“Never to speak to. I recognised her face from old photos, and the China crew in Cheltenham tries to keep tabs on everyone in PLA intelligence from major up, so I knew she was in New York. That’s all!”
“Have you ever been to China?” he asked.
She cocked her head to one side and raised one eyebrow. “Yes. It’s all in my personnel files.”
“Well I haven’t got the luxury of access to that. Did anything, anything at all, happen that might have brought you to the attention of the authorities there?”
“You really got me in here, without the slightest knowledge of my background? Really?” she was genuinely surprised.
“Yes,” he replied, clearly annoyed. “Apparently your masters didn’t think it mattered enough to tell me. You’re an intelligence analyst currently serving as a liaison with the UK Mission. That is all anyone felt I needed to know. So what do you think I need to know?”
“That I started out as a linguist, for one thing,” she said. “I have a Master’s in Mandarin and Russian. I was recruited into a government agency called the Joint Technical Language Service, and seconded to the old Department of Trade and Industry as a researcher and transcriber working on Chinese technology companies.”
“And as anyone with access to the Internet can instantly find out, JTLS is administered by GCHQ,” Wilkinson said.
She nodded.
“I did immersive language courses in Mandarin, and other stuff, in Shanghai. Basically, improving my language skills, picking up a lot of the slang and jargon, and getting a better handle on how the Chinese economy really works. I came away with a few diplomas – in fact, a few more modules, and I’d have a Chinese MBA. I lived there for six months. All the paperwork was handled by the DTI. I did some similar training in Saint Petersburg to sharpen up my Russian too.”
“And therefore the Chinese and Russian authorities probably checked you out as a matter of routine,” said Wilkinson.
“Well, maybe they looked harder at me in Shanghai. I saved a kid from being run over, and got my face in the local papers, so we had to assume my affiliation was well and truly ‘outed’.”
He mimed an exaggerated face-palm. “No, I can see why nobody would have felt I’d need to know about that.” His voice dripped with sarcasm and irritation.
She gave him a look that said, ‘Well, duh!’ “Think about it. I’m being put forward for a post where it’s a given that I’m a British intelligence officer. How relevant is it that the PLA might already know I’m a British intelligence officer?”
He still looked extremely annoyed. “Very relevant, when it’s the PLA representative who asked for you by name. Okay, it’s plausible, even likely, that Li knew of you because of that, just like you could probably reel off the names of half the other spooks working at the UN. Spying on each other is a bit of a cottage industry. But we’re no closer to knowing why Li was interested in you. It can’t rest here, Peri, I have to talk to your bosses about this whole affair.”
“Fine, I can see why you have to do that.”
He looked at his watch again. “There should be a car outside, waiting patiently with a police escort to get you to JFK. Go. And remember, go light on the in-flight drinkies, study on the files I just gave you, or the cost a first-class seat will come out of your wages.”
“Wow! First class? I’m a lucky girl!”
“UN dollars at work,” said Wilkinson, with a slight note of bitterness. “The rest of us still have to fly economy. Anyway, the idea is that you won’t have anybody overlooking at your laptop screen, so make the best use of the privacy and the photographic memory. We’ll talk soon.”
Chapter 17
As soon as the plane was on the ground, smartphones all around Peri started beeping with incoming messages. It took a minute or two for her to realise that one of them was her own. A couple of messages from Wilkinson: he told her to pick up emails as soon as possible, because ‘Lisa had been busy’; also, he had set up a couple of meetings, right here in the airport. She puffed in irritation. It was early evening local time, her body clock was four hours adrift, and she was not sure if she was coming or going. She felt tired, and a little light headed, and in no mood to be talking to anyone. But, she supposed, it had to be done. She thumbed a terse ‘OK’ message back to Wilkinson.
The flight had been smooth, and, she had to admit, very comfortable. The first-class seat was infinitely adjustable, the food had been better than expected, and the cabin crew extremely attentive, friendly, and sympathetic when she refused the ‘in-flight drinkies’ due to the need to work. There were screens around the seating which provided enough privacy for her to study the material on her secure laptop. Some of the material had proved to be real eye-openers: so that’s what had happened to the Titanic!
One of the cabin crew stopped by her seat. “We’ll get you off the flight first, Miss Carlton. Border Force officers are waiting to escort you through to where you need to be. And – since you were so busy working all flight – we thought you might appreciate the glass of wine you didn’t get a chance to drink with your meal. Please, take this, on us.”
“Oh, really, you don’t have to…”
“Nonsense, please, take something away for later.”
A bottle-shaped plastic-wrapped ‘something’ changed hands, and Peri followed her to the aircraft’s door.
“Thank you all, very much indeed,” said Peri, stepping out of the door. “Oh, hello, were you waiting for me?”
This was addressed to a pair of men in dark blue. One of them smiled pleasantly, greeted her, and they led her down a flight of stairs, onto the tarmac, and into a waiting car. “Goodness, I could easily get used to this VIP treatment,” Peri said.
She was whisked around the airport, underneath buildings, past row upon row of parked aircraft, and was deposited at the door of the VIP lounge. “Really?” she asked. “I’m a VIP?”
“It seems you are, Miss Carlton,” replied one of the Border Force officers. “At least for tonight.” He grinned. “Seriously, we were asked to get you some privacy for a couple of meetings, speed you through the airport, then get you on your way to Wales. This was the most convenient way we could do it. So just follow me, and I’ll get you to your first interview. We have a couple of Chinese gentlemen waiting for you.”
“I need to pull my emails first. I assume there’s Internet access here?”
“Let’s get the staff here to get you going,” he said, beckoning someone over. Armed with the Wi-Fi details, Peri fired up the laptop and kicked off the high-grade VPN-over-VPN secure protocol so she could pull her emails from the UN. Li had indeed sent some interesting files.
Peri’s first meeting was with the late Major Chen’s brother, a consular officer at the Embassy of the People’s Republic of China. She stepped into a wood-panelled conference room, where her two ‘Chinese gentlemen’ rose to their feet. She gave a small bow, and greeted them.
“Wanshang hao,” she said, and continued in Mandarin. “My name is Peri Carlton. Mr Chen Xiaoming?”
The younger of the men nodded, shook hands, and responded, “I am Chen Xiaoming. May I introduce Mr Yang, from our legal staff, who has kindly agreed to join me today.”
Peri shook hands with Mr Yang, who then withdrew to stand beside the door facing Chen. He was solidly built, and his suit was a cheap off-the-peg one. Yang’s no lawyer, Peri thought. A spook, if ever I saw one.
“May I express my condolences for the sad loss of your brother, Mr Chen,” said Peri. “I hope you will honour me with a few minutes of your time to talk about the Major. His colleague in New York, Ms Li Lixia, suggested you might do me that courtesy?”