“It won’t come to that. You’ll be protected,” he says. His voice has slowed to a stall. It is almost as if he is ridiculing me. I stand up from the bed, my back stiff from inactivity. The hotel room feels dark and musty and I walk to the door to flick on an overhead light. Lithiby squints.
“Is that necessary?”
I do not answer, but switch the light off.
“This is the situation, John.” I start to move around the room, pacing the narrow corridor that leads from the door to the bedroom, gesticulating, sweating. “Harry flew to Baku this morning on a three-week working trip. When he comes home he expects me to have discussed things with somebody, to have cleared my name.”
“So you think no one else at Abnex knows what he knows?”
Lithiby has latched on to this as though it were a sign of hope, and I have no intention of deflating that.
“I’m convinced of it. I wasn’t until last night, but I am now. Cohen was very specific about it.”
“And you believed him?”
“What reason would he have to lie?”
Lithiby looks at me and smiles with appropriate disdain.
“What reason would he have to tell the truth?”
“He’s basically a decent guy, John. He snoops around because he’s a company man. He does it out of loyalty to the firm. I trust him to stick to his word. We made an agreement. Now I have three weeks in which to come up with a way of convincing him that I am not an industrial spy, and I need your help in that.”
“And what do you suggest we do?”
Lithiby asks this in a tone that suggests he is prepared to do very little. All solidarity between us appears to have vanished.
“Can you talk to Harry?”
“Out of the question. The only people within Abnex who know the truth about you are David Caccia and Michael Hawkes, and that’s how things are going to stay. We cannot jeopardize the operation because of one man. The North Basin data is being examined by the Americans as we speak. In a matter of days, they will start to act on the information contained within it. To get to that point has always been the purpose of this operation.”
“And it doesn’t bother you that Cohen may go to the press and mess everything up before that happens?”
“Of course it bothers me. Do you know what a scandal it would cause if we were found to be selling fake secrets to the Americans?”
“No more of a scandal than that the Americans were buying them in the first place.”
Lithiby likes that I’ve said this. It’s the argument that legitimizes his operation. He pushes out his lips to smother a grin that steals up on him. Then he crosses his legs and says with absolute conviction, “Cohen isn’t going to go to the press.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I speak to David Caccia regularly. He has never mentioned anything about a security alert at the company. Cohen must have kept his mouth shut. And there’s no way an employee of the firm would go to The Times - girlfriend or no girlfriend-without making certain of his story beforehand. He would need to instigate a thorough internal investigation of your activities before he went to the press. If he was wrong, he would lose his job.”
This reading of Cohen’s behavior makes perfect sense. With the slow absorption of his logic, I experience a first buzz of relief.
“That is not to say he isn’t a fly in the ointment,” Lithiby adds. “But Cohen is easily dealt with.”
“How?”
He pauses for a moment, as if weighing up a raft of options. Then he leans back in his chair and puts his hands behind his head.
“What would you say were his weaknesses?”
There’s relish in the asking. Lithiby has allowed his grin to burn through, not bothering anymore to hide it. This is the part of the job that he most enjoys, slicing imperceptibly through an opponent’s Achilles’ heel.
“Don’t you think it’s gone beyond that? Beyond playing psychological games?”
“That’s what we’re about, Alec. Now what would you say are his weaknesses?”
“He’s competitive. Ambitious.”
“You see those as flaws?”
“If you can exploit his vanity, yes.”
“What else?” He is unsatisfied by this avenue of thought. “What about his fiancee? What’s her name, this journalist?”
“Sarah Holt.”
“How long have they been together?”
I don’t feel like having this conversation, and I am curt, almost rude.
“Long enough to get engaged.”
“Is Cohen faithful to her?”
“John, I don’t know,” I reply, thinking immediately of Anna and Kate. “I assume so. He’s that sort of person.”
“What hotel is he staying at in Baku?”
“If it’s the one we normally use, the Hyatt Regency.”
“Fine,” he says. “We’ll take care of him.” Then his face seems to shut down. His appearance takes on the calm detachment of one who has access to terrible power.
“What do you mean, you’ll take care of him?”
“I mean just that. We will see to it that Harry Cohen no longer poses a threat to the operation.”
“What are you going to do?”
“That will require consultation.”
“With whom?”
I am suddenly fearful for Cohen’s safety, the first time that I have ever experienced any measure of sympathy for him.
“It’s not your problem, Alec. You can relax. Don’t let your imagination run away with you.”
“I’m not.”
“Good,” he says, in a tone close to reprimand. “We’re on your side. Don’t lose sight of that.”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I tell him, summoning a sort of strength.
Lithiby smiles unconvincingly and takes off his glasses, polishing them on a lint cloth that he has produced from the breast pocket of his shirt. Here sits a man who exists outside the usual parameters of right and wrong. I will one day be like him if they decide to keep me on. He replaces the cloth and molds the thin, wire-rimmed glasses back onto his face.
“There are positive elements to be drawn from this,” he says, standing up. He wants to stretch himself out with a little theorizing.
“And what are those?” I ask.
“The Americans know nothing about this. Everything in that respect is going very well and that’s in large part down to your efforts. I’m very pleased, on the whole, with the way things have gone.”
On the whole.
“Good,” I say. “I’m glad.”
We are facing each other now, both on our feet, the conversation coming to its natural end. I have a deep need to be away from this place.
“I should be getting back to work.”
“Of course,” he says, clapping his hands against thin hips. “No point in upsetting the firm.”
I turn toward the door, and, as I do so, Lithiby puts his arm around my waist to guide me out. The physical contact is sickening. A card hooked on the door handle reads: PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB. Just as I am reaching for it, he says, “Haven’t you forgotten something, Alec?”
We are a pace away from being outside, yet it feels as if I will never leave. There must be something that Lithiby knows, something that I have omitted to tell him. But I cannot think what that might be.
“I’m not following you,” I say.
He withdraws his hand from my waist and rests it on the bone of my left wrist. It becomes clear.
