Breaking Cover

52

When Jasminder came in to work and read the message from Geoffrey Fane’s secretary, she felt interested but not particularly concerned. Would she pop in for a word with Geoffrey at three o’clock that afternoon? There was nothing ominous-sounding about it at all.

She didn’t have much time to speculate about the reason for the meeting as the morning was particularly busy. That meant too that she didn’t have time to worry about Laurenz and his increasingly bullying tone towards her. She hoped now he would be pleased when she told him the full name of her senior colleague – Bruno McKay – and pleased too when she said that it looked as if McKay might turn into an excellent source. He was a Russia expert, she’d say, who knew the Moscow Embassy well, and what’s more he drank a lot and talked freely.

But she sensed Laurenz would be angry that she hadn’t actually learned much of substance yet. Doubtless he would order her to sleep with McKay as soon as possible, as if that were a guarantee of being told classified information. Laurenz had already told her that she had two weeks to get him something of value. If she failed – and he said this with complete indifference, which made it even more dreadful – he wouldn’t be responsible for the safety of the little girl. Most chilling of all, though, had been his parting shot. Laurenz had said that he was under pressure from his boss Kozlov. You remember, he’d said, the charming gentleman you met in Bermuda. He says that if you don’t do better, he will come over here and personally give you a few lessons in persuasion.

Jasminder had put all this to the back of her mind when at quarter to three, just as she was thinking about getting ready to go up to Geoffrey Fane’s room, she had a call from his secretary to say that the discussion would be in the Personnel department as there was a big meeting going on in Geoffrey’s room. That struck Jasminder as a little odd. If Geoffrey had a big meeting, why didn’t he postpone his appointment with her? It couldn’t be anything so urgent that it couldn’t wait. Also she was a bit disappointed as she remembered his room from her first week when she’d had a series of introductory meetings with senior colleagues. It had struck her as quite beautiful, with its tall windows overlooking the river and its oriental rugs and antique furniture. It had completely changed her view of Geoffrey Fane, who until then she had thought of as cold and unapproachable.

She walked down to the second floor, and into the outer office of the Director of Personnel.

‘Hello, Jasminder,’ said his secretary, ‘Geoffrey’s on his way. Have a seat.’

A crawling feeling of anxiety was just beginning to spread through Jasminder’s mind. She was not sure what was going on but it was something out of the ordinary. Then Geoffrey Fane arrived and, taking her by the elbow, shepherded her along a corridor to one of a row of small meeting rooms. Two armchairs stood facing each other across a low round table, on which sat a box of tissues and a telephone.

Fane waved her to one chair and sat down in the other.

‘Well, Jasminder,’ he said, ‘I thought it was time I had a chat with you. You’ve been here a few months now, I think, and I hope you are enjoying the work.’

Jasminder nodded enthusiastically. So this was all it was. Just a catch-up conversation.

‘We’re all agreed that you’ve made a splendid start.’ Fane paused and considered her. ‘But recently it’s been noticed that you have been looking very tired – rather strained, in fact – and we have been wondering why that is, and whether anything in particular is worrying you.’

Jasminder felt her stomach give a lurch and her heart start to beat faster and louder; for a brief lunatic second she wondered if Fane could hear it thumping in her chest. She said, struggling to keep her voice steady, ‘No, I’m fine, thank you. It is hard work, but I enjoy it. I’m very happy here.’

Fane looked at her; his eyes were deep and somehow sad. ‘I was wondering,’ he went on, ‘whether it was your relationship with Laurenz Hansen that was worrying you.’

Silence fell between them. The name hung in the air. A cold sweat crept over Jasminder and her stomach clenched with nausea. She couldn’t think. ‘Who?’ she said.

Fane raised an eyebrow. ‘Before you say any more, I should tell you that this conversation is being recorded. Jasminder, it is very important that you tell me the truth. I can help you with many things but I can’t help you at all unless you tell the truth. Now please explain to me what your involvement is with this man.’

Jasminder was trying to recover, but she did not know what to do. How much did the Service know already? How much should she keep back? How had they found out? What had they found out?

‘Yes, I know Laurenz Hansen. He’s a banker.’

‘Is he? And how well do you know him?’

Jasminder tilted her head and looked down, a gesture intended to demonstrate shyness while giving her time to think. Eventually she lifted her chin and looked Fane in the eye. ‘For a time he was my boyfriend. But not any longer. Why do you want to know?’ she asked, trying to wrest some control from Fane.

But Geoffrey Fane ignored the question and said, ‘Tell me how you met him?’

‘He saved me from some muggers when I was walking home from the theatre in Islington.’

‘Does he live in Islington?’

‘No. He has a flat in Moorgate. It belongs to his bank.’

‘Did it not strike you as strange that he came along at just the perfect moment to save you?’

Jasminder was silent. It had never occurred to her at the time that there was anything staged about her first encounter with Laurenz in the gardens – he had saved her, after all. But now she knew the whole thing for what it was – a completely fabricated set-up. She had been hoodwinked and made a complete fool of. Laurenz had never cared for her at all. He had used her ruthlessly, and in her initial gratitude for being rescued, she had let him into her life, and then into her heart. How stupid and gullible she had been.

Fane was continuing, ‘I’m very much afraid, Jasminder, that you have been completely and utterly duped. Laurenz Hansen is not a banker and he is not Norwegian. But I think you may already know this. I think that may be why you have been looking so stressed and worried recently.’

Jasminder was no longer thinking clearly. She did not know how to respond to this gently spoken but persistent man. But she was not yet ready to give up.

‘If he’s not a Norwegian banker, what is he?’ she demanded.

