Authors: Charles Cumming
What is this assumption they have made about Kate? Where is it coming from? Have they got to her, too? I cannot think how to reply.
“Alec?” Caccia says, trying to prompt me into saying something.
“She doesn’t have any role in this,” I tell them. “This is a blind alley. That was the first time I’d seen her in over two years.”
“When?” Elworthy asks very quickly. He is convinced that there is more to this.
“Last week. When I went to her house. When I told her about what happened to Harry in Baku. About JUSTIFY. About all of this.”
“And she knew nothing of it before?”
“No. Of course not.”
They appear to have had doubts about her for some time. Trained to see trickery in even the most blameless situations.
“So how is it that the Americans discovered what was going on?”
This comes from Caccia, and I hand him a look of derision.
“Are you not getting this, David? Can you guys stop asking all these fucking obvious questions? You know how the Americans found out. They had her fucking house tapped.”
“But why?” says Elworthy, and the malice returns now to his voice. He doesn’t like the fact that I have been disrespectful to Caccia.
“Because I lied to Fortner about her. Told him we were still seeing each other. This is all on your tape. You heard the fucking conversation with Katharine. They put a bug in Kate’s house.”
“Just because of that?”
They think I’m lying.
“What other reason would they need?” I ask, exasperated.
“The fact that you were still sleeping together hardly justifies a wiretap.”
“On the contrary,” I reply. “If tonight has proved anything, it’s that Fortner was entirely justified in making that decision. After all, that’s what caught us out.”
“That’s what caught
you
out,” Elworthy replies.
I look at him, itching to retaliate, knowing that what he has said is entirely justified. Now he begins to pick over his words, choosing them with great care, like a politician wary of being caught out by semantics.
“You asked who I am,” he says. “I will tell you. There are people in this room who are answerable to me. That is all that I am prepared to say. What I have come here tonight to tell you is this. In view of what has happened today, we are terminating our arrangement with you. I imagine that you might have expected as much.”
I nod.
“You will be only too aware that we are under no obligation to keep you on as a support agent. Your contract is with Abnex Oil. Whether or not David decides to renew it is a matter to be settled entirely between the two of you, with the possible input of Alan Murray. The position of the Security Service is straightforward. We are letting you go.”
Only Sinclair has the guts to look at me. Both Lithiby and Caccia stare down at the floor, briefly ashamed by what Elworthy has said. The room is suddenly very silent, as if even the walls are absorbing the news. Then Caccia speaks.
“Abnex is in a similar bind, I’m afraid. After what has happened in the last few days, we feel it would be ill-advised for you to continue as an employee. There may be risks involved. I’m thinking, for example, about Harry coming back to work in due course. How will he feel if you’re still on the team?”
I am enraged by this.
“I am not the one responsible for what happened to Harry….”
“That’s not the point I’m making,” says Caccia. “As far as he is concerned, you are a liability, an industrial spy, for God’s sake. The last thing we need is for him to start digging all of this up once it’s been put to bed.”
“Whether I’m there or not won’t stop him doing that.”
“Oh, I think it will,” says Lithiby, and I see that they have agreed to present a united front against me. Tonight is not about argument or debate. Tonight is about eradicating Milius.
“So I’ve outlived my usefulness. Is that it? You just wash your hands of me, after everything I’ve done?”
“You will receive a generous payoff from Abnex Oil,” says Caccia, blinking rapidly.
Lithiby again interrupts.
“We suggest that you get out of London for the time being. Take a holiday or something. Let the dust settle.”
I actually laugh at this, at the effrontery of it.
“Take a holiday? That’s it? That’s your advice?” Even Elworthy, for the first time, looks uneasy. “And where do you think I should go? Where’s nice this time of year? Do I check the brakes on my car? Spend the next thirty years looking over my shoulder?”
“That is an overreaction,” he says, though, with the knowledge of what happened to Cohen, it is the least authoritative thing Lithiby has said all night.
