Faithless (22 page)

             
John looked up. He narrowed his eyes. "Joe Swain? Despite the short hair and moustache and lack of patchouli?"

             
"The very one," said Joe in his familiar Canadian twang.

             
John got up and went and shook Joe's hand. "
Kak djela?"

             
"
Ochen khorosho, moy stariy drug
"

             
"Woah! Less of the Russky comrades." said Rob "I'm surprised the windows didn't crack and the walls crumble. I take it you know each other."

             
"Yeah," said John. "From student days in Moscow." He turned to Joe. " I didn't know you were doing this?"

             
"No, but you are so shit at writing so that's no surprise. I don't think you replied to my letters since 1978"

             
"Moved house. Got married."

             
"Married! Who'd a thunk it? Babies?"

             
"Yep. Two."

             
"With Karen?"

             
"Of course."

             
"Is she still hot?"

             
"Smokin'."

             
"Anyway," said Tim. "He's here for a year and he's apparently based in K4. Do with him what you will."             

Later over a beer with Rob and Joe in one of the snugs in the Lyceum Tavern on the Strand, John said, "So how come you ended up getting into this game?"

             
"What the fuck else do you do with a Russian degree if you don't want to teach? And if you do want to teach there's not a huge line of people wanting to be taught by you. It's not like French or Spanish. Anyway I get a gun."

             
"You get a gun?" said Rob, wide eyed. "Can I see it?"

             
"I haven't got it here."

             
"Have you ever shot it?"

             
"Rob, it isn't a boys own annual," said John.             

             
"Yep, scared off a mountain lion when we lived outside Vancouver when I was at the regional office there. Shot a guy too. I came across an armed bank robbery."

             
"Did you kill him?" said Rob.

             
"Fucks sake Rob," said John.

             
"But did you?"

             
"Sad to say I did. I got taken to court for murder. Their argument was that I kept shooting once he was down. My defence was that my training was to empty the magazine. That's what I did."

             
"That must have been scary," said John.

             
"Yeah but not as scary as Karen when she's in a bad mood as I recall."

             
John laughed. "Cheeky. But you remember her well. She's fierce."

             
"She is," said Rob. "No offence - mother of your babies and all. Damned handsome woman but terrifying." They both looked at him and all three laughed.

             
John got up. "Lovely as this has been, I gotta go."

             
"The emasculation that is marriage," said Rob. "Off you go tame man."

             
"Send her my regards. You guys got to come round to my house. Paid for by the High Commission. I even get an entertainment allowance that I have got to spend. Labat Blue all round."

             
"What's that?" asked John.

             
"Smooth," said Joe.

             
"Canuk beer. Lightweight," said Rob.

             
"Look we'll come over," said John edging out of the snug.

             
"Damn that man is in a hurry," said Joe.

             
"Must have a night of sweaty sex lined up. That's the magnet drawing him back.'" said Rob.

             
John shook his head. "Not so much."

             
"Not so much? Sorry to hear that. I hear they sometimes go off it when they've had their babies," said Joe. "It'll come back. She won't be able to keep her hands of a handsome guy like you."

             
"I hope so," said John. "Anyway, got to run. See you tomorrow guys."

May 1985, London:
John was reading a Box 500 report when his secretary Julie arrived with an armful of files and papers representing that morning's in tray. "Morning John, a bloke phoned for you."

             
Julie was delightful and pretty and 18 and from Canvey Island in Essex. She was not a great typist and she was very poor at taking messages. She belonged to one of the MI5 families whose various cousins, grandchildren and brothers in law staffed Registry and did the odd jobs the Office required. It was felt better to employ family members as it made vetting easier.

             
"A bloke?" he raised an eyebrow.

             
"Yeah, I didn't get the name. " She smiled. "I wrote the number down though." She dumped the files and papers in his in-tray. "It's near the top. Got anything that needs typing?"

             
"I need to send a telex to SIS Vienna, but I haven't written it yet."

             
"Right oh. Just let me know."

             
"I'll bring it down."

Julie had written down the phone number in her chi
ldish looping hand and put an "x" at the end of it, probably from force of habit rather than to indicate she had considered kissing him. He didn't recognise the number but he rang it anyway. After a few rings Philip's voice answered. "Johnnie boy. I'm sick as a dog. Been puking all night. I must have picked up the bug Elizabeth has had all week."

             
"Sorry to hear that. Get well soon."

             
"Thank you and all. But I have a meet with MOUNTAIN LION today."

             
"Open line. Be careful."

             
Philip said, "Of course. What do you take me for? Thing is, I really am too sick to meet him. Thought you might?"

             
"Me? I'm not an agent runner. Sue will have my guts for garters."

             
"Don't tell her. I'll cover for you when I get back."

             
"But I'm not trained."

             
"Training? There was very little training when I joined. My boss said vaguely 'you'll pick it up'. I think you've got what it takes. You're good with people. Just wine and dine him. Make him feel important and arrange the next meet. Same place probably."

