She doesn’t bother to reassure me again of her intent to keep her word. She has promised it once, and that, in her view, is enough.
“About two years ago I was approached by someone to be recruited for MI6.”
“What’s that, like MI5?”
“MI5 is domestic. Six is foreign intelligence. Its proper name is SIS. The Secret Intelligence Service.”
Kate nods.
“I did a lot of interviews and exams. The whole process took about three months. The man who approached me was called Michael Hawkes. He knew my father when they were students.”
“Did I ever meet him?” she asks, a question that strikes me as odd.
“No. At least I don’t think so. Why?”
“Go on,” she says.
“He was taking up a seat on the board of directors at a British oil company called Abnex.”
“Never heard of it.”
“No. It’s small.”
Kate sips her tea.
“He told me that Abnex was having a problem with industrial espionage, people trying to extract information from employees of the firm to benefit rival organizations. In particular there were two known CIA agents working out of an American oil company called Andromeda, using marketing consultancy as a cover. Since we share so much intelligence with the Americans, and they know our personnel, MI5 couldn’t use any of their own people. So Michael asked me if I would pose as a target for them, if I would present myself as somebody who would be willing to hand over sensitive documents in exchange for money.”
“Jesus.”
“I know.” I attempt a smile. “Who would have thought it?”
“And you did it?” she asks, deadpan. “You went ahead with this?”
“I was flattered. I was at a loose end. Yes, I went ahead with it.”
She pushes out her lower lip and I feel a need to say, “What young man of twenty-five wouldn’t go ahead with it?”
Kate responds to this with a twitch of her mouth, which suggests that she can think of several who wouldn’t. Steady, able fellows with a puritan streak.
“So that’s how I got the job in the oil business. It was put together by Michael Hawkes.”
“I see,” she says.
“And by David Caccia, the chairman of Abnex, who’s ex-Foreign Office, working alongside another man, someone they both know at MI5.”
Some dying trace of professional responsibility prevents me from mentioning Lithiby by name.
“Amazing,” she says under her breath.
“What is?” I ask.
“I heard that you’d got that job on merit. Because of your languages.”
“Who told you that?”
She hesitates.
“I saw Saul at a party a year ago. That’s what he said.”
Saul never told me anything about seeing Kate at a party.
“That’s what people are supposed to think. That’s what Saul thinks. He doesn’t know about any of this. Neither does Mum. I haven’t been able to tell anybody. That’s why I made you promise not to discuss it with anyone. I know it’s a lot to ask, but…”
She says my name softly, to herself, a whispered consternation.
“I’ve had to maintain complete secrecy. It’s driven me crazy. Can you imagine not being able to tell your friends or your family-”
“Absolutely,” she says, interrupting me. “I can understand that.”
We look at each other briefly, the first vaguely intimate moment to pass between us. Her skin is so close now, the vivid green of her eyes, but the instant passes very quickly. Kate seems to check it. She will not smile at me or show any real warmth, beyond a certain businesslike efficiency.
“But how did they set all this up?” she asks, pushing hair out of her face. “I don’t get it. Michael Hawkes and these other people you work for. How did they set you up with the Americans?”
“They leaked my SIS recruitment report to the CIA, having taken out any reference to Michael Hawkes and doctored the psychological profile to make it look like I’d be more susceptible to treason.”
“How?”
“Gave me low self-esteem, delusions of grandeur, no money. The classic traitor profile. It was all shit.”
“So you’re a spy? You work for MI5?”
There’s no concealed pride in the way she asks this, only worry in her voice, perhaps even contempt.
“At the moment, I’m what they call a support agent, someone who’s not an official employee but who assists the intelligence services in some other capacity. They may grant access to a private bank account for money laundering, or provide safe houses in London, that kind of thing. MI5 have offered me a full-time job if I want it.”
I had expected her to be impressed by this, but nothing registers. She says, “Do they pay you?”
“Yes.”
But she does not ask how much. “And what? These two Americans think that you’re loyal to them and you’re not?”
“Yes. Some of the information I’ve given them is legitimate, but most of it has been doctored. That was the purpose of the initiative.”
“And the CIA pay you as well?”
I nod.
She sucks all this in, biting down on the apple for the first time.
“I can’t believe this stuff goes on. And I can’t believe you’re involved in it, Alec.”
“It’s happening all the time,” I tell her, again feeling some need to justify myself. “Everyone’s doing it. European countries spy on other European countries. The Yanks spy on us, we spy on them. There are SIS officers operating under diplomatic cover in almost every one of our embassies overseas.”
“So it’s a widespread thing?”
The experience of seeing her come to terms with this is bewildering. I had just blandly assumed that everybody knew about it.
“Of course. Let me give you an example. Just the other day, we found out that French intelligence had people listening in on secret negotiations between Siemens, a German technology company, and the South Korean government over a contract to build high-speed trains. Using that information, a French company was in a position to offer the Koreans a better deal and they won the contract.”
“It makes you sick.”
“I know. Those guys even bug business-class seats on Air France flights out of Paris. We’re all supposed to be in this fucking European community to make trading easier between member states, but this is how the real business gets done.”
“But with America?” she says. “They’re our allies. Why did you have to get involved with them? Why didn’t Abnex just prosecute the two people from the CIA?”
“Because it would be politically explosive. And because intelligence people love the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of knowing that they’re getting one over on the other guy. It’s all tit for tat.”
“Childish, if you ask me,” she says, glancing out the window. “What are these Americans called? What are their names?”
“Katharine Lanchester and Fortner Grice. A married couple. He’s much older.”
Kate clearly has a growing interest in this now, a look of privileged access, though as yet no discernible admiration of my role in it.
“And how did you know that they’d come to you? How did you…? I don’t understand how it all works.”
I put out the cigarette. It tasted suddenly sour.
“We were going to set up a meeting with the two of them at Abnex to discuss a possible joint venture with
