sent was specially prepared. It was realistic enough not to compromise you with them, but written so that it would expose their agents in other Gulf States. We've shut down most of those within the last month. You're an international heroine, love, even if you did think you were a spy!'
She gazed at him, open-mouthed. 'Who knows about this?'
`Me, John Swift, Morelli, the PM and the head of MI6, that's all. Now what we've got to do is close you down, without the Iraqis suspecting that they've been stuffed.'
`How can you do that?'
`This is what Morelli, MI6 and I have worked out. Swifty doesn't have to know, and the PM doesn't want to. I've got a document photocopied and ready for you to hand over. It's from the director of MI6 to Morelli, saying that the Iraqi network has been uncovered in its entirety, and is about to be terminated. I've added in a note saying that you're cutting and running. You communicate through a safe house in Kilburn, right? You make a phone call, and take your material there, to hand it over to your contact. You see him, but you don't know his name. Am I right?'
She nodded. 'Yes,' she whispered.
'We know who he is, though. He's called Rafiq; he's a restaurant worker with a French passport. As soon as Rafiq transmits your message to Baghdad, he'll be picked up and charged. Well announce his arrest, but we'll say that his contact in Whitehall has committed suicide. Unless we're all very much mistaken, the Iraqis will shut down the whole operation. They won't look for you, because our suicide announcement will make them believe that we've killed you. That's what they would do in our shoes; hold one for a show trial and execution, and just do away with the others.'
She looked up at him, her confidence returning. 'So what do I do?'
`Don't go to the office tomorrow. Leave here early and go home. Make your call to Rafiq, and set up a meeting for ten o'clock. Then pack your favourite clothes and take a taxi to Kilburn. Meet Rafiq at the safe house, and hand over the material. Let him leave first, then you go. But you don't go back to the Ministry… ever. Or to your flat. I'll see to it that it's cleared, and the rent and everything taken care of.'
`What do I do instead?'
He reached for his wallet, took out a piece of paper, and handed it to her. 'You go to this address. It's a flat in Godalming, in Surrey. But don't go straight there. Take a taxi back into London and catch a bus. That's nice and public and it'll make it easy for us to ensure that no one's following you who shouldn't be. There'll be someone there to meet you and to stay with you for the first few days — for your peace of mind as much as anything else.
It'll all be okay.'
And what about us, you and I? Do we have a future?'
Of course, if that's what you want. I'll visit you as soon as I can be absolutely sure that the Iraqis have bought the whole story;
She hugged him, quickly. Her body felt cold against his, so he drew her down beneath the covers.
`Will I be able to see my parents, eventually?' she asked. 1 was still trembling, but her composure was returning.
Not for a few months at the very least. Eventually, well arrange a meeting on neutral ground. But for now, they'll have to think you're dead too. For their own safety as much as anything. They'll be given a death certificate, and they'll have to hold a funeral. After a while, as soon as I judge that it's okay, I'll send a message to them.'
She took a deep breath. 'It'll be awful for them. But if you say so, then it has to be. But for how long, Adam? Will I have to live in hiding always? Will it be just like being in prison?'
He smiled. Not unless you insist on seeing it that way. As to how long, we'll move you out of Godalming after a while, possibly to Derbyshire, where I come from. It'll make it easier for me to visit you if you're there. You'll have a new identity too. We'll fix you up with a job… a lecturer, maybe… to let you build a real new life. After a year or so, you and I can begin thinking long-term… if you still want to, that is.'
She frowned. 'But won't people find out then, people from the Ministry, who'll think I'm dead?'
`Love, Swifty and I ain't in the office directories, remember. There are around twenty people in MOD who've ever heard of me. And none of them know my real name, or anything about my private life.'
She smiled, reassured. 'What is your real name?'
Adam.
The other one, then?'
`What does it say on the doorbell downstairs?'
She wrinkled her brow. 'Feather, isn't it?'
`That'll do then. You can use it, if you like. After tomorrow Shania Mirzana'll be no use to you. I'll get you a new birth certificate, NI number, passport and all that. Just you pick a name.
She thought for a few seconds. 'Feather — yes, I like that. It's nice, even for a brown-skinned girl. As for a forename, do you think that Robin would be a bit cheeky?'
Adam laughed and gave her a quick hug. 'I think it would be perfect. I'll see to it tomorrow. For now let's eat, if you've still got an appetite.'
I have,' she murmured, 'but not for food; not just yet.' She bit his nipple, gently.
`Hey,' he gasped. 'Tell me one more thing.'
`What?'
`When you broke into Maurice Noble's house last week, to photograph something that you hadn't had a chance to copy during the day…'
`You…'
`No, not me. I didn't follow you. Swifty did that. Anyway, when you opened the Red Box, there was nothing, absolutely nothing unusual about it?'
`No, nothing at all.'
`Just as well,' said Arrow. 'Otherwise, right now a street in Putney would be missing one house, you'd be spread all over south London, and I'd be looking for a new girlfriend!'
SEVENTY
She pressed the bell, three times in quick succession, then turned the plastic oval handle and pushed. As usual, the Yale was on the latch, and the dirty door, with great bare patches showing in its black paintwork, swung open before her.
`Hello!' she called out as usual as she climbed the narrow stair which led from the street directly into the small flat. Her ascent was made awkward by a huge nylon hold-all which she lugged by her side, grasped in both hands and held up to avoid it snagging on the wooden steps.
She was breathing hard as she reached the top of the flight and turned into what she imagined would be the living room, were the place occupied and not completely empty of furniture. She dropped the bag, which hit the floor with a thud, sending up a small cloud of dust.
`You're three minutes late,' the man said sharply. He was of medium height, and slim-built, with a complexion much browner than hers, and a thin black moustache. It came to her that after all their meetings, she was taking in these details for the first time.
He was poorly dressed, she noticed, in a crumpled suit and a shirt frayed clean through at the collar.
He nodded towards the hold-all. 'What's this?' he asked, with an edge of suspicion in his voice.
A cold chill ran through her. Don't make him suspicious, Adam had said. We don't want him panicking. She twisted her mouth into what she hoped was a rueful grin. 'Nothing. I was supposed to be going off for a break this morning, down to Devon with a few girlfriends. I was almost gone last night when this signal came in. I had a look at it and decided I had to pass it on. I'll have to catch the rest up on the train.'
'What's so urgent about it?'
The grin turned to a frown. 'You know better than to ask me that. I give you the information in a sealed envelope, you leave, I follow. We discuss nothing. That's the drill.'
He held out his hand. 'Okay, okay,' he said, in a guttural accent, 'so keep your hair on.
Give it to me, and let me go, if it's so urgent.'
