‘So what did you tell this man Rem that you did for a living?’
‘I gave him the standard, non-specific Home Office line. And inevitably, for a time, we got stuck into the immigration question. He didn’t push the politics, though. I think we ended the evening talking about wine, which he knew a lot about, and as far as I was concerned it was just one of those pleasant, setting-the-world-to-rights-type evenings that happen on holiday.’
‘And then?’
‘And then, a month after we went back home, Rem emailed me. He was over in London for a couple of days, and he wanted me to meet a friend of his. The idea was that the three of us would go to a wine club in Pall Mall, where the friend was a member, and try out a couple of rare vintages. He mentioned, I recall, Richebourg and Echezeaux, which were quite some distance out of my orbit on a Thames House salary, even as a deputy head of section. Did you say you wanted milk and sugar?’
‘Black’s fine. So how did you feel about him getting back in contact like this?’
‘I remember thinking, in an English kind of way, that it was slightly overstepping the mark. That going out for a drink on holiday was one thing, but pursuing the acquaintanceship afterwards quite another, even though we’d gone through the motions of swapping email addresses. At the same time I have to admit that the thought of drinking truly great Burgundy just once in my life was too good a chance to pass up, so I said I’d go.’
‘In other words, they played you perfectly.’
‘Pretty much,’ says Cradle, handing her one of the mugs. ‘And when I got there, I can tell you, I was glad I went.’
‘So who was the friend?’
‘A Russian, Sergei. A young guy, about thirty, incredibly polished. Brioni suit, flawless English, perfectly accented French to the sommelier, charming as the day is long. And on the table, unbelievably, three glasses and a bottle of DRC.’
‘And what’s that, when it’s at home?’
‘Domaine de la Romanée-Conti. The finest, rarest and without question the most expensive red Burgundy in the world. This was a 1988, with a list price of around twelve K. I practically fainted.’
‘That was your price? The chance to drink some expensive wine?’
‘Don’t be judgemental, Eve, it doesn’t suit you. And no, that wasn’t my price. That was just the handshake. And good though the wine was, and when I say good I mean sublime, I didn’t feel myself compromised in the slightest, and in the normal course of events I would’ve happily thanked Rem and Sergei, shaken hands and never seen either of them again.’
‘So what was abnormal about that evening?’
‘The conversation. Sergei, if that was really his name, had a grasp of global strategy that you rarely encounter outside the better think-tanks and the higher echelons of government. When someone like that dissects and lays out the issues, you listen.’
‘It sounds as if he knew exactly who you were.’
‘After listening to him for a few minutes I had no doubt of that. Or that he and Rem were important players in the intelligence world. The whole thing was very fluent, and I was curious to see what the offer would be.’
‘You knew there’d be an offer?’
‘Of some kind. But they didn’t lead with the money, and . . . well, you can choose to believe this or not, but it wasn’t about that. The money, I mean. It was about the idea.’
‘The idea,’ says Eve flatly. ‘You’re telling me that this was nothing to do with apartments in the south of France, or twenty-something Serbian gym instructors sunning themselves on yachts, or anything like that. You’re saying that this was about conviction.’
‘Like I said, you can choose to believe me or not.’
‘So who’s Tony Kent?’
‘No idea.’
‘He was the fixer behind the scenes. He paid you, basically, though he tried very hard to cover his tracks.’
‘Whatever you say.’
‘Are you sure? Tony Kent. Think.’
‘I’m completely sure. I was told nothing I didn’t need to know. No one was giving out names, I promise you.’
‘And you’re telling me that you believed in this cause of theirs? Seriously?’
‘Eve, listen. Please. You know, and I know, that the world’s going to hell. Europe’s imploding, the United States is led by an imbecile, and the Islamic south is moving north, dressed in a suicide vest. The centre cannot hold. As things stand, we’re fucked.’
‘That’s how it looks to you, is it?’
‘That’s how it is, period. Now you might say that the West’s loss is the East’s gain, and that while we tear ourselves apart they make hay. But long-term, that’s not how it works. Sooner or later, our problems become their problems. The only way that we retain any kind of stability, the only way that we all survive, is if the major powers co-operate. I don’t just mean through trade agreements or political alliances, I mean actively working as one to impose and protect our values.’
‘These values being, specifically?’
He leans forward on his chair. His eyes meet and hold hers. ‘Look, Eve. We’re alone here. No one’s watching, no one’s listening, no one knows or gives a shit what we’re talking about. So I’m asking you to see sense. You can be on the side of the future, or you can lock
