working together, yet increasingly suspicious of each other. While the real ringmaster stood back and let distrust get to work. We were blind to the fact that it might all be just one person driven by his own weird agenda.’
Miles finished his wine and slowly put down his glass. ‘What I always find surprising is that with all our sophisticated technology and the big bureaucracies we work in, a single person can still do so much damage.’
Liz thought about this for a minute. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘when you think about it, so much of our work is about the actions of individuals – not governments or bureaucracies. That’s what makes it so fascinating. If it were just about process or gizmos, do you think you’d want to be doing the job?’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Miles emphatically. ‘And neither would you.’
He suddenly sounded rather sad, and she regretted the melancholy note that had crept into their lunch. But then he brightened up again. ‘There’re a couple of loose ends still, aren’t there?’ he said.
‘More than a couple, I’m sure,’ said Liz. But that was true of every case; there were always threads left hanging. ‘Which ones are you thinking of?’ she asked.
‘I was wondering what was the point of Hannah Gold? Why was Kollek so interested in her?’
‘I think originally he wanted her as a back-up – in case the conference went ahead in spite of his efforts. She’d probably have helped place explosives or trigger them -unintentionally of course. But then quite accidentally, Kollek learned that her daughter-in-law Sophie had been in the Security Service. He may even have thought she still was. I imagine he’d been watching Hannah, and he must have seen me visit and put two and two together. He thought of getting rid of me-’
‘He didn’t just think it, Liz, he tried to do it.’
She nodded. ‘When that didn’t work, he dropped the Hannah idea. Too risky. So he used her as a red herring instead.’
‘He had a lot of those, didn’t he? The Spanish “sniper,” the non-existent rifle – as well as Hannah.’
‘He was clever and he improvised brilliantly.’
‘I’d say he was lucky, too.’
‘Would you?’ asked Liz. ‘I’d have said we were the lucky ones.’ She thought of the breaks they’d had – her own spotting of the ‘gardener’ at Marcham’s house, Abboud’s position high up in Syrian intelligence, an envious Dougal happening to spot Jana’s assignation with Kollek by the equestrian centre; they were all strokes of luck.
‘Perhaps,’ said Miles. ‘But the point is, you rode your luck. Not everyone would have managed that, believe me.’ He raised a hand towards the waiter and gestured for the bill.
‘This was lovely,’ said Liz. ‘You were right about this place. Next time, it’ll be my shout.’
Miles gave a funny little smile. ‘You’ll have to visit.’
Visit? Her eyes must have betrayed her puzzlement.
‘Yes. Visit Damascus.’ He looked at her intently, and she saw surprise in his eyes. ‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘Know what?’ she asked. She was tired of mysteries; whenever she thought she had disposed of one, another seemed to crop up, even here during an enjoyable lunch with a man she was starting to like a lot.
‘I’ve been transferred; I’m going back to Damascus. I thought Fane would have told you.’
‘Geoffrey? What’s it got to do with him?’
‘He’s part of the reason I’m going,’ said Miles, with a trace of resentment. ‘It was Bokus’s idea to start with -he never liked me, and after the Oval debacle it’s got harder than ever to work with him. Then when Ty Oakes went through the Middle East after the peace conference, your head of station there – his name’s Whitehouse – mentioned that my presence in Syria would be useful to the joint effort. He told me off the record that Fane had instructed him to make the request. It dovetailed so neatly with Bokus wanting to see the back of me that I assumed it was a put-up job.’
It took Liz a moment to follow his logic, for she was still taking in this news. ‘But why did Geoffrey care?’ she managed to ask at last.
Miles gave a small shrug. ‘I’ve got my own ideas of why. I think it may have something to do with you. But you’ll have to work it out for yourself.’
Liz was silent for a moment while she worked it out. Miles could only mean that Fane didn’t like their friendship. Did he object for professional reasons or was it personal? She’d have to think about that.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said eventually, not sure whether she meant she was sorry about Miles’s transfer, or about the fact that he’d been forced into it by Bokus and Fane.
Miles gave a wry smile. ‘Don’t be. I like Damascus. Like I say, you’ll have to visit. Shall we go?’
Outside, a low, bleak sun did little to take the edge off the chill of a cutting autumn wind. Liz buttoned her coat and tied the belt firmly round her waist. They walked in silence towards the river. At the southern end of Lambeth Bridge she turned, and after a moment’s hesitation said goodbye to Miles with a handshake rather than the hug she wanted to give him.
Who knew what might have happened between us, she thought as she crossed the river. Thanks to the professional jealousy of Bokus, and perhaps to the personal jealousy of Geoffrey Fane, it seemed unlikely she would ever find out. It was easy to say she’d get on a plane one day soon and fly to Damascus, but she knew it wasn’t going to happen. So many might-have-beens in my life, thought Liz, which made the clear conclusion of the Syrian plot at once satisfying and yet another reminder of her personal life’s dismaying lack of progress.
Oh well, she thought, as the bulk of Thames House loomed before her, at least I have a career I’m committed to – and care about. At the entrance as she showed her ID, she laughed at the usual bad joke made by Ralph, the security guard at the door, and as she went up in the lift she found a melancholy comfort at being back in her familiar surroundings. Gleneagles seemed to belong to a different world.
Once in her office, Liz began leafing through the stack of papers that had accumulated in her absence. She had not got far down the pile when there was a tactful knock on the open door of her office, and she saw Peggy in the doorway, white as a sheet.
‘What’s wrong?’ she said with concern.
‘Liz, I don’t know what to say. I’ve only just heard the news.’
‘What news?’ demanded Liz, wondering what could have gone wrong now. The peace conference had run its full if unedifying course, Hannah Gold was safe and sound back in Tel Aviv, and Danny Kollek had been caught. So what could be the matter?
‘It’s Charles,’ said Peggy tearfully. Liz felt her heart start to pound. What could have happened to Charles?
‘Joanne’s died,’ Peggy said. ‘It must be terrible for Charles. I know she’s been ill a long time, but now she’s gone and he’s all alone.’
Stella Rimington