“I’ll tell you what I want,” I say to them, and for a moment it is as if I have a measure of control. Having expected to be sacked, and having no great wish to remain at Abnex, the single thing I care about now is my safety. I look Lithiby directly in the eye. “Before I leave here tonight, I need concrete assurance that you will negotiate with the Americans on my behalf to guarantee that I go unharmed.”
It is some time before any of them responds.
“We’ll see what we can do,” says Elworthy.
“That isn’t good enough,” I tell him, pacing toward the door.
“Well, it’s unfortunate that you should think that,” he replies. “I would remind you that there are more important things at stake here than misguided concerns about your safety.”
“Such as?”
“We must protect the institution of secrecy, first and foremost. We told you that you had to be completely deniable. You failed in that respect.”
“The institution of secrecy?” I am almost shouting. “That is meaningless. What the fuck is that above a man’s life? I could be killed when I leave here. Had that thought even occurred to you? Or is it simply that you don’t care?”
“You are being relieved of your responsibilities. That is our position. By speaking to Miss Allardyce you broke the very code on which this organization depends for its security and well-being.”
I look away from Elworthy, to Lithiby, a flash glance of anger.
“And did John think about Harry Cohen’s security and well-being when he ordered a gang of Azerbaijani thugs to beat the crap out of him?”
“Excuse me?”
Lithiby has taken a step forward.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“I suggest that you withdraw that remark, young man,” Elworthy warns.
I do not do so.
“John had nothing whatsoever to do with what happened to Harry. That was simply an unfortunate accident.”
“Is that right? And how would you know?”
Lithiby’s face has darkened to a scowl.
“You’re out of your depth, Alec. I suggest that you do not make enemies of us.”
“I’m not interested in your suggestions,” I reply, and before I have properly thought it through, I issue them a clear-cut blackmail: “You have given me an ultimatum. Now let me give you one. If I do not receive clear indication that you have negotiated with the Americans to ensure my safety, I will send full details of JUSTIFY to a national newspaper.”
This threat, which I had only briefly contemplated on the journey from Shepherd’s Bush, does not appear to worry them. They would have expected it.
“You’d be wasting your time,” says Elworthy. “We will simply D Notice the material.”
“Then I’ll publish overseas. In France. In Australia. Fancy another
Spycatcher
? Don’t you think
Pravda
or
The New York Times
would be interested in a story like that? It’s news that’s fit to print, wouldn’t you say? And I’ll put everything about JUSTIFY on the Internet. Everything. You have no jurisdiction there.”
“Two things will happen if you do that,” he says, very calmly. “First, no one will believe you. Second, you will be prosecuted under the terms of the Official Secrets Act.”
“Then it’s simple,” I tell him. “You keep your end of the bargain and nothing will happen.”
“Why?” asks Caccia, whose voice seems to hide a measure of concern. “Why should we keep our end of the bargain when you have failed so completely to keep yours?”
“That’s just the way it’s got to be. And if either myself or Kate or anybody is so much as winked at by you or the CIA, I will make arrangements to have every detail of this operation made public.”
“We will have to talk to her,” Lithiby suggests.
“No. You will not. She has nothing to do with this. And if I hear that Kate has been approached by any of you, that will be enough to set things off.”
There is a knock at the door. It can only be Barbara.
“Come in,” Caccia says.
“Telephone call for you, sir,” she says to Elworthy. I didn’t hear a phone ring.
“Thank you.” He turns to Lithiby. “Will you excuse me?”
Lithiby nods and Elworthy shuffles next door. Barbara, looking at four washed-out faces, says, “It looks like a Labour landslide.”
“Really,” Lithiby murmurs. None of it makes any difference to him.
“Yes,” she says. “Lost every seat in Scotland, by the looks of things.”
“Every seat?” Sinclair exclaims, his first input since we arrived. “Christ.”
A car sounds its horn in the street outside.
“There was one other thing.”
Lithiby is talking to me.
“Yes?”
Very calmly he says, “They weren’t married.”
“Who?”
“Our American friends. Not even a couple. Thought you’d like to know.”
