full-scale investigation of whatever elements in the Spanish government may or may not be up to.’
‘Not yet, anyway,’ Kitson says, an interjection which would suggest that discussions are ongoing in London over the possibility of ramping up the size of his operation. That can only be good for my career.
‘Now, it may come as a shock to you to learn that, as a result of their work at G8 summits, EU delegations and so forth, SIS keep files on all senior government personnel with an impact on British affairs.’ Macduff lets this sink in, and seems confused when I do not appear more surprised. ‘I’ve developed what I think is a good idea of how we might gain access to some of the information flowing into and out of the Interior Ministry.’
‘You mean blackmail? You mean you have biographical leverage with de Francisco?’
‘Not as such.’
There’s a short pause while both men look at one another. I can feel myself being dragged into something amoral.
‘How are you feeling, Alec?’ Kitson asks. ‘What do you think you’re capable of?’
The question wrong-foots me. Why would Kitson ask something like that in front of a colleague? He must know that I’m still not properly recovered from the kidnapping.
‘What do you mean?’
I look at Macduff. He looks at me. Kitson lights a Lucky Strike.
‘Here’s the situation. There are any number of ways we can find out information about an individual or group of individuals from an intelligence perspective. I don’t need to list them for you. However, mounting an operation of any scale against a government minister is fraught with difficulty. As of this moment, not even our own station here in Madrid is aware of my team’s presence on Spanish soil. In order to get comprehensive technical coverage of de Francisco we would have to alert the embassy in order to get the right kit smuggled out to us in a diplomatic bag.’
‘And you don’t want to do that?’
‘I don’t want to do that.’
It’s obvious where this is going. They want to get me on the inside. But how? ‘So what are the alternatives?’ I ask.
Kitson takes a long drag on the cigarette. ‘Well, if we had Francisco’s phone numbers we could call Cheltenham and get them on a hot list, but that would alert GCHQ…’
‘… which you don’t want to do…’
‘Which we don’t want to do. Yet. So that’s where you come in. That’s why I need to know how you’re feeling.’
‘I feel fine, Richard.’
Macduff looks at the floor.
‘Really?’
‘ Fine.’
This is not strictly true – how could it be, after what happened? – but I give my reply an ironic emphasis which effectively shuts down the discussion.
‘O? then. The thing is, you speak Spanish. You know Madrid. And you’ve done this sort of work before.’
‘You mean JUSTIFY?’
‘I do mean JUSTIFY, yes.’
And there’s the rub. Kitson has been very smart. He knows that after what happened with Katharine and Fortner I felt ashamed and ruined, as if nothing would ever wipe out the stain of treachery that led to Kate and Will’s deaths. He knows that all I have ever wanted was a second chance, to do it right, to prove to myself and to others that I was capable of success in the secret world. However, just in case I get cold feet, just in case he has read me wrong, he is going to pitch me in front of a colleague. That way it will be difficult to refuse. Kitson knows I won’t want to look like a coward in front of Macduff. He grinds out the half-smoked cigarette.
‘To get to the point, we wondered how you’d feel about becoming a raven.’ Macduff explains the term unnecessarily, perhaps because he has mistaken the look of surprise on my face for ignorance. ‘That is, somebody who sets out to seduce a target for the purposes of obtaining sensitive information.’
‘You want me to sleep with Javier de Francisco?’
This makes both of them laugh. ‘Not quite.’ Kitson scratches an arm and presses out of his seat. ‘Anthony is going to conduct some research of his own over the next ten days into the possible structure of the dirty war. We’ve already traced what looks like a link between secret Interior Ministry accounts and Luis Buscon. But meanwhile we’d like you to forge a relationship with one of de Francisco’s personal assistants in an effort to discover how far up the food chain this operation against ETA really goes.’ He is standing by the window now, looking directly at me. ‘That will happen in tandem with our ongoing surveillance of Buscon, which we cannot ignore. Now if it’s decided that the conspiracy has infected the upper levels of the Aznar government, then that obviously has an impact on our alliance with Spain. Any information you gather will go back to London and will be acted upon. But without your help we don’t have the resources to attack this thing.’
It appears that I have no choice. A shallow part of me just wants to find out what the PA looks like.
‘There’s just one problem,’ I tell him.
‘What’s that?’
‘You guys share a lot of intelligence with the CIA. I don’t want them knowing where I am. If I come up with useful intel, I don’t want my name on any reports that might find their way to Langley.’
Macduff looks momentarily confused but Kitson sees where I’m coming from.
Alec, as you can imagine, bringing up your name with the Cousins isn’t something we are in the habit of doing. JUSTIFY is an episode in the relationship between our two great nations that both of us, I am sure, would rather forget.’ A little grin here, almost a wink. ‘The CIA’s contempt for you is certainly equal to, if not in excess of, your contempt for them. Neither Anthony nor myself nor anybody on my team has any intention of involving the Agency in what’s going on out here.’
It’s strange to hear Kitson speak so plainly of my reputation within the CIA.
‘So this is why you wanted me to stop seeing Sofia? Because of this girl?’
‘Part of the reason,’ he admits. ‘It would only complicate things if you continued to see her behind Julian’s back.’
The familiar use of Julian’s Christian name makes me edgy, as if Kitson and Church have become friends. In my darker moments I still fear the revelation of a conspiracy between them. Nevertheless I remain light and co- operative.
‘Well, I don’t know whether to be flattered that you think I’d be capable of pulling off something like this, or offended that you see me as an amateur gigolo.’ There’s an awkward pause while both of them work out whether or not they’re supposed to laugh. Kitson does so; Macduff hedges his bets and produces a weak grin. ‘If she’s de Francisco’s PA, how do you know she’s not involved in the dirty war herself?’
‘We don’t. They’ve certainly known each other long enough. And if she is, that’s something that you’ll need to find out.’
I meet Kitson’s eye. He’s willing me to do this.
‘Well, it’s probably something I could look at.’
I haven’t begun to think through the consequences. Sex for information. Seduction for revenge. I can make jokes about gigolos in front of them, but the truth is that this is grim and seedy.
‘Good,’ Kitson says. ‘Now for the bad news.’ From an envelope beside the bed he produces a series of photographs of the girl. My reservations intensify. ‘As you can see, we’re not talking about Penelope Cruz.’
The woman in the photographs is very tall and thin, with a long nose, limp, straight hair and a pointed chin. Not ugly, exactly, but certainly not someone who would ordinarily draw my eye on Gran Via. What am I letting myself in for? Is it too late to turn back? I should just abandon this whole thing and go back to my life with Endiom. The girl is past what most Spaniards would regard as marriageable age and dresses in a manner that can only be described as conservative. On gut instinct, however, I know that I’ll be able to win her over. She looks unhappy. She looks insecure.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Carmen Arroyo.’
‘And how much do you know about her?’
‘We know a lot.’
