Spy Sinker

'I suppose you're right. I wish it was you explaining it all to the Cabinet Secretary next week. All your charts and mumbo-jumbo… You see Bret, if we don't persuade him to go along with the fundamental idea… Do you have an operational name yet?'

'I thought it was better not to ask the Department for an operational name.'

'No, no, no, of course not. We'll think of one. Something that suggests the weakening of the economy without prejudicing the security of our operation. Any ideas?'

'I thought Operation Haemorrhage? Or Operation Bleeder?'

'Blood; casualties. No. And bleeder is an English expletive. What else?'

'Leaker?'

'Vulgarism with connotations of urinating. But Sinker might do.'

'Sinker then. Yes, of course, Sir Henry.'

'Oh, my God, this fellow is useless. Left-handed and look at the way he's holding the bat.' He turned to Bret. 'You understand what I mean about persuading him to the basic idea?'

Bret understood exactly. If the Cabinet Secretary didn't go for the economic target then they'd start having second thoughts about using Bret. Mrs Samson would be provided with a different case officer.

The D-G said, 'There still remains the problem of the Soviets engaging her for operational service over there. We can't leave that to chance.'

'Agent X has to be created from scratch,' said Bret, having decided that naming Mrs Samson might be creating doubts in the D-G's mind. 'I must deliver to them an agent who is so knowledgeable and experienced in one specific field of activity that they will have to put her in the place we want.'

'You've lost me now,' said the D-G without taking his eyes from the cricket.

'I shall spend this year studying the Russian links with the East German security police, particularly the KGB-Stasi operational command in Berlin. I'll come to you with a complete picture of their strengths and weaknesses.'

'Can you do that?'

'I spent most of last week reading Operational Briefs. Give me a closer look at the command structure over there, and my analysts could build a detailed picture. It will take time but we'll get what we need.'

'Their security is good,' said the D-G.

'We will be trying to discover what they need… the things they don't know. I have good people in my section. They are used to sifting through figures and building a picture of what is going on.'

'For economics, yes. It's possible to do that with statistics of banking, exports, imports and credit and so on because you're dealing with hard facts. But this is far more complex.'

'With respect, Sir Henry, I think you're wrong,' said Bret Rensselaer with a slight rasp to his voice that betrayed his tension.

The D-G forgot the cricket and looked at him. Bret's eyes were wide, his smile fixed, and a wavy lock of his blond hair had fallen out of place. Until this very moment he hadn't realized to what extent Bret Rensselaer had become consumed with his new task.

For the first time the D-G began to feel that this mad scheme might actually work. What a staggering coup it would be if Bret really did it: planting Mrs Samson into the East Berlin command structure where she could use their own secret records on protest groups, dissidents and other anti-communists to guide the Department as they planned the economic destruction of the communist regime. 'Time will tell, Bret.'

'Yes, indeed, sir.'

The D-G nodded to Bret. Was it the prospect of moving from a vitally important, but somewhat wearisome, world of committees into the more dashing excitement of operations that had so animated him? Or had the departure of his wife, now seemingly a permanent separation, provided him with more time? Or had the loss of his spouse to another man made it necessary for Bret to prove himself? Perhaps all of those. And yet the D-G had not allowed for Mrs Fiona Samson and the influence her participation had had upon Bret Rensselaer's strength and determination.

'Give me a free hand, sir.'

'But ten years…'

'Perhaps I shouldn't have given a time frame.' His sinuses hurt: he felt an overwhelming need to blow his nose again and did so.

The D-G watched him with interest. He didn't know Bret had sinus problems. 'Let's see how it goes. What about finance?' He turned back to the cricket. The left-handed batsman had hit a superb catch – up up up it went and curved down like a mortar bomb – but luckily for him there was no fielder able to reach it. One fellow ran in for it but was unable to judge where it would land. The ball hit the ground and there was a concerted groan.

'I'll need money and it must not be routed through Central Funding.'

'There are many ways.'

'I have a company.'

'Do it any way you like, Bret. I know you won't waste it. What are we talking about? Roughly?'

'A million sterling in the first year. Double that in the second and all subsequent years, adjusted for inflation and the exchange rate. No vouchers, no receipts, no accounts.'

'Very well. We'll have to concoct a route for the money.' The D-G shielded his eyes with a folded newspaper. The sun had come round to shine through the window. 'Have I forgotten anything?'

'No, sir.'

'I'll not keep you then. I'm sure you have things to do. Look at this: the captain has put another fast bowler on. And he's rather good. What do you think, Bret?'

'Very good indeed, sir. Very fast. A problem will arise when we send Mrs Samson to work in Berlin. Will they continue to use this Welsh socialist as the contact? If not we'll have to be very careful setting up the new one. Berlin is quite different to London: everyone knows everyone.'

'And everyone hates everyone,' said the D-G. 'You'd better have her float the possibility before them and see what reaction she gets.'

'The Welshman is very supportive,' said Bret. 'He's determined to believe that she's the KGB superspy. She's his protegee. She could make a terrible blunder and he'd still hold on to his trust in her. But when she goes to Berlin they'll be more suspicious. You know how it is when someone's treasure is scrutinized by a rivaclass="underline" the KGB will turn her over.'

The D-G frowned. 'Is this some narrative form of second thinking?' he said tartly.

'No, sir. I am sure the Berlin tour is an essential part of the plan. I'm simply saying that she will be under a lot of stress.'

'Out with it then.' The D-G stood tall and bent his head to see Bret over his glasses.

'We're asking her to give up her husband and children. Her colleagues will despise her…'

'When did she say all this to you?'

'She hasn't said it.'

'She hasn't expressed doubts at all?'

'Not to me. She's a patriot: she has a wonderful sense of purpose.'

The D-G sniffed. 'We've seen patriots change their minds, haven't we, Bret?'

'She won't,' said Bret firmly and certainly.

'Then what is it?'

'The husband. He should be told. He will be able to give her the sort of help and encouragement she'll need. She'd go East knowing that her husband will be keeping her family intact. It would be something for her to hang on to.'

'Oh, don't let's go through that again, Bret.' The D-G turned away.

'You said I'd have a free hand.'

He swung round, and when he spoke there was a hard note in his voice. 'I don't remember saying any such thing, Bret. You asked for a free hand: almost everyone in the Department asks for a free hand at some time or another. It makes me wonder what they think I am paid to do. I will of course give you as much freedom as possible. I'll guard you from the slings and arrows of outrageous officialdom. I'll give you non-voucher funds and I'll listen to any crackpot idea you bring me. But a secret is a secret, Bret. The only chance she has of coming out of this in one piece is to have her husband overwhelmed and horrified when she goes over there. That will be the ace card that saves her. Never mind help and encouragement, I want Bernard Samson to become demented with rage.' He used the newspaper to slam at the buzzing fly and after a couple of swipes the fly fell to the floor. 'Demented with rage!'