Faithless (23 page)

             
"Would you like to see the wine list? I'm no an expert on these things."

             
Leonov said indulgently. "Of course, Mr McGee. I will advise you."

The wine list arrived. Leonov chose Pouilly Fuisse
́, Domaine Auvigue. The waiter approved of his choice volubly and Leonov smiled at his own cleverness.

             
They ordered food. Leonov taking his time, John choosing quickly and feeling his impatience with Leonov grow. When they had eaten their first course John said, "I understand you have something for me."

             
"Ah," said Leonov. "Yes." He dug in his attaché case. He pulled out an envelope and furtively handed it to John. John began to open it.

             
"Not here."

             
"Why, is it secret?"

             
Leonov blushed. "No of course. Not classified. But. You realise this is a risk for me?"

             
John nodded. "If it wasn't a risk then I could get this information anywhere and it wouldn't be worth me paying you for it." He smiled at Leonov, who blushed deeper. John said, "I'll take a quick look."

             
Leonov blustered. John opened the enveloped and glanced at the five or six sheets of paper in there. They were in Russian. They were documents from the Soviet Coal organisation VUGI. He looked at them a little too long. He thought he caught a flicker of suspicion in Leonov's eyes. Leonov said questioningly, "You read Russian?"

             
John laughed. "Of course not. I was looking at the pretty letters."

             
Leonov laughed in sympathy. "I am sorry. I didn't have the time to translate these."

             
"And neither should you. You're too important for that."

             
Leonov beamed like a little boy complimented on his homework.

             
"I can get these translated Mr Leonov. Don't you worry."

             
There was a pause. John was tempted to tease Leonov by dragging it out but he didn't. "I have something for you too," he said. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the envelope. He slid it across the table. Leonov opened it greedily then stopped. "What is this?"

             
"It's a cheque book. We've opened an account for you."

             
Leonov looked at first ecstatic then mortified. "A hard currency account?"

             
John nodded.

             
"And £5000 in it?"

             
John nodded again. "My accountant advised it. It's a bit more respectable than wads of cash."

             
"But you know this is illegal for me as a Soviet citizen?"

             
John feigned ignorance. "No, I didn't know."

             
Leonov shook his head. "Stupid communists. Everything is a crime."

             
John laughed. "Don't worry we'll keep topping it up."

             
"Will you keep the cheque book for me?"

             
John shook his head. "No, I couldn't do that. It would look fraudulent. As if I was paying myself on the sly."

             
"It is quite dangerous for me to have this."

             
"Can you hide it somewhere?"

             
Leonov looked pensive. "I suppose so."

             
"Good man. And keep these documents coming."

             
The main course arrived. Leonov hardly ate. He said, "I must return to the Embassy. I am sorry, but I do not have a lot of time."

             
"That's fine. We've done our business."

             
"Will I see you again or Andrew?"

             
"It will be Mr St. John-Bird. Same place. Same time. Two weeks?"

             
Leonov nodded. "It has been a pleasure meeting you again Mr McGee." He got up. John got up to shake his hand and then Leonov left. John watched him go and then sat down to finish his rack of mutton and washed it down with cold Pouilly Fuissé. The bottle was only half drunk. He toyed with the idea of taking it back to the office, but eventually decided against it.             

Two weeks later, Philip popped down to the Long Room. John was talking to Rob. As Philip entered he said, "well if it isn't my guide and mentor. Wagwan rude boy?"

              "Pardon?"

             
"I was being a Jamaican Yardie. Aye."

             
"I speak Russian, English, French, German, Serbo-Croat and a bit of Danish. But not Yardie. Also I'm not very street."

             
"I'd noticed."

             
"And neither are you."

             
"I'd noticed that too."

             
Philip sat on the edge of the desk next to John's. He said, "Our man blew me out."

             
"Seriously?

             
"I've just come back. He wasn't there. Clarissa took a message on the contact telephone number from him. Says he sounded a nervous wreck. Apparently he thinks the Sovs are onto him."

             
"Bullshit. How?"

             
"Well we've kept it pretty tight, so I can't see it's possible. Unless he's aroused suspicion himself."

             
"Or his nerves have got the better of him."

             
"He wasn't the most mentally stable man I've met."

             
"Are they ever?"

             
Philip sighed. "All spies are disturbed at some level; a balanced person wouldn't do it. "

             
"I hope they don't find the cheque book we gave him. That's a one way ticket to bullet in the brain."

             
"Maybe just a trial and a trip to the Gulag."

             
"You old softie."

             
"Much as you might like to believe I am a monster, I actually care for my agents."

             
John laughed but stopped when he realised Philip was serious. "I know," he said.