Fane’s mouth set in an expression of regret. ‘I think you’ve found out by now. He’s Russian and working for their intelligence service. ’

‘You’re joking?’ Jasminder was playing for time now. She didn’t know where this was going and Geoffrey Fane was in complete control.

‘I wish I were,’ said Fane, and there was a sadness in his voice that chilled Jasminder. Why wasn’t he being more hostile? ‘We’ve learned a fair amount about Mr Hansen, you see. I think we know pretty clearly what his task here is. You are ideally placed to help him carry it out.’

‘Is there any evidence for this?’

Fane shrugged. ‘Well, enough to deport Mr Hansen, that’s for certain. False passport, false papers, false job; those will do to send him packing. But as far as you’re concerned, it’s not so clear what he managed to accomplish.’ He was looking right at her again. ‘I was rather hoping you might be able to help on that score.’

‘I don’t see how. I am happy to admit I know Laurenz Hansen, and happy to admit that for a time we were… intimate. But not any longer. And never did I have any knowledge that he was anything other than what he claimed.’

‘But after your relationship stopped, you did continue to see him… We’ve been watching Mr Hansen for some time.’

‘Well, yes, I did see him occasionally after we broke up. I usually stay friends with my ex-boyfriends.’

‘Did Hansen take an interest in your work?’

‘Of course he did,’ Jasminder said. ‘There was a lot of publicity about my joining the Service – but no more than any boyfriend would. And he understood that what I did was highly confidential, and most of the time classified.’

‘I’d think all of the time would be the safest description. So he didn’t ask you for information? No documents or emails, that sort of thing?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Good,’ said Fane, and Jasminder started to relax a little. Then Fane added, ‘Still, we understand that he gave you a special phone.’

‘You have been spying on me!’

Fane drew himself up in his chair. ‘Jasminder, I’m trying to explain in the gentlest possible way that the man you are seeing is a foreign intelligence officer – one opposed to everything we stand for here, and whose aim is to undermine this country. I know your views about surveillance; I appreciate your steadfast defence of civil liberties; I yield to no one in my admiration for your ideals and principles. But this man Hansen has been trying to use you as his agent to damage the Service and undermine national security. I and my colleagues would be remiss – more than that, we would be criminally negligent – if we didn’t do everything in our power to stop him. With what you know of us and the Service, I am sure you understand that?’

Suddenly, the silence that followed this remark was shattered. The phone on the table rang. Fane stared at it briefly, as if he didn’t understand what it signified, then he picked it up. ‘Fane,’ he said sharply, and listened for several minutes while Jasminder thought through her situation.

She had been taken aback when Fane first spoke Laurenz’s name, but this was turning out better than she’d first expected. Fane seemed to be kind and understanding, and from what he was saying, had no evidence at all of Jasminder’s efforts to help Laurenz. If she could hide those from him, he might accept that whatever Laurenz Hansen was, Jasminder didn’t know about it and wasn’t directly involved in his plans.

Then Fane hung up and turned to face her. He looked even more regretful.

‘That was the police in Manchester. They’ve managed to locate and detain Laurenz Hansen in Altrincham. It seems he spent much of his time there, but under a different name – that of Vladimir Karpis.’

‘So he is Russian,’ Jasminder murmured.

‘Yes. Does his name or that location ring any bells for you?’ Fane’s manner now was still quiet and calm, but slightly less friendly than before.

‘No. Laurenz was often away, but he said he was abroad on business. And I never heard about anyone called Karpis.’

‘I see. I understand your mother now lives in India?’

‘That’s right.’ He must have been looking at her personnel file.

‘But you still have family in Leicester, I think? Your brothers. They’re in business together. Is that correct?’

She nodded, puzzled. ‘They own a small chain of grocery shops. Why do you ask?’

‘Because for some reason, Hansen or Karpis or whatever we want to call him had a webcam set up that was watching one of your brothers’ stores. We know because we can see the shop’s name on the screen — Kapoor & Sons.’

Jasminder didn’t say anything, but waited tensely. Fane went on, ‘Curious, don’t you think? But there was something else. Film of a little girl coming out of school – they focused the camera shot right on her. Would she be the daughter of one of your brothers?’

Jasminder froze and blanked out Fane’s voice, no longer concerned about herself; Ali was all she was worried about. He pressed her: ‘I said, is she your niece?’ Jasminder nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Everything was over now. They would work it all out and know what she’d done – been trying to do.

Fane leaned forward and spoke very gently now, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘Jasminder, we don’t know each other very well, but everything about you tells me that you would never willingly try to damage the Service or the country. If you had decided that your conscience wouldn’t let you keep working here, then you would have done the honourable thing and resigned. You would never have worked for a hostile country, I’m absolutely positive. Unless,’ and now he leaned back in his seat again, ‘it was under duress. Unless… you’d been threatened. Or worse – your little niece had been.’

Jasminder was looking at Fane now, and he held her gaze. For all his supposed arrogance, his legendary ruthlessness, all she could see was sympathy in his eyes, and an expression on his face that told her that he understood. Then she started to cry.

Fane waited patiently while she crumpled a tissue and began to wipe her eyes. ‘Take your time,’ he said gently. ‘We have all the time in the world. And your niece is safe now, and so are you. We’ve got Laurenz. So when you’re ready, why don’t you tell me what really happened?’

And when she’d finished wiping her eyes, Jasminder began to speak. It seemed almost involuntary; she felt she was operating on autopilot. But her overwhelming feeling was one of enormous relief.

She said hesitantly, ‘It all started that night when I was attacked on my way home…’