LONDON ALERT (28 page)

Holt still had to take time off from his main work
to meet potential Owls in high society, often having to frequent private
members’ clubs, such as The Athenaeum. He began to realize just how influential
the service was on being able to join these institutions with just a nod and a
wink, despite their long waiting lists.

Truth be told, he did not feel really at
home in such august establishments, where members tended to only interact with friends
and others equally high up on the food chain. He knew that his socializing was
largely for show.

Celia was allowed to stop work well before
the due date, as obvious signs of pregnancy were not in keeping with the
innocent girl image she so capably projected on her missions accompanying VIPs.

When the big day came, Holt waited nervously outside
the delivery room. The wait seemed endless, but finally his reptilian fears
were allayed by the doctor coming out to congratulate him on his ‘beautiful little
girl’ – something he probably always said to soften the blow when it was not a
boy.

Holt’s life with a new baby was made easier than it would
have otherwise been by the Owl having granted the British government eighteen months
to show they were serious.

W
hen twelve of the
eighteen-
month respite the Owl had granted
were
already gone,
Celia and Holt
had taken
a much-needed summer break
with
one-
year-old Claire
at S
ain
t
-
Jean
-
de
-
Luz
on the Atlantic coast
in
s
outhwest France
. The
ir thoroughly
relaxing two weeks
were over
,
and they
were making the most of their last afternoon on the beach.
The sun was getting low and there was a slight chill in the air.

Supported by her proud
father holding her by the shoulders, Claire giggled with delight as another wave
rippled over her tiny toes. Tired of bending over, Holt lifted her up and took
her over to his wife, who dried her lovingly before putting her down on all
fours on the canvas sheet laid out on the sand beside her.

To Holt, his still-young
wife looked almost as innocent as she did when he first cast eyes on her in
Peter’s office at Farringdon. But had she really been as innocent as she seemed
then? Had she been so innocent on that first night in the Maldives, declaring
the next morning that ‘it was better for having waited’?

The question was by no
means academic, for later that Maldivian morning she went out to get something
from the resort shop, leaving her suitcase half-open, with the MI6 honeymoon
kit clearly visible. Even though he had suspected it had been intentional, he
still felt guilty on examining it and finding one of the reds to be missing.

Ashamed of her virginity,
had she wanted him to believe she had used it? Or was it just to introduce a
touch of mystery to spice things up? Or was she simply trying to pay him, the renowned
practical joker, back in kind?

Whatever the case, she
would have had to have already known what her intentions were when packing her
case back at the flat in London.

Her angelic chic and
elevated status as a special operative fraternising with the high and mighty
made exploring certain avenues off limits. Whenever he questioned her, she
would smile and put a finger to her lips, and this applied to personal matters
as well. ‘
Mum’s the word’
was her pet expression. One
she would also trot out to cut short domestic arguments, itself no bad thing.

With no explanation
proffered, she would disappear for a few days or even a week or more at a time.
Then, on returning, she would put him on his back foot by saying, ‘
Let’s look at you
,’ followed by ‘Mum’s the word’ and a
conspiratorial wink, before they embraced.

Happy but not overjoyed
to be back was how Holt would describe these situations. Pretending to be overjoyed
would of course have been a sure giveaway she was having an affair. While that
was something she could have worked out for herself – it probably featured in
her training. The service was careful regarding such details, since in the
field they could make the difference between life and death. Irate partners can
stir up trouble and bring unwanted attention.

In her absence, there
was always more than adequate financial provision for an
au pair
girl to look after Claire. Some had almost certainly been specially selected to
keep an eye on him, even to test him. He was especially wary of the nubile and
flirty ones most likely briefed by Blackwell on how to entrap him. One, who had
behaved very suggestively right from the moment she arrived, later came out of
the bathroom clutching Claire to her naked bosom, with only skimpy knickers on
below. That one had been very tempting indeed.

Agents like Holt
working independently, like the genius cryptologist seconded to MI6 from GCHQ
in the spy-in-the-bag case (his naked body had been found in a locked holdall
placed in the bath at his London flat), had come to expect regular monitoring.
As already stated, he even wondered whether Celia’s selection as his partner
had really been to ensure he did not go off the rails. They did not want him
ending up like the cryptologist, dead in a room with the heating turned up so
high in summer that his body would putrefy, thereby making the cause of death
impossible to determine.

However careful Holt
was in his dealings with the
au pairs
, Blackwell
could still get to him through Celia. Despite claiming to be too busy to deal
with agents’ personal problems, the psychiatrist-cum-physician had always found
time to debrief Celia mentally, and even on the first occasion physically. Should
she ever let slip that he had once mentioned that Sir Charles could be the Owl,
Blackwell would exploit it to have him committed to a mental asylum as a crazy
loose cannon.

Holt was well aware
that once a psychiatrist decides you pose a threat to others, you can say
goodbye to your life, and trying to disprove it only makes matters worse, since
your rage at the injustice of it all is seen as confirmation of the original
diagnosis and of your mental instability.

A psychiatrist working
in the secret world would be doubly dangerous, as he could have you committed
not only as danger to society but also as a threat to national security, all
the while making your medical file a state secret so no one could ever help
you. To think hate preachers, with their bevy of human rights lawyers, would be
better off.

Holt knew he had so far
been saved firstly by the Owl’s insistence that he – via Sir Charles – be the
intermediary in all dealings with the government; and secondly, by virtue of being
the only person who just might be able to identify the Owl, in that he might
pick up on a turn of phrase or manner of speech, or engender a reaction on
meeting him.

