Spy Sinker

Bret gave a fixed smile. It was typical of the old man that he should take a country at random and then start nit-picking. 'At this stage it would be better not to get bogged down in detail,' he replied. There are many ways for East German citizens to get permission to travel, and the numbers have been going up each year. The West German government press for a little more freedom every time they fork out donations to that lousy regime over there. And remember we are after the middle classes – respectable family men and college-educated working wives – not blue denim, long-haired hippy Wall-jumpers. And this is exactly why we need Mrs X over there looking at the secret police files and telling us where the effective opposition is; who to see, where to go and how to apply the pressure.'

'Tell me again. She's to…?'

'She must get access to the KGB files on opposition groups – who they are and how they operate – Church groups, democrats, liberals, fascists, even communist reformers. That's the best way that we can evaluate who we should team up with and prepare them for real opposition. And we need to know how the Russian army would react to widespread political dissent.'

'You are the right man for Mrs X,' said Sir Henry. He remembered the PM saying that every Russian is at heart a chess-player, and every American at heart a public-relations man. Well, Bret Rensselaer's zeal did nothing to disprove that one. The sheer audacity of the scheme plus Bret's enthusiasm was enough to persuade him that it was worth a try.

Bret nodded to acknowledge the compliment. He knew there were other things that had influenced the old man's decision. Bret was American. And if Sir Henry was persuaded by Bret's projections for the East German economy then Bret must be the prime choice to run the agent too. He had a roomful of experts in statistics, banking, economics, and even an expert in 'group and permutation theory' he'd raided from the cryptanalysts. Bret's economic analysis department was a success story. It would make perfect deep cover for a case officer. And since a woman was involved there was another advantage: now that he was separated from his wife, Bret could be seen in the company of a 'brilliant and beautiful woman' without anyone thinking they were discussing their work.

'I take it that Mrs X has managed without a case officer for a long time,' said Bret.

'Yes, because Silas Gaunt was involved. You know what Gaunt is like. He squeezed a promise from me that nothing would be on paper and that he would be the only contact.'

'Literally the only contact?' said Bret, without dreaming for a moment that the answer would be in the affirmative.

'Literally.'

'Good God! So why…?'

'Bring someone else in now? Well, I'll tell you. Gaunt only comes up to town once a month and I'm not sure that even that isn't too much for him.'

And of course Silas Gaunt was a dedicated exponent of the sort of public school amateurism that the D-G apparently had rejected. 'Has something happened?'

Bret's reaction confirmed the D-G's belief that this was the right man for the job: Bret had instinct. 'Yes, Bret. Something has happened. Some wretched Russian wants to defect.'

'And?'

The D-G sipped some whisky before saying, 'And he's made the approach to Mrs X. He took her aside at one of those unacknowledged meetings those Foreign Office fellows like to arrange with our Russian friends. I have never known anything good to come from them yet.'

'A KGB man wants to defect.' Bret laughed.

'Yes, it is a good joke,' said the D-G bitterly. 'I wish I were in a position to join in the merriment.'

'I'm sorry, sir,' said Brett. 'Was this a high-grade Russian?'

'Pretty good,' said the D-G guardedly. 'His name is Blum: described as third secretary: working in the service attaché's office: almost certainly KGB. The contact was made in watertight circumstances,' he added.

'She'll have to tell them,' said Bret without hesitation. 'Watertight or not, she'll have to turn him in.'

'Ummm.' Bret Rensselaer was completely cold-blooded, thought the D-G. It wasn't an attractive characteristic, but for this job it was just the ticket.

'Unless you want to throw away all those years of good work.'

'You haven't heard all the circumstances, Bret.'

'I don't have to hear all the circumstances,' said Bret. 'If you don't turn in that Russkie, you will erode the confidence of your agent.'

'This particular Mrs X…'

'Never mind the psychologist's report,' said Bret. 'She'll know that you measured the risk, that you put her in the scales, with this Russian defector in the other pan.'

'I don't see it that way.'

'Never mind how you see it. In fact never mind the way it really is. We are sitting here talking about an agent whom you call "unique". Right?'

'Whose position and opportunity may be unique.'

'May be unique. Okay. Well I'm telling you that if you compromise her, in even the slightest degree, in order to play footsie with a Russian agent, Mrs X will never deliver one hundred per cent.'

'It might go the other way. Perhaps she'll feel distressed that we sacrificed this Blum fellow,' said the D-G gently. 'Already she's expressed her concern. Remember it's a woman.'

I'm remembering that. She must contact them right away and reveal Slum's approach to her. If you show any hesitation in telling her that, she'll deeply resent your inaction for ever after. A woman may express her concern but she doesn't want to be neglected in favour of a rival. In hindsight it will infuriate her. Yes, I'm remembering it's a woman, Sir Henry.'

'This fellow Blum might be bringing us something very good,' said the D-G.

'Never mind if he's bringing an inside line to the Politburo. You'll have to choose one or the other: not both.' The two men looked at each other. Bret said, 'I take it that Mrs X is separated from her husband?'

The D-G didn't answer the question. He sat back and sniffed. After a moment's thought he said, 'You're probably right, Bret.'

'On this one, I am, sir. Never mind that I don't know Mrs X; I know that much about women.'

'Oh, but you do.'

'Do?'

'You do know Mrs X. You know her very well.'

The two men looked at each other, both knowing that the old man would only divulge the name if Bret Rensselaer agreed to take on the job of running her. 'If you think I'm the right person for the job,' said Bret, yielding to the inevitable. They'd both known he'd have to say yes right from the very beginning. This wasn't the sort of job you advertised on the notice-board.

'Capital!' said the D-G in the firm bass tone that was the nearest he ever got to expressing his enthusiasm. He looked at his watch. 'My goodness, it's been such a splendid evening that the time has flown.'

Bret was still waiting to hear the name but he responded to his cue. He got to his feet and said, 'Yes, I must be going.'

'I believe your driver is in the kitchen, Bret.'

'Eating? That's very civil of you, Sir Henry.'

'There's nowhere round here for a chap to get a meal.' Sir Henry pulled the silk cord and a bell jangled somewhere in a distant part of the house. 'We're in the wilds here. Even the village shop has closed down. I don't know how on earth we'll manage in future,' he said, without any sign that the problem was causing him great stress.

'It's a magnificent old house.'

'You must come in summer,' said Sir Henry. 'The garden is splendid.'

'I would like that,' Bret responded.

'Come in August. We have an open day for the local church.'

'That sounds most enjoyable.' His enthusiasm dampened as he realized that the D-G was inviting him to be marshalled around the garden with a crowd of gawking tourists.

'Do you fish?' said the D-G, shepherding him towards the door.

'I never seem to have enough time,' said Bret. He heard his driver at the door. In a moment the servants would be in earshot and it would be too late. 'Who is it, sir? Who is Mrs X?'