‘But why not have a real job if it’s a cover?’
‘I don’t know. Possibly because it might get in the way of what he’s really doing – for whatever organisation or country.’
Liz and Peggy looked at each other. They were both absorbing the implications of what they had discovered. Then Liz said, ‘We’re going to put Mr Hansen under the microscope. We need to have a look at him and what he’s up to when he’s supposed to be working in his bank. And that includes surveillance. Would you give Wally Woods a ring and warn him that we will be putting in a request for a blanket surveillance operation?’ Wally Woods was the chief controller of A4, the surveillance section. ‘Tell him I think it’s extremely important and he’s not to downgrade it just because it’s not from counter-terrorism.’ They both knew that Wally Woods was a great admirer of Liz’s and, if she said it was important, it would get priority.
‘OK. But what about Jasminder?’ enquired Peggy. ‘What do you think she knows about Hansen’s background?’
‘That’s what we’ll have to find out. I can’t believe she’s working with him. Not unless her whole life for the last few years has been some sort of myth. She’s been the face of civil liberties, Miss Freedom of Information. It can’t all have been a blind.’
‘Maybe there’s nothing sinister in it at all. Maybe whatever he’s doing has nothing to do with Jasminder.’
‘Come on, Peggy. You don’t believe that. But we’ll find out. You keep in touch with her, just as a friend – like before – and A4 surveillance will find out what Laurenz is up to. But we’ve got to alert Six. Someone needs to keep an eye on her over there, get alongside her, just in case she is up to something. We need to know if there’s anything odd about her behaviour, what she has access to, whether she’s asking questions that seem outside her normal sphere of work. She’s working very closely with C himself and that must give her enormous scope.’
‘I know you’re right, Liz, but I just can’t believe it. Jasminder is so principled. Why would she be working undercover?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Liz, ‘but I hope we’ll find out soon. Don’t forget what Mischa told me in Tallinn. If this is the pincer operation, we need to know how it’s being worked.’
45
Even in her most radical left-wing phase, Jasminder had felt a strong loyalty to Britain, the country she was now trying to betray. Guilt had become her constant, nagging companion. She could not find any excuse for what she was about to do, except the threat to little Ali if she refused. That was enough, but it did not diminish the guilt. She was constantly asking herself if she shouldn’t tell someone what had happened. She could tell Peggy or she could even tell C himself. Surely they would be discreet and clever enough to solve the problem. Surely they could rescue Ali before Koslov and his friends got to her. But something held her back. She knew how close Koslov’s men must be to the school and to her brothers’ shop. They must be monitoring her family all the time. It would only take one false move on the part of the police and Ali would be dead or injured for life.
A couple of weeks ago she had looked for the photograph of Ali standing proudly beside a sandcastle on the beach where the family had gone for their last summer holiday. It had been in the back pocket of her purse for months, but suddenly it wasn’t there. She’d realised then that someone had been through her purse and taken it. Had it been done just to frighten her, or to help Koslov’s men recognise the little girl? She didn’t know, but its disappearance chilled Jasminder to the bone.
Then there was the painful personal side of things. She had totally misread Laurenz Hansen; the man she had fallen in love with didn’t exist – Laurenz was a different man altogether and he had never loved her. She was just a tool for him to use. It was utterly humiliating, as well as heart-breaking. To add to all that, she couldn’t work out how she was going to do what her new masters wanted. At their most recent meeting Laurenz had said that the list Koslov had shown her was just a pointer to the sort of information they wanted. Her personal top target was to find out what sources MI6 had in Moscow. She had told him that that sort of information was the most closely guarded of any and there was no way she was going to be told about individual sources. He’d said she was not using her imagination; she could certainly find out which of her colleagues ran secret sources in Russia and get alongside them. She could observe who travelled to Russia and when and how often. Then she could set about cultivating someone in the right area.
He’d tried to encourage her. No one, he’d said, was expecting instant results, but she needed to show she was cooperating. Her repeated protests that she had been recruited to liaise with the media and to present the outward face of Six to the world, not as an operational officer, were ignored by Laurenz. She’d told him that she was only briefed on operations when they became public, or when it was necessary for her to know about them for drafting C’s speeches or for other public presentations. As the face of a new, more open MI6, there was no need for her to have the most secret operational information, and if she tried to get it, it would seem odd and arouse suspicion. So how was she going to satisfy the unrealistic expectations of Laurenz and his employers?
She tried nonetheless. She suggested to C that part of the new ‘openness’ campaign should be internal, and not just directed at the media and general public. Employees of the Service should understand what Jasminder was there for, she argued, and proposed a series of briefings to the various departments at Vauxhall Cross. C readily agreed, so she gave a programme of talks, and was gratified that so many people came and seemed to listen – they asked her lots of questions at the end. But she soon realised that though talking about her mission raised her own work’s profile, it didn’t tell her anything about the work of her colleagues.
Then she tried the social side of things. She started eating in the canteen at lunchtime, hoping to meet people, though she felt awkward, even intrusive, joining tables where everyone already seemed to know each other. Lunch was in any case a rushed affair for most people. The public might picture James Bond feasting on lobster and chilled Chablis in a gentlemen’s club in St James’s, but the reality was that people in the Service worked too hard to waste time lunching – many just ate sandwiches at their desks.
A sense of futility threatened to overwhelm her. Though she was trying very hard, Laurenz gave her no points for that. There was no longer even a pretence of affection in the way he talked to her, and she dreaded their meetings since she had nothing to offer him to keep him from repeating his threats.
She felt utterly alone, and wished there were someone she could confide in. Not her brothers, who would not have understood the sort of people she was dealing with and might well rush off to the police demanding protection. Nor Emma, who wouldn’t be able to offer useful advice and might talk to colleagues about the situation. Perhaps after all she should speak to Peggy Kinsolving. Jasminder didn’t know her very well, but she liked her – she seemed level-headed and sympathetic. Unlike Emma, Peggy would understand the dangerous position Jasminder was in. Maybe she would ring her the next day and arrange to meet for a drink.
That evening she saw Laurenz at his flat. When she’d first gone there it had seemed smart in its minimalism, a hip bachelor pad that suited the lifestyle of a high-powered international banker. Now it seemed ghastly in its lack of human touches, soulless and grim.