             
"We're playing with people's lives."              

             
"All because of politics," said John. "Why can't we all just get along?" he smiled.

             
"I know you are not being serious, but it would be nice wouldn't it?"

At that point Sue came into the Long Room. She walked over to John as if she had something to say.

             
Philip said, "Hello Sue." 

             
She ignored him. He stood and stretched. "Pop up and see me later, John," he said.

When he'd gone, Sue
said to Rob. "Could you leave us please?"

"I'm quite busy," said Rob.

"Leave us," she snapped. Rob grumbled but got up and went out of the room. Then she turned to John. "You shouldn't be doing natural cover operations with K3. You have work to do here in the section. Why wasn't I told? I'm your line manager."

             
"It's not a secret. I would have told you."

             
"When?" she said.                           

             
John frowned. "I think you're overreacting."

             
"Do you know how arrogant you are? You've hardly been here five minutes and you walk around like the cat that's got the cream."

             
"Not really. I think you have a problem with me that's all."

             
"Do you know how hard it is to be a woman in this organisation? Even females from the landed gentry have to start as assistant officers. So how much harder do you think it has been for me? I'm from Stepney. My father is a plumber. I started at the age of 16 in Registry filing - not even allowed to type. I went to night classes to get my A Levels so I could be accepted first as a secretary and then as an assistant officer. How many women do you think have managed that?"

             
He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm guessing you're going to tell me."

             
"One - me."

             
"Well done you. More power to your elbow."

             
"And you and your public school friends just swan in here like you were born to own the place."

             
John laughed. "I don't think I'm that."

             
"You went to a private school."

             
"On scholarship."

             
"That makes no difference. You joined the club and the club will look after you."

             
"I didn't know you were so radical, Sue."

             
"You make me sick - you and your kind. No one is more loyal to this Office than me. No one. I'm a patriot."

             
"As I said, well done, but I think you're way over the top."

             
Sue said. "I simply can't work with you. You have no regard for seniority. You play by your own rules. You decide what's important and what leads you will follow."

             
John shook his head and ignored her hoping she'd get the message. He picked up a report from his in-tray. He flicked it open. 

             
She still stood there. "I would have you fired, but I can't."

             
He looked up. "Why can't you?"

             
"B Branch blocked it."

             
"So what now?"

             
"So, we're transferring you to K3 where you can play with your friends. I'm sure you arrogance will lead you to mess up there and then we'll have enough grounds to fire you."

             
"K3?" John felt wildly happy.

             
"I can see you're pleased. You will go on the next TC3."

             
"The agent running course?"

             
She nodded. "The sooner you're out of here the better."  The idea that what she intended to be a dismissal pleased him upset her but this was the best she could do. She then went back to her desk, glowering with anger at him. John couldn't help humming to himself. When Rob didn't come back he went out to find him. He was sitting on a chair in the K8 team's office.

             
"She finished?" said Rob.

             
"Yep. Guess what?"

             
"Well you seem happy. Have you been sacked?"

             
John shook his head. "Nearly. But no. Guess again."

             
"Well you seem deliriously happy. She gave you drugs to make you confess but instead you enjoyed them?"

             
John shook his head again. "No. I'm being transferred to K3"

             
"Hot dickety damn. So you get to do the agent running course?"

             
"Yep. Soon."

             
"Well I'm jealous. And all because Sue hates you?"

             
"Apparently."

             
"How do I make her hate me too?"

1982, Curzon Street House, London:
From 1974 to 1982 John worked as a Russian linguist in A2A, the technical section responsible for the transcription of phone taps and hidden microphones as well as the translation of any documents intercepted by post. Each group of linguists was under the management of a Coordinator. The work was sometimes interesting, often routine - phone calls between Russian husbands and wives, business meetings. Never  anything of direct intelligence value as the Russians were aware that they were being listened to. The Office  encouraged him to learn Afrikaans and from then on he also listened to officers of the South African Intelligence Service - BOSS - as they organised braais and shopping trips. The BOSS officers weren't as tight in their security as the KGB and occasionally nuggets would drop. The South Africans' main target in London was the ANC who they would try to penetrate and, should they get the chance, kill. MI5 also listened to the ANC because they were in turn penetrated by the South African Communist Party. It was a joint operation between MI5's F2R section - which also monitored other Communist Penetrated Groups like the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament - and MI6's UKC - part of their London Station. John grew fond of his targets - both Russians and South Africans. As well as drinking black Russian tea he would buy biltong and read Afrikaans poetry. Of them all, his favourite targets were the ANC - he sympathised with their fight against apartheid and found them lively, likable people. He doubted they would like him much if they knew he was spying on them.