“The reason for meeting Vladimir a second time at all might have seemed vague to you,” he said, looking at Logan and Marcie. “The possibility of turning the deputy head of the KGB presence in New York, while worth pursuing, is as we all know a long-term strategy, however unlikely its outcome. That element of Anna’s assignment is a secondary reason at this stage. The principal focus is this British fragment of intelligence, highly classified, restricted to just us in this room. And that is just for Mikhail.”
“What meeting with Mikhail, Burt?” Marcie said, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.
“That’s something I’ll brief you and Logan on separately,” he replied.
He looked up at Marcie and Logan and received surprised expressions from both of them. Anna turned from her sightless view of the vista outside and looked at Burt.
“This British intelligence originates from a reliable British operation in Russia itself,” Burt continued. “It comes from a source in the Russian defence establishment. The British source has provided convincing information that the Russians have an agent called Icarus in the United States. Icarus is an American who is working in a highly sensitive government defence programme somewhere on our territory.”
Burt paused and sipped from a glass of water.
“It may be that Vladimir knows of Icarus, of course. He may even run him or her. That’s possible. But Icarus may also not be his source. He—or she—may be a source and an operation that’s being run out of their embassy in Washington.” He looked around the table. “As you know, relations between the Russian embassy in D.C. and the KGB in America have always been competitive, to say the least. If their embassy is running Icarus—if Icarus is an embassy source—it’s quite possible Vladimir will have no knowledge of him. But Mikhail will have the access to such information. Of that I’m certain.”
Burt paused again, but this time to allow questions, without actually inviting any. It was Marcie who spoke.
“If Vladimir runs Icarus,” she said, “will he necessarily know who Icarus is?”
“No. Good question. Icarus may be run remotely, at the end of a chain, via another American agent of the Russians. That’s the way they’ve done it in the past. Like us in Russia, when they’re operating on enemy territory they know that some sources, in the main those who are closest to high-grade material, won’t risk having any direct contact with a Russian intelligence officer. Most likely, in fact, as Icarus is believed to be a very important agent to them, he or she will communicate via another American agent who they’ve recruited over here in the past, maybe a long way back in the past. That agent would be someone whose only role is just that—to be a go-between for Icarus. High-profile double agents of the Russians in the United States want whatever security they can get. My belief is that Icarus—if not high profile in terms of actual name recognition—is extremely high profile in his or her field.”
He looked at Anna now.
“So tomorrow’s meeting with Vladimir is strictly personal. A further getting-to-know session. I want you to establish whatever trust can be built between you, based on your past relationship with him. Vladimir is a long game, as I said. It’s Mikhail who is the only recipient of our questions about Icarus. I want you to ask Mikhail directly and only Mikhail. Mikhail is our best chance with Icarus. And in everything.”
Anna wondered who else inside Cougar, or anywhere else, would know of her meeting with Mikhail. Bob Dupont? The thought crossed her mind that Burt was going right out on a limb with her, taking a huge risk. It seemed to her impossible, but Burt was full of surprises. Maybe she, Burt, and Mikhail were the only people in the world who knew Mikhail’s identity. That would be typical of Burt.
Logan fidgeted with a brand-new, highly sharpened pencil from a pile of similar ones in the centre of the table. Lying beside them was another pile of pristine, unused notebooks. Nobody, it seemed, ever made notes in here. They were almost like a discreet decoration that said simply “conference room.”
“Icarus,” Logan said. “What’s the need-to-know situation with Icarus, Burt? Who’s in the select club apart from us?”
“Icarus goes nowhere outside of this room. Icarus is to be as tightly guarded as Mikhail.”
With the meeting apparently over, Anna and Marcie decided to walk outside. Logan and Burt started making toasted sandwiches from the contents of a fully stocked fridge. Burt seemed to have at his constant disposal not just the portfolio of Cougar properties but a kind of parallel world of fully operational lives that he could dip into whenever he felt like it.
Outside, Marcie and Anna walked silently towards some stables, where the noses of four horses were searching out over the half door. Marcie stroked them all in turn, dutifully being fair, while Anna took a fondness for one with a broad white blaze.
“Who looks after all this stuff?” she said. “And why? Who even uses it?”
“Abundance is an explanation for Burt’s life,” Marcie said. “They say when he was a young man, among all the other adventures he enjoyed, he spent six months in an ashram in India.”
Anna burst out laughing. “Burt in an ashram! Presumably he was the Buddha.”
Marcie laughed with her. “I guess. The Buddha Incarnate is not a bad way to describe Burt’s opinion of himself. Now he even looks like him. You’ve seen the way the fat in his face has made his eyes look kind of Eastern?”
They both grinned.
“Anyway, so they say,” Marcie went on, “in this ashram the guru offered him peace, wisdom, or abundance. He chose abundance. But I guess he and the guru didn’t necessarily have the same idea of what it was. Burt thinks abundance is endless replications of material wealth. Wherever he is in the world, there’s always a full fridge, a clean bed, a box of Havanas, and a decent wine cellar.”
They walked on beyond the stable block. As usual during these interludes after a meeting, the unspoken rule was that they never talked about anything that had taken place. But when the silence between them had settled into a comfortable mist, Marcie approached the subject Anna knew was on her mind.
“So. Last night, Anna. Who was being led to the slaughter, you or Logan?”
“Neither of us.” Anna laughed. “It was just a bit of fun. Forgetfulness.”
“As far as you know. Burt wouldn’t have let it happen for no reason.”
“I’m sure you’re right there. Burt will have his reasons.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
“I don’t think about it, no.”
“Are you starting some affair, or what?”
“Oh, Marcie, come on.”
“Well, I can’t help asking.”
“And I can’t help not being concerned.”
“Just be careful. This isn’t some holiday romance. Logan’s not exactly a gentleman, let me tell you.”
“Logan’s nice. But I appreciate it, Marcie, thank you.”
“You’re smart, Anna. But maybe not so smart in this.”
“I’ll bear it in mind.”
She looked at Marcie’s stern face and laughed. “I will,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Enough’s happening to you without getting fucked over by Logan.”
“Okay, okay. And now I’m going to phone Little Finn.”
She squeezed Marcie’s arm and walked slowly back across the garden to the front door.
When she entered the house she heard, above loud reggae music, Burt shouting from the kitchen, “Come and have toasted sandwiches.”
She walked into the kitchen and found Burt and Logan laying out a dozen sandwich fillings on the counter.
“Where are the servants?” she said.
“Right here.” Burt guffawed. “I’m the chef. This is the sous-chef. What would you like?”
“I’m going to call Little Finn first.”
“Go right ahead. Find some quiet room.”
She spoke to Little Finn for a few minutes, which was all he could manage. He sounded completely at ease. Is he like me, or like Finn? she wondered. Nothing much seemed to perturb him.
When she came back, Logan was absent, and she accepted a sandwich from Burt with just melted cheese and tomatoes. She wanted to ask Burt a question that had come to her in the meeting, but it was the unwritten law