He had met bankers,
hedge fund managers, top civil servants, academics, and even a bishop, all to
no avail, at conferences and the already mentioned private members’ clubs he
had joined. It seemed the only noteworthy personages he was not going to meet
were the royal family and the prime minister. The latter had been ruled out,
because he had never been alone for any length of time when Holt had his
face-to-face session with the Owl.

Holt had not pointed
out that the Owl might not even have been behind the two-way mirror when they
talked.

The sun was getting low
in the sky, and the few families with children remaining on Saint-Jean-de-Luz’s
sweeping beach were packing up their things. It was time they too headed back
to their villa at Cibourne on the other side of the harbour.

When they had first
arrived at their villa, perched on a hill with a view of the Saint-Jean-de-Luz
beach curling round the bay, Holt had been struck by how the high-pitched
screams of the children playing in the waves on the beach wafted upwards and
over to them. Always the secret agent, he had wondered whether, with the latest
equipment, he could have picked out individual snippets.

Exhausted by her
exertions on the sand, tiny Claire had fallen asleep even before they got back
to the villa and was placed comfortably in her bed. Having covered her to
protect her from the evening chill, Celia stayed around to clear up her playthings
and put her clothes away, while Holt readied the drinks and nibbles downstairs.
Having checked her mobile phone, and with the toys dumped in a cardboard box,
she came down to join him on the veranda.

‘To us…and to Claire,’
said Holt and Celia as they clinked glasses.

Hardly exchanging a
word, they felt at one with each other as well as with nature in the cool and
quiet of the early evening. There was only the lightest of breezes. Not wanting
to spoil the mood, Holt used the pretext of going back indoors to replenish the
drinks to check his phones.

Although he had to
check the official Giraffe phone routinely, he doubted there would be anything
important, as he was due back in the office on the Monday. This proved to be
the case.

Checking his other
phone – a cheap device he regularly replaced to make it difficult for GCHQ to
monitor his personal communications – he found to his surprise a message from
the Owl. He had only started using that particular phone a couple of weeks or
so before, but of course all the Owl had to do was to monitor that of his
closest friend to discover the number.

His face darkened and,
on reaching the end of the message, he stood stiffly, as if his feet were glued
to the ground.

‘To think I stupidly never
realized,’ he muttered to himself.

After a couple of
minutes, he gathered his wits, shuffled to the counter to pour the drinks for
which he had ostensibly come and, trying to put on a brave face, went back out
to rejoin Celia on the veranda.

‘Bad news?’ she asked
on noticing his change of demeanour and the way he uncharacteristically plonked
the drinks noisily down on the metal garden table.

‘Mum’s the word,’ he
retorted to gain time, using her pet expression for evading questions.

‘Touché,’ she replied
with a wry smile.

While that had stopped
her pursuing the matter, the evening would be spoilt if he left it at that. He
would switch terrain. But what on earth could he think of to put her in a
better mood?

‘Darling,’ he murmured,
‘let’s make tonight a honeymoon night.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. We
had that in the Maldives…in a kind of way.’

‘I know, but it would
be even more complete now we have Claire. When I say honeymoon, I don’t mean
wild abandon but doing it in the same way – gently, innocently, as if it were
the first time. We could just pretend. You pretended a bit then, didn’t you?’

Celia looked at him
intently as if weighing up her response.

‘We
could
make it
even
more complete.’

‘How could we ever do
that? Crikey, you didn’t bring the MI6 honeymoon kit?’

‘No. I gave it back. Couldn’t
see any possible use for it now we have Claire.’

‘Then how could we make
it more complete?’

There was a pause, with
neither of them saying anything. Celia turned towards Holt.

 ‘Don’t you think it’s
about time?’

‘Time…?’

‘Time to try for
another one. A little Jeremy would be nice this time around. Don’t you think?’

‘That would mean you
giving up your special missions, at least for a while.’

‘Good excuse for a
break. I could do with one, not that a bawling baby and changing nappies
represent much of a break.’

‘Is this a new idea?’
asked Holt.

‘Not really. Seeing all
those couples holidaying on the beach with two or three little ones in tow made
me realize how nice it would be to at least have one more. The parents looked
so contented, though that’s not to say we’re not lucky to be blessed with our Claire.
I know it is a bit soon, but then one does not get pregnant that easily when
one wants to.’

‘I never told you this,
even when you were pregnant with Claire, but the mere thought of a woman giving
birth scares the hell out of me. When I was younger, I used to watch a US TV
drama series called
V
, in
which lizards from outer space able to morph into human-like beings came to
colonize the earth.

‘In one episode, one of
the handsomer young morphs has an affair with a nice young earthling, gets her
pregnant. All seems to be going well and normally, with her going into hospital
to give birth to a lovely baby girl. Then, while a couple of nurses are busying
themselves cleaning the baby up, a third nurse tending the mother shouts out, “
Wait! There’s another one!
”
 

‘After a pause, with
anticipation growing and growing, out from between the girl’s thighs clambers
the most hideous reptile one could imagine. That image always haunts me
whenever anyone talks about a woman going to have a baby – more so when it’s
someone I love. While that TV drama was somewhat over the top, it made me realize
something can always go very wrong.’

‘It can but is unlikely,
with the proper tests. You were happy enough about Claire.’

‘Only when I knew she
wasn’t a lizard – I’m partly joking. Anyway, Claire was a fait accompli. We
didn’t do it on purpose, did we?’

‘No, but…’

‘Okay, I have to admit it
would be nice for Claire to have someone to play with – I missed out on that,
being an only child. In the secret world, we do not associate with many friends
with young children. Okay, I agree. Let’s go for it.’