could be same sex in both cases,’ agreed Liz. ‘We just don’t know as yet.’

Peggy worked late, feeling buoyed by the meeting. She’d met Miles a couple of times while Liz was away, and far from the slightly naive American she remembered from the past, she now thought him relaxed, friendly and clever. After months of Tim’s bad-tempered outbursts, many directed at her, she found spending time with a courteous but quick-thinking man a welcome change. She knew Miles didn’t have a wife, and found herself wondering if he had anyone in his life. Peggy thought not: he’d made a passing reference one afternoon to the ‘bachelor supper’ awaiting him, which he confessed was going to be a takeaway. If there hadn’t been Tim to think about, Peggy would have offered to make him supper.

She was feeling more confident of finding the Illegals. If they’d somehow infiltrated MI5 or MI6, then they were operating on turf she knew well. She liked this kind of pursuit, and was good at it. Hadn’t Liz told her the best antidote to personal troubles was immersion in the job? It looked as though that was how it was going to be now, and Peggy left work feeling much better than she had when the day began.

The Underground was packed, and she just managed to squeeze herself and her briefcase into a carriage. As the train moved on out of the centre towards North London, the crowd gradually thinned and she was able to get a seat. She wondered if she would find Tim at home. They were partners in name only nowadays, she realised sadly. They still shared a bed, though there might as well have been a wall of steel dividing the mattress for all the intimacy there was between them.

She had not looked at Tim’s computer again, or even gone into the room he used as his study. But the memory of ‘Marina’ rankled, and Peggy couldn’t help imagining – or fantasising, since she had nothing to go on – about what this Marina did and who she was. A femme fatale no doubt, mature, exotic, good-looking – all the things Peggy worried she wasn’t. Marina would have been attracted by Tim’s intelligence, his intensity, and – not that Peggy saw much of it these days – his gentle kindness. They probably shared the same political views; she could hear Marina’s withering take on Peggy’s choice of career.

That is, if Tim had told her what his partner did for a living. He had promised never to do that – even his parents thought she worked at the MOD in HR. Yet Tim had always been so open by nature that Peggy couldn’t help but believe that the man who had once shared everything with her was now sharing it with someone else.

When she left the Underground it was dusk and the streetlights were coming on as she turned on to her street. The road on both sides was lined with cars – parking was at a premium out here, since so many of the houses had been divided into flats, with multiple cars per building. She watched as a hundred yards ahead of her a maroon Vauxhall saloon was trying to back into a rare but rather small space.

Parking aside, Peggy liked her neighbourhood; it was quiet, unpretentious, and the only celebrity living within a mile of it was a second-division footballer. She reckoned it was only a matter of time before Tim moved out. She liked the flat, but wasn’t sure she could afford to stay there on her own. She supposed she’d either have to find a flatmate, which she didn’t really want to do, or move to a smaller place. She tried to cheer herself up by deciding it would be good to find somewhere closer to work. It would feel odd to live on her own, but at least there would be no tension each evening when she turned the key in the door.

She noticed that the Vauxhall had given up trying to squeeze into the space and was driving slowly along the road towards her, its driver looking for somewhere else to park. It was then she heard footsteps behind her. She glanced back and saw a slim male figure in a hoodie walking fast towards her. She couldn’t see his face properly but there was something alarming about him, especially when she remembered how Jasminder had been attacked.

Peggy decided to cross the street, where a man in a dark suit and tie, wearing a hat with a brim that shadowed his face, was standing doing something with his phone. As she crossed, the Vauxhall saloon was about fifty feet in front of her, moving very slowly. Peggy could see the driver, a woman in her forties, still searching for a parking space.

When Peggy reached the far pavement, the man was standing there staring at his phone, his free hand in his jacket pocket. She had started to walk round him when he said, ‘Excuse me.’

She looked up just in time to see him raise his arm. He was holding a short truncheon, and as his arm came down Peggy flinched and turned away. The truncheon missed her head but hit her hard on the shoulder, and the pain was excruciating. The man looked ready to hit her again so she ran into the road just as the Vauxhall drew level with them. The car braked sharply and Peggy staggered into the side of it then fell hands first onto the bonnet. She rolled instinctively, just in time to avoid the truncheon, which missed her head and slammed down with such force that it dented the steel of the bonnet.

Peggy was now standing in front of the car. To her surprise, the female driver was staring at her – as if nothing were wrong. Peggy opened her mouth and screamed. The man in the suit, still holding the truncheon, seemed to be deciding whether to come at her again, then suddenly he flung open the passenger door and jumped in. The woman at the wheel seemed entirely unsurprised, and Peggy realised she was working with the man.

Peggy managed to take two steps towards the pavement as the car accelerated sharply, narrowly missing her, and sped away. Looking around, stunned and rubbing her shoulder with one hand, Peggy could see no sign of the hooded figure anywhere.

She felt dizzy and knew she was going into shock. A door slammed nearby and she heard a man shouting as he ran towards her. ‘Are you all right? What’s happened?’

Peggy’s dizziness was worse now. ‘I need to sit down,’ she said, and the man led her to the low wall separating his front garden from the pavement. Someone else appeared as she tried to catch her breath; it took a moment for her to realise that it was Tim.

‘Peggy, are you all right?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. She looked up and was relieved to see that his face was filled with concern. ‘Someone hit me,’ she said, close to tears. ‘They hit me with a stick.’

‘Who was it?’ asked Tim, bewildered.

Peggy’s head was starting to spin, and she grabbed the edge of the brick wall to steady herself. ‘It was a set-up. There was a car… A woman… She drove him away.’

‘Who? What do you mean? Did he take anything?’

But Peggy didn’t answer. She was starting to feel very sick indeed. She heard Tim say, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve called the police, and they’re sending an ambulance as well.’ She looked up and saw him holding his phone in the air. It must be new, she thought dimly. But she’d seen it before… Then she realised it was the same kind of phone as Jasminder’s. When did he get that? Peggy wondered vaguely. She closed her eyes, and could hear Tim talking to their neighbour. She was straining to hear what he was saying when gradually his voice faded clean away. Peggy had passed out.