Spy Sinker

'I just want the passport for my son.'

'Okay, Mrs Keller. I'll do everything I can to get it for you.'

'I'm sure you will,' she said.

'One last, and vitally important thing, Mrs Keller. The woman you met in Berlin, Mrs Fiona Samson, is a KGB officer. She is a very smart woman. Don't underestimate her.'

'Are you saying she works for Russian intelligence?'

'Very much so. Mean, I should have said: a mean and dangerous woman. Under no circumstances should you confide anything to her.'

'No, I won't.'

'So it wasn't a complete waste of time, Bret?' The D-G was making one of his rare visits to Bret Rensselaer's magnificent monochrome office, He sat on the black leather chesterfield picking at the buttons and determined not to smoke.

There were times when the D-G's distant joviality reminded Bret of Sassoon's World War One generaclass="underline" ' "He's a cheery old card," grunted Harry to Jack… But he did for them both with his plan of attack.'

'No, sir. Very instructive,' said Bret, who was sitting behind his glass-topped desk wearing a white shirt and spotted bow tie.

'It was a plan to kill Bernard Samson?'

'That is her story.'

'And this other young man was killed instead?'

'Yes, but she doesn't know that. And of course I didn't tell her.'

'Did Samson report being approached by this black girl?'

'No, sir, he did not.' Bret tidied the papers on his desk, although they didn't need tidying.

'And what else did the house in Bosham reveal? Have your chaps reported back to you?'

'I have done nothing about the house in Bosham, and I intend to do nothing.'

After a deliberately audible intake of breath, the Director-General stared at him, thought about it, and finally said, 'Very prudent, Bret.'

'I'm glad you approve, Sir Henry.'

'Where is Samson?'

'Samson is alive and well.'

'You didn't warn him?'

'No sir. I sent him away on a job.'

'Yes, that was wise.' He sniffed. 'So they acted on Mrs Samson's information about the Bosham safe house. They were quick off the mark on that one. Ummm.'

'We come out of it very well, sir.'

'I wish you wouldn't keep saying that, Bret. We're not out of it yet. I don't like the fact that Samson didn't report back that approach. Do you think he believed it was his wife in the back of that car?'

'Yes, probably. But Samson thinks before he acts. All these ex-field people become ultra-cautious: that's why we have to retire them.'

'You'd better make sure Mrs Samson knows about this impersonation.' He sniffed. 'So Bernard Samson didn't report any of it. I don't like that, Bret.'

'No, sir, but there is no reason to think that Samson is in any way disloyal. Or contemplating disloyalty.'

'This Mrs Keller, is she a potential agent for us?'

'No, sir. Out of the question.'

'But we can use her?'

'I don't see how. Not at present anyway.'

'Did you get photos of her?'

'Yes, the Kensington office is good from that point of view. Lots of good clear pictures.'

The D-G tapped his fingers on the leather arm of the chesterfield. 'On the matter of safe houses, Bret. When we agreed that Mrs Samson should reveal the existence of the Bosham safe house, I understood that it was to be kept under surveillance.'

Bret pursed his lips, feeling that he was being admonished for something outside his frame of reference. He said, 'At present my hands are tied… but when it becomes safe to do so, disciplinary action will be taken.'

'I do hope so, Bret. But the scheme is to just wait until the housekeeping people go into the Bosham safe house on a routine check-up and find the body?'

'That's right, sir.'

'Good.' He produced an encouraging smile, albeit humourless. 'And now this KGB fellow Stinnes. Silas is pestering me about him. He says we mustn't let his approach grow cold.'

'I thought that might be what you wanted to talk about, sir,' said Bret, diving down into a document case. From it he brought a red cardboard file which he opened to display a concertina of that grey angular computer printout that the D-G found difficult to read. And then he found four 10 x 8 inch shiny photos of Stinnes. Reaching across he placed them on the glass-topped desk where the D-G could see them, but the D-G didn't crane his neck to look closely.

The photos were arranged side by side with finicky care. It was so typical of Bret Rensselaer, with his boundless faith in charts, graphs, graphics and projections, that he should bring photos of this damned Russian out at this meeting as if that would help them towards a sound decision. 'Has he provided any evidence of good faith?' asked the D-G.

'He told Samson that Moscow have broken the new diplomatic code. That's why we did everything "by hand of messenger".'

The D-G extended a finger and touched one of the photos as though it might have been impregnated with some contagious disease. 'You believe him?'

'You probably spoke with Silas Gaunt,' said Bret, who wanted to know the lie of the land before committing himself to an opinion.

'Silas has got a bee in his bonnet about this one. I was looking for a more sober assessment.'

Bret did not want to say something that would afterwards be quoted against him. Slowly he said, 'If Stinnes and his offer to defect is a Moscow stunt…'

The D-G finished the sentence for him. 'The way we have reacted will make those chaps in Moscow feel very good, eh Bret?'

'I try to disregard any personal feelings of triumph or disaster when making decisions of that sort, Sir Henry.'

'And quite right too.'

'If Stinnes is doing this on Moscow's orders, he'd be more likely to bring us some secret document that we'd be tempted to transmit verbatim, or at least in sequence.'

'So that they could compare it and break our code? Yes, I suppose so. So you think he's genuine?'

'Silas thinks it doesn't matter; Silas thinks we should work on him, and send him back believing what we want them to believe over there.' Bret waited for the reaction and was still ready to jump either way. But he could tell that the D-G was attracted by this idea.

After a moment's pause for thought, the D-G said, 'I don't want you to discuss this with Silas for the time being.'

'Very well, Sir Henry.'

'And in course of time, separate Stinnes from Cruyer and Samson and everyone else. This is for you to do alone, Bret. One to one, you and Stinnes. We have to have one person who understands the whole game and all its minutiae and ramifications. One person is enough, and that person must be you.'

Bret put the photos and the printout back into his case. The D-G made agitated movements that indicated he was about to terminate the meeting. 'Before I go, Bret, one aspect of this…'

'Yes?'

'Would you say that Bernard Samson has ever killed a man?'

Bret was surprised, and for a moment he allowed it to show. 'I imagine he has, sir. In fact… well, I know… Yes, many times.'

'Exactly, Bret. And now we are subjecting nun to a considerable burden of anxiety, aren't we?'

Bret nodded.

'A man like Samson might not have the resilience that you would be able to show in such circumstances. He might take things into his own hands.'

'I suppose he might.' Bret was doubtful.

'I saw Samson the other day. He's taking it badly.'

'Do you want me to give him sick leave, or a vacation?'

'Certainly not: that would be the worst thing you could do for the poor fellow. It would give him time to sit and think. I don't want him to sit and think, Bret.'

'Would you give me some idea of what…?'

'Suppose he came to the conclusion that his wife had betrayed him, and betrayed his country. That she'd abandoned his children and made a fool of him? Might he not then decide to do to her what he's done to so many others?'