Games Traitors Play

moist.

‘My life made sense, too,’ Dhar said. ‘Can you imagine how hard it was for me when I first discovered that my father was the head of an infidel intelligence agency?’

Dhar managed a laugh in between wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his dishdasha. Marchant smiled, too, as they sat back down on the floor. It was a rare moment in a spy’s life. Marchant had crossed over, immersed himself in a role like a seasoned actor, forgotten that he was playing a part. But no sooner had the spell been cast than it was broken. All the old fears came tumbling down around him again. Why had he found it so easy to celebrate his father’s treachery?

‘After he had been to see me in Kerala, the clouds began to clear,’ Dhar continued. ‘At first, I was confused by the visit, some of the things he said, but when I met Primakov and he told me everything — the nature of the American intelligence our blessed father had once passed to Moscow — it was like being reborn.’

‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ Marchant said, trying to steer the conversation onto safer territory. He had been genuinely angry about what had happened in Madurai, regardless if it had been fabricated by Fielding, and knew he could talk about it with conviction. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could listen to Dhar extolling their father’s treason.

‘I’m sorry too. This man Spiro…’

‘I promised your mother I would look after her. I feel I failed her, and you.’

‘Inshallah, the time will come when such things will not happen again.’

‘The deal was that we would bring her back to Britain, keep her away from the Americans. I gave her my personal undertaking that she would be safe. I can never forgive myself for what happened. I let her down, Salim. She trusted me, against her better judgement. I persuaded — ’

‘Enough.’ Dhar held up a hand, as if he was halting traffic. Had Marchant pushed it too far? Dhar was angry, his equanimity disturbed by talk of his mother. He moved his raised hand to his eye as he turned to look out of the window.

‘Do you trust Primakov?’ Dhar asked, changing the subject.

‘I don’t know him well, but I respect our father’s judgement. You read the letter. “Trust him as if he was a member of our family.”’

‘Grushko, the Russian who came today, has his doubts.’

‘Grushko doesn’t trust anyone. I think he even doubts me.’

Dhar turned to look at him with an intensity that Marchant had never seen in anyone before. In a certain light, his brown Indian irises shone as black as onyx.

‘So do I.’

‘I don’t blame you. It doesn’t look that convincing on paper, does it? MI6 agent bonds with jihadi half-brother.’ Marchant was keen to lighten the mood, but Dhar wasn’t smiling.

‘What I am struggling to understand is why you returned to your old job in London. After all that had happened. The waterboarding in Poland, the way the Americans treated our father. How could you continue to be a part of that?’

‘Because I wanted to meet you again. Remaining in MI6 was the only way. I wanted to come sooner, but the Americans wouldn’t allow it.’

‘The Americans,’ Dhar repeated, smirking. ‘You could have travelled on your own.’

‘I thought I’d be more useful to you if I still had a job with MI6.’

‘Such a Western way of looking at things. The job more important than the person. You’re family. You got my text? Yalla natsaalh ehna akhwaan. Let’s make good for we are brothers. It was sent more than a year ago.’

‘I got it. It was impossible to come sooner without losing my job. I couldn’t have helped you — arranged for the MiGs to fly over Scotland — if I was on the outside, on the run again.’

‘Tell me one thing. Your return to MI6, after Delhi, was before you discovered our father had been working for the Russians.’

Dhar’s probing was beginning to worry Marchant. He was right. He had gone back to his desk in Legoland with his head held high, proud of his father’s innocence rather than celebrating his guilt.

‘There was a time when I believed in Britain, I can’t deny that. Just as there was a time when our father believed in his country too. But the doubts were growing when I returned to MI6. About what I was doing, why I was doing it. I’m sure you’ve sometimes questioned what you do too.’

Dhar didn’t respond.

‘And those doubts became something stronger when Primakov showed up in London with the letter,’ Marchant continued.

‘We are blessed to have had such a brave father.’

Dhar smiled, and Marchant thought he was through the worst of it. But he wasn’t.

‘There is only one problem. Grushko is convinced that Primakov is lying.’

Dhar leaned over to his bed and took a pistol from under the pillow. He brushed the handle with his sleeve, then cocked it with the assurance of someone familiar with firearms. ‘And if Primakov is not telling the truth, then neither are you.’

88

‘How did you know I was involved?’ Myers asked, sitting at the bank of computers. There had been two Russians waiting for him in his bedroom, one tall, the second one shorter with rimless glasses. The tall one had frisked him, while the other did the talking, although he wasn’t one for idle chatter. It took Myers a few minutes to be sure of his identity. It was Vasilli Grushko, London Rezident of the SVR. He had seen his photograph at work, intercepted occasional calls.

‘We have been following your friend Daniel Marchant for some time now,’ Grushko said.

‘Was it him who was taken? In London?’

Myers tried to prevent his left leg from shaking, but it was impossible. Instead, he bounced it up and down as if the movement was voluntary. At least they had stopped pointing the gun at his head. After frisking him, the weapons had been put away, but Myers was still all over the place, too many possible scenarios unfolding in his mind. The computers had already been turned on when he entered the bedroom. Had they hacked into GCHQ using his passwords? If they knew about his role with the MiGs, who had they told? Who else knew? He was just glad that he had gone to the bathroom when he first arrived, otherwise he would be pissing himself now.

‘Your concern is almost touching. He is fine. Unharmed.’

‘What do you want from me?’

‘He came to see you. At the Beehive pub near here. Marchant chose the location well, because it was busy, but we think you were talking about the MiGs. Now that we have discovered you bring your work home’ — Grushko nodded towards the bank of computers — ‘we know for certain that it was you who helped him.’

‘What do you want from me? Please. There was no harm. Nobody died. It was good publicity for Russia, your air force. Bloody lousy for ours. Air defences like a sieve.’

‘It is quite simple. We want you to help him again.’

89

Dhar held the cocked gun to Primakov’s head. The Russian had entered the hangar full of his usual bonhomie, and had not seen him standing behind the door. Dhar closed it and pushed Primakov into the middle of the building, where Marchant was standing beside a wooden chair, holding a rope in his hand. Marchant felt like a guilty executioner. It was as if Dhar had put their own relationship on hold while he sorted out Primakov. He had asked Marchant to help him interrogate the Russian, a process that Marchant assumed he himself would be