“What do you mean they weren’t married? How long have you known this?”
Of course. Separate bedrooms. The age difference. The lie Katharine told me about her miscarriage. All just cover.
“Not long. Two, three weeks. I was surprised you didn’t have any suspicions.”
“I did.”
“They weren’t in your reports.”
To have been lied to for so long about a thing so obvious. I am momentarily blunted, consternation draining away any control I may have had over the meeting. That was Lithiby’s deliberate intention, to throw me off guard.
“Alec?”
“Yes?”
“I said it wasn’t in any of your reports.”
From somewhere I summon the energy to challenge him.
“What does that matter now?”
Lithiby does not reply. He glances across at Sinclair, and I could swear that he was smiling.
“How did you find out about this?” I ask.
“Deep background,” Lithiby says, as if that explains everything.
“Why would they bother to pretend?”
He is interrupted by Elworthy’s coming back into the kitchen.
“Labour landslide,” Caccia says to him. “The Tories are out.”
“Is that right?” he says, his reaction muted. “Well, here’s to the tedious and predictable triumph of moderate politics.”
Caccia grins smugly.
“I have had a chance to think,” Elworthy says, turning his attention to me. “I suspect that we are all rather tired of threats and innuendo. It’s late, and I suggest we call it a day. Alec, you will hear from us in due course about the matters discussed here this evening. It only remains for me to remind you that you are still bound by the terms of the Official Secrets Act.”
“And it only remains for me to remind you that you have an obligation to protect me. Set up a meeting with the Americans, or I will make good my promise to go public with the story.”
Elworthy merely nods, knowing that his hands are tied.
“Chris will drive you back,” says Lithiby.
“Fine.” I look down at Caccia, still seated at the kitchen table, and say good-bye. He does not answer. Lithiby manages a contemptuous nod, but both Barbara and Elworthy remain silent.
Nothing else is said.
We pull up outside the flat at around 3:00
A.M
. Sinclair surprises me by switching off the engine.
“Where will you go?” he asks.
It is some time before I answer, dazed, “To Scotland, I think.” The lie is pointless. They will find me wherever I go, but I do it out of spite. “A friend of mine has a place in Perthshire. He invited me up this weekend. I’ll probably stay there for a while.”
Sinclair looks ahead at the street and appears to be summoning up the courage to say something.
“I admire what you did tonight,” he says, very softly. “The way you handled yourself.”
“Thank you.”
“Didn’t let them push you around.”
“I appreciate you saying that. I really do.”
“It’s funny,” he says, laughing gently, though it appears that he has been overtaken by reflection. “I never liked you much before. Jealousy or something. And now that’s it, you’re out of it, just when things were starting to look okay. Most probably you and I will never see each other again.”
“Most probably.”
“You’re all right, Alec,” he says, and he takes his arm off the steering wheel to shake my hand. “You’re gonna be all right.”
Inside the flat, I switch on the television to catch the tail end of the election coverage. Just as Barbara said, the Tories have been obliterated. Perhaps it is just my solemn mood of regret, but it is hard not to detect in the government’s downfall a spitefulness on behalf of the electorate. Good and able men are being made to suffer for the failures of a very few. I even feel sorry for Portillo, who is beaten out by an ineffectual Blairite clone with a weak mouth and puppy eyes.
But what I will not allow to happen is a slide into self-pity. There is no time for that. The utter disappointment of the last several hours actually motivates me to move against them, to make good the threat against MI5. If I do not act now, they will regain the upper hand.
So, in front of the TV, with the sound muted, I compose letters.
To Lithiby, I restate my intention to release a complete account of JUSTIFY on the Internet and to sell the story to foreign publications unless he receives a valid guarantee of my safety from the Americans. I write, “There will be an anonymous third party in a position to release all information when and if he is instructed to do so.”
That person will be Saul.
To Caccia, I write a brief letter of resignation from Abnex. This is pointless, given that tonight he effectively fired me, but a vague and petty stubbornness in me will not allow him the pleasure of formally handing me my notice.