When I get to their apartment, Fortner opens the door slowly and offers to take my coat. I pass him a bottle of wine, which I bought in Shepherd’s Bush, and extract the manila envelope from my inside pocket. He takes it quickly, a magician’s sleight of hand. Simultaneously he is talking, asking about the weather, hanging up my coat, pointing out a scratch on the door.
“Never noticed that before,” he says, rubbing his thumb against it. “Do you want a drink?”
“Glass of wine?”
“You got it.”
Katharine is in the kitchen, washing up after dinner. She has had her hair done. It makes her look older. The clock on the wall says ten to nine.
“Hi, Alec. How you doin’, sweetie?”
“Fine. Tired.”
“Everybody is,” she says. “I think it’s the change in temperature. Isn’t it cold suddenly?”
She comes over to kiss me, a warm dry lingering on my right cheek. In the next room, Fortner starts up some classical music on the CD player, piping it through to the kitchen with a switch on the stereo. The orchestration is loud, talk-smothering.
“Oh, that’s nice, honey,” Katharine says as Fortner comes into the kitchen.
“Chopin,” he says, with no attempt at an accent. “Let me get you that glass of wine.”
We have a signal, one of only four, that I use to inquire whether it is safe to talk. I simply put a straightened index finger to my lips, look at either one of them, and wait for a nod. Katharine glances at Fortner and does so. It is safe.
“I had a conversation with Harry Cohen at the office last week that I think you should know about.”
“Cohen?” Fortner says. “The one who’s always on your back?”
He knows exactly who he is.
“That’s him.”
“What did he say?” Katharine asks, touching her neck gently with her hand.
“He’s noticed that you’ve stopped calling me at the office. Brought it up out of nowhere.”
“Okay, so we’ll call a little more. I don’t think you should be unduly concerned. Did he say anything else?”
Fortner takes a sip from one of two glasses of wine he has poured near the stove. He hands me the other.
“No, there was nothing else in particular. I just found it odd that he should have brought it up.”
“Listen, Alec,” he says quickly. “Far as I can make out, this guy has been all over your job since you started. He feels threatened by you, just like they all do. Askin’ you questions about a couple of Americans who happen to be working for Andromeda is just his way of bullying you. You gotta ignore it. You’re doin’ a great job and nobody suspects a thing.”
I want to leave it at that, but Katharine comes a step closer to me. She is biting her lip.
“You all right?” she asks. “You look almost feverish.”
I sit on one of the kitchen chairs and light a cigarette. My hand is shaking.
“No. I’m well. I’m just…I get nervous. I worry about being followed, you know?”
“Natural reaction,” says Fortner, still very matter-of-fact. “Be strange if you didn’t.”
They have bought a new picture, a Degas print in a wooden frame. The one of the girl at ballet school, bending down to tie her shoes. Now, just briefly, I let things slip. My intense desire to talk to someone momentarily outweighs the wisdom of doing so with Fortner and Katharine.
“It’s funny,” I tell them, trying hard to sound as solid and as capable as I can. “I’m living with this constant fear that some journalist on The Sunday Times is going to call me up out of the blue and start asking questions. ‘Mr Milius?’ he’ll say. ‘We’re running a story in tomorrow’s edition that names you as an industrial spy working for the Andromeda Corporation. Would you care to make a comment?”
“Alec, for Christ’s sake,” Fortner says, putting his glass on the counter so hard that I fear it might break. I cannot tell if he is angry with me for being afraid or for making a direct reference to JUSTIFY. Even in the security of their apartment it was unwise to mention it. “What are you getting so bothered about all of a sudden? There isn’t some Bob Woodward out there trackin’ every move you make. Not unless you’re being dumb.”
There is a brief silence.
“ Are you being dumb?”
“No.”
“Well, there you go. Now just relax. Where is all this coming from?”
He doesn’t give me time to answer.
“If you’re worried about being tailed, we can have one of our own people follow you. They’ll know in thirty seconds if you’ve got a surveillance problem.”
The nerve of this. They’re already tracking me.
“Great. So now I won’t know if I’m being tailed by the CIA or Scotland Yard or a private security firm hired by Abnex.”
Fortner doesn’t like this now, not at all.
“Now look, Alec. You’d better start being cool about this or you’re gonna slip up. When they caught spies during the Cold War, they were sent to Moscow and made into heroes. If they catch you, you’ll be sent to jail and get your butt fucked. And if you get caught, we get caught. So let’s all just calm down, all right? Let’s not get too excited.”
He sits on the chair nearest mine, and for a moment I think he is going to try to reach out and touch me. But his hands remain folded on the surface of the table.
“Look,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Bottom line. If things get too hot, we have a safe house for you here in London. In fact, we have safe houses, plural. We can get you in the Witness Protection Program back home, whatever you want.”
I almost let out a laugh here, but luckily some latent good sense in me smothers it.
Katharine says, “The important thing is that we are all deniable to one another.” Her voice is a welcome balm. “Now, are we deniable, Alec? What is the nature of our relationship should you get caught?”
“I’m not going to get caught.”
“ If you do,” she says, trying to be patient with me.
“Friendship. We had dinners and drinks. That’s it. No one has ever seen me hand anything to you. Not even in the theater. That’s how you wanted it.”
“Good.”
“And me?” I ask. “Am I deniable to you?”
“Of course,” they say in practiced unison. “Absolutely.”
Now we sit quietly for a moment, no one saying anything, just coming down off the tension. Katharine gets up and pours herself a glass of wine. I light a cigarette, searching around for an ashtray. The Chopin has slowed to an aching lament, single notes collapsing into each other.
“I don’t mean to get tough on you,” Fortner says finally, moving his hand closer to mine on the table.
“Look,” Katharine says, joining in. “We’re here for you. What you’re doing must be messing with your head.”
This is standard procedure. Officers must combine a firmness of intent with enough flattery and conciliation to keep an agent onside.
“Is there anything else you need to talk about?” she adds.
“No,” I reply. “I’d just like to talk business briefly, if that’s all right?”
Fortner jerks his head up.
“Sure,” he says, looking pleased.
“It’s just that I have some interesting news.”
“Go on,” he says, nodding slowly. He needs to shave.
“You know of course that Abnex has been exploring 5F371 in the North Basin?”
“Sure.”
I take a long draw on the cigarette. This is what the Americans have been waiting for.
“The exploration work finished as of last week. My team are expecting a geological report containing