             
John was excited to be trusted in this way. Though he felt anxious, he said, "Ok. I'll do it."

             
"Good man. Now, it's at the Covent Garden Opera Terrace restaurant at 1pm. I have a table booked in the name of St. John-Bird."

             
"Ok, I'll let you know how it goes."

             
"Don't do anything dramatic. For God's sake don't pitch him. Just let him ease in smoothly. I'm hoping he has some documents. Doesn't matter what they are - it's the act of handing them over that's important. Further and further in, until he finds it impossible to climb back out."

             
"It that it?"

             
"Nearly. Lastly, but importantly, go and see my secretary."

             
"Yes? Why?"

             
Philip ignored his question. "The lovely Clarissa. MI6 secretaries are a lot classier than MI5 ones. You'll enjoy her."

John made his
way up to K3. He asked for Clarissa. She was a haughty blonde who was dating a Formula 1 Driver. She was what was known as a Sloane Ranger.  She had a cut glass accent and considered herself above John socially. Which she almost certainly was.

"Philip sa
id I should come and see you?"

             
"Really?"  She said it with a tone of such incredulity that John began to doubt it himself.

             
"I'm guessing it's something to do with MOUNTAIN LION?"

             
"Oh. Hang on a tic."  She went through into the secretaries' office and brought back a large brown envelope which had TOP SECRET stamped on it.

             
"Haven't opened it." She said. "Not allowed."

             
"No," he nodded gravely.

             
"Is that it?" she said.             

             
"Guess so."

             
"Bye then."

He turned and left. Going back to K4, he opened the envelope. Inside was a Coutt's & Co Bank chequebook for an account that had been opened in Leonov's name. Also in there was a balance statement that showed £5000 had been deposited. John destroyed the brown envelope with its TOP SECRET stamps and placed the cheque book and statement in a plain white envelope which he stuffed in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He looked at his suit. Not really Saville Row, but he hoped it would do. About an hour before the meet he made his way out of the Office, studiously ignoring Sue's hostile glance. He caught the Tube to Covent Garden. The Russians in London did not have the resources to mount frequent surveillance operations and they certainly couldn't keep an eye on all the MI5 and MI6 officers as they emerged from their offices. Nevertheless he did a short anti-surveillance run round the back streets of Covent Garden, pretending to be browsing in the shops as he walked from the Tube up Neal Street, then down Monmouth Street to Seven Dials, returning to Covent Garden by Long Acre and suddenly nipping down the alley at Langley Court which was a perfect surveillance trap. No one. He felt pleased with himself and bought a Financial Times before heading through the crowds of tourists to the tucked away entrance to the Opera Terrace restaurant.

             
The place was like an oasis above the bustle of the crowds in the piazza below. The restaurant was a conservatory with elegant tables under crisp tablecloths with gleaming cutlery and sparkling glasses. It was nearly empty - a bad sign for the owners, but good for John's purpose.

             
The waiter came up to him, bored and eager for the custom. John said, in his best Jimmy McGee Glaswegian. "You have a table for Mr St. John-Bird?"

             
The waiter knew without looking. "Ah yes. You are he?" The man was French. John felt sorry for him. He was probably highly trained. Probably over qualified for this job. Probably eternally disappointed by the English weather and lack of culinary refinement.

             
"No, I'm his friend."

             
The man nodded. The table was in an alcove. He was impressed at Philip's preparation. Anyone speaking here would not be overheard and because they were above the piazza, they couldn't be overlooked. John went and sat down. He looked at his watch. He was five minutes early. He ordered a mineral water and when it arrived regretted his choice. Jimmy McGee would probably be drinking whisky.

             
Leonov arrived. He was wearing a stylish overcoat and carrying an expensive looking attaché case. He looked nervously around searching for Philip. Philip had met him a further two times since their night at Annabel's. John got up.  At first Leonov looked right through John. Then recognition dawned. He came over and they shook hands. "Mr McGee. You are joining us?"

             
John nodded. "Unfortunately Mr St. John-Bird is ill. But he didn't want to let you down."

             
Leonov looked puzzled. "But he could have rung me. I wouldn't have minded." He gave a forced smile. "Though it is nice to see you of course Mr McGee."

             
For the first time, Leonov gave John a thorough but discreet looking over. He felt a twinge of anxiety.  Someone as obsessed with status and wealth as Leonov would notice that his tailoring was not what it had been when he had hired an expensive suit last time they met. A frown formed on Leonov's brow.

             
"Sit down," said John. "Now what would you like to drink?" He realised he wasn't being the abrasive Jimmy McGee he had played at their last meet. Leonov didn't seem to notice.

             
"Wine?" John realised he was going to have to pay for it all on his credit card and claim it back. As he had no cover credit card he would have to make sure that Leonov did not see it when he paid. It all began to feel a trifle half arsed.