streets, that doesn’t mean it’s not an option for Vladimir.”
Anna sensed for the first time that what Burt wanted was interfering with the facts. She was reminded, chillingly, of Adrian. When people got in Adrian’s way, Finn had once said, he ignored them, as if they and what they represented didn’t exist. But there was something else too in Burt’s behaviour that she couldn’t detect, which sent off an alarm in her mind. Burt wasn’t like Adrian. Be wary, an inner voice told her. Be wary of the man who behaves out of character.
In the deeper recesses of her mind, she sensed that Burt was weaving some landscape of deceit, against which the truth, when it came, would be starkly illuminated. There was some purpose behind Burt’s almost nonsensical denial of his cohort’s objections.
But she thrust her instincts away, unable to comprehend them, whether through tiredness, from the intrusive presence of others in the meeting, or simply from the need to think in the present rather than listen to her inner voices. In her logical mind, she analysed and understood the competitiveness that Burt was trying to inspire in his team. But it was an unfamiliar form of competition to her. It was more of a competitive hunger engendered against the rival powers of Cougar within America’s own intelligence community, than against Russia. How many fronts was Burt fighting on?
“And if that happens,” Burt continued, ignoring Dupont’s considered interjection, “if other firms like Cougar get in on this, then they’ll interfere. And that will simply have the effect of putting more distance between us and Mikhail than ever. We don’t want Mikhail developing into some common asset. The more competing interests there are on the ground, the greater the risk of blowing the whole thing. And then, like as not, nobody will win the prize. It is therefore a matter of national security to keep it to ourselves.”
It was Logan who volubly refused to accept Burt’s thesis.
“But that doesn’t mean it won’t happen,” Logan insisted again, his voice betraying exasperation that now bordered on incredulity. “We have to plan for Vladimir informing the Russians that he’s met Anna, even if he doesn’t. It’s madness not to!” He was looking aghast at Burt, as if unable to comprehend that Burt didn’t see, or was ignoring, this simple fact.
There was now visible confusion fluttering around the table at Burt’s wilful disregard of the most likely outcome of Anna’s meeting with Vladimir. And once again she heard the voices inside.
Burt was now looking amiably around the long table. Marcie was staring down at her hands to avoid meeting his eye in this confrontation; Anna flickered her eyes in acknowledgement of nothing. Bob Dupont was silently fidgeting with a pencil. For a moment the scene reminded Anna of a set of courtiers in the presence of an omnipotent but mad king.
Only the dark-eyed Salvador remained still, contained in himself and apparently unaffected by Burt’s disruption of clear thinking. Whoever he was, Anna thought, he was either too far on the inside to be troubled by Burt’s curious and illogical insistence on his point, or he was observing Burt from a different position than the rest of them, a position that derived from knowledge.
As Burt rested his gaze on Logan once again, Anna felt she saw a challenge.
“Logan?”
“Burt,” Logan said, giving no ground.
There was a tense silence as Burt seemed to be gauging Logan’s opposition. But then Burt relaxed again, allowing a broad grin to spread across his face.
“Anna,” he said, and glanced down the table at her as if she were the last resort of sanity in the room. “Why don’t you give your opinion. You are the mind and heart of the operation in so many ways. Will Vladimir go to his chief? Will he really reveal that he’s met you—at this stage? Tell us what you think.”
She thought for a moment, but only in order to appear to be giving Burt some vestige of support through her opposition to him.
“Not out of personal choice—no, he won’t,” she said carefully. “You’re right about that, Burt.” But that was all the meat she could throw Burt in the circumstances. “Vladimir would rather keep it to himself, I’m sure. But don’t forget, he’ll be afraid as well. So I think we can assume he will make a report, formally or not,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because it’s less of a risk for him than concealing it,” she said. “He’ll weigh it up, see the risk attached to concealment, and then go to his boss. That’s my opinion, and it’s based on knowing a little about the way his mind works, as well as what any intelligence officer would do in the circumstances. He’ll be uncertain whether the meeting between us was under surveillance by his own people. So he won’t take the risk.”
Burt’s grin faded, and Anna saw the showman that was Burt by its very absence. She saw the ruthless core of him, the powerful ambition that had propelled him through life in the guise of good humour. Burt, like Adrian, hated to be denied. But Burt was not Adrian.
He continued to look at her, willing her on, his face an open invitation to her to spread enlightenment. She felt she had said enough, that her words were already excessive. But she nevertheless felt driven onwards, unable to listen to the voices that were telling her to stop now, to wait, not to be led by Burt. For one thing was certain. He was leading her—them?—somewhere that was too obscure for her to see clearly.
“I don’t quite understand the premise of this argument of yours anyway, Burt,” she said, buying a little time from her instinct to cease.
“Oh? Why not?” he replied, even though to all of them it was obvious.
“Surely the idea of my meeting Vladimir in the first place was precisely so that he would inform his superiors here. The only way Mikhail will know I’m here is if Vladimir does reveal it. Mikhail will pick it up very quickly. So we actually need Vladimir to inform his superiors. It’s not an option, it’s a necessity.”
There was silence in the room. Anna saw only Salvador move, a small movement, but he looked up at her for the first time, and then he looked at Burt.
Burt’s gaze hadn’t moved away from her.
“Let’s take a break,” he said suddenly and stood up. “All of you. Take a walk, have a coffee, whatever you like. All of you except you, Anna.” He turned to fix her with a neutral stare. “You’ll stay here with me, please.”
There was surprise, but all except Logan got to their feet. Logan was only just pushing back his chair as Marcie, Salvador, and Dupont were leaving the room.
“Logan?” Burt said.
“I’d like to stay,” he said.
“You’ll see Anna later. Don’t worry, I’m not going to strangle her,” Burt said without mirth.
Logan looked back at her as he left, and she saw something in his face she hadn’t seen before; an intensity, passion perhaps. Then he slowly turned and left the room.
She and Burt were left alone in silence.
Burt stayed standing and went to a sideboard, where he extracted a bottle of brandy and two glasses. He poured the liquor into them both without asking her and handed her one, while keeping the other cradled in his pudgy hand. He remained standing at the far end of the room and took a sip from the glass.
“So. Let’s proceed,” he said. “As you have just said with such admirable clarity, if Vladimir informs his chief here, Mikhail will pick it up?” He spoke smoothly. “Is that right?” He looked at her and beamed. “Or did you mean
She saw her mistake, remembered the voices calling her to stop, and she believed she could recover from it while knowing it was too late. Her only defence was in the semantics.
“Of course, I meant Mikhail would pick it up, if Mikhail is here,” she replied.
Burt let her explanation hang in the room, so that it became thin and then dissipated like smoke to reveal the landscape behind it.
“I think you were right in the first place,” he said. “You are careful with words, Anna. So—Mikhail won’t know unless Vladimir reveals the meeting with you to his superiors. Will he.”
It was a statement, not a question. Burt’s tone of voice was closing around her like a trap.
Anna withdrew into her thoughts but found no solace, no way out. She knew now what was coming. Burt’s artful, confusing pretence had done its work. In her effort to correct his apparent misconception about Vladimir’s options, she had overstepped her own watchfulness, the watchfulness that had safeguarded her knowledge of Mikhail.
She found she had nothing to say.
