She’d gone home on a high, and for a change Laurenz came over to her place. He brought with him a bottle of champagne with a bright red ribbon tied around its neck. He seemed almost as excited as she was, which was very flattering. ‘I want to hear all about it,’ he said.
‘Read tomorrow’s Guardian, and then you can decide how I did in the Q&A. As for C’s speech, you’ve already read it!’
‘I know, but what about the sessions – were they good?’
‘I wasn’t at any of them. They were discussing high-level intelligence. That’s not my area.’
‘Really? Do you see the papers for them?’
‘I saw the agendas, so I know what areas they were discussing, but not the papers – they’re Top Secret.’
‘Still, what you do see must be fascinating. I’d love to see the agendas.’
She nodded vaguely, feeling uneasy. When Laurenz added, ‘Could I?’ she wished she hadn’t said there was anything at all she was allowed to see – other than C’s speech.
‘Laurenz, I’m really not supposed to show you anything. I’m not even meant to talk about my work.’
He waved his hand dismissively. ‘Bah! Everybody talks about their work with their partners. Do you really think your C doesn’t tell his wife why he’s had a bad day at the office? Or when something’s gone terribly wrong and he’s worried sick?’
Actually, from what she’d seen of C, Jasminder was pretty confident he didn’t. Throughout MI6, there seemed to be very little casual chat about work of the kind you’d find in any other workplace. People at Vauxhall seemed, without making any kind of an issue of it, to operate under a code of ‘need to know’ that everyone understood. It was an ethos that made life simpler, Jasminder had come to realise, because it avoided your having to decide all the time who you could talk to about what. When in doubt, you simply didn’t open your mouth.
Sensing she couldn’t adequately explain this to Laurenz, she said simply, ‘I know what I say to you will never be repeated. But that’s not the point.’
‘Well, what is the point then? What’s the problem?’ His voice was distinctly less gentle. ‘Don’t you trust me?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘It’s not as if I’m asking you to reveal your nation’s secrets, is it? It’s just an agenda for meetings that have already happened. For God’s sake, lots of people must know the agenda now and it’s all over anyway. Don’t you understand – it could assist me a great deal. If I know the “hot spots” for intelligence services, then it will help me know where I have to protect my clients. They won’t know why; no one will.’
‘But I’m not supposed to—’
‘Can’t you help me with this little thing? If you had a memory stick, it won’t take much more than a nanosecond to download the agenda, and maybe some of the papers too. No one would know.’
‘On the contrary. If I did that, I happen to know that a signal would flash across half the screens in the IT security room, saying an unauthorised download was taking place. Memory sticks are forbidden. Even having one in your bag or your pocket can get you suspended.’
‘All right,’ Laurenz said, but he wasn’t through yet. ‘What about a photocopy? The agenda must have been photocopied for the meetings and it can’t be more than a page or two.’
‘That would be just as bad,’ said Jasminder, wishing he would understand.
‘But it wouldn’t trigger an alarm if you brought one home. And I can’t imagine they look through your bag every time you leave. You had C’s speech at home after all.’
She didn’t reply to this and waited a second before she said, ‘Anyway, should we go out to eat tonight? I haven’t got much in the house.’
Laurenz was standing by the window, his back to her. He gave a deep sigh. ‘I think it might be best if I just went home.’
‘Why?’ she asked in surprise.
He turned to face her, a gloomy expression on his face. ‘I can’t live with distrust again. I had that with my wife all the time – where are you going? Where have you been?’
‘But I’m not like that,’ Jasminder protested. It seemed terribly unfair, comparing her reluctance to violate state security with his wife’s jealousy and possessiveness.
‘It amounts to the same thing. No one in the world would know you’d helped me except us. And, believe me, it would help me a lot. My business is always competitive, but lately it’s got even worse.’ Laurenz added dolefully, ‘I hate to admit it but I think I’m falling a bit behind. Last week one of my major clients threatened to leave me. He said he wasn’t sure I was “cutting edge” enough.’
‘That’s terrible. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t want to trouble you with my worries – you have enough on your plate. And,’ he said, then hesitated, ‘I was worried you might think less of me.’
‘But you know I respect you. Everybody has setbacks sometimes; you must never think I don’t understand that.’ She felt it was critical to reassure him; there was something so awful about his apparent distress. She couldn’t bear the thought of his walking out now. ‘Listen, I will get you the agenda. But you must promise me that even if it helps you with your clients, no one will ever know.’
He came over to her with arms extended. ‘No one will know,’ he whispered into her ear, and as he enveloped her in a reassuring hug Jasminder hoped he wouldn’t ask her to do anything like this again.
31
Liz had no difficulty in recognising her tour group at Stansted airport. The fluorescent orange baggage tags bearing a logo and the words ‘Uni Tours’ could clearly be seen even across the crowded concourse. The group looked much as she expected – mainly middle-aged, middle-class, more women than men. She was the youngest by far, except for the leader, Professor Anthony Curtis, who was standing in the centre of the group, holding a clipboard.
‘Ah, Miss Ryder,’ he said when Liz introduced herself under her cover name. ‘Welcome.’ He ticked the list on his clipboard. ‘You’re our last member so we can all check in now.’ He herded the group towards the desk for the Easy Jet flight to Tallinn.
Professor Curtis, who held the Chair of Baltic History and Politics at Cambridge, looked to be not much older than Liz – in his early forties perhaps. He was a short man with cropped blond hair and a small pointed goatee beard. His teeth gleamed white in his tanned face and when he smiled he looked startlingly like the smaller, younger brother of Richard Branson.
He shepherded his flock through check-in, and assisted a couple of elderly Scottish ladies, the Misses Finlaison, to lift their hand baggage onto the X-ray machine. One of them had put her sponge bag in her hand baggage and was unwilling to abandon some of the larger items. It wasn’t until Liz, who was next to her in the queue, promised to go with her to the chemist’s in the departure lounge to replace them that she could be persuaded to move on, by which time a queue of grumbling passengers had built up behind them.
As the only single traveller, Liz found herself sitting next to Curtis on the plane. ‘Thanks for your help with Miss Finlaison,’ he said, with a flash of his gleaming teeth. ‘I thought we were in for trouble there.’
‘Happy to help. They’re both very sweet,’ said Liz.
‘I noticed you only booked to come last week. Was it a sudden impulse?’
‘Well, yes. It was really,’ replied Liz, moving into cover mode. ‘My mother died three weeks ago.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ murmured Curtis.
‘It wasn’t unexpected. In fact it was something of a relief. She’d been ill for over a year. I’ve been looking after her and, when it finally happened, I felt utterly exhausted. The doctor said that after everything was sorted, I should take a holiday. But I don’t like sitting on the beach, so I looked for something more interesting and I came across this tour. It still had a vacancy and I decided to come. I’ve never been to any of the Baltic states before and I thought Tallinn looked lovely. And obviously it has a fascinating history too.’ She paused, waiting to see how this went down with the Professor.