“Sir Thomas, sorry to bother you I have a Mrs. Elizabeth Field from the Home Office on the line.”
“Put her through please,” he replied without hesitation.
Greeting her politely and choosing not to reveal that he knew her real name as he knew the call would be recorded her end and was almost certainly being monitored by SVR, he arranged to meet her for a coffee at Connaught around the corner from his office at three just before heading off to Nice.
As he put the phone down he reflected, “That was quick!”
In the back of his mind, Thomas had suspected that the charade of this morning’s meeting was actually about two things.
For the PM, it was getting his covert support for him as the election approached. That was positive because it showed him that the British government would at worst take a neutral position with respect to the Adwalland deal. Something he would “pass” up the line to Moscow at a suitable moment.
For the SIS, he initially assumed it was to report back to the Americans under the terms of their shared intelligence platform, but it wasn’t until Rebecca brought up his discreet Russian passport granted by the Mayor all those years ago to test his reaction did he realize what they really concerned about: that he was an enemy agent of the Special Services of Russia.
He pondered on that thought for a moment. He had considered the passport of limited importance. A mere piece of theatre created by the Mayor all those years ago to justify his expectation of his continued loyalty and ensure that he knew his place within the political fabric he had created within Russia.
Most of the time the bloody thing sat in the safe at Holland Park except of course whenever he traveled into Russia and the former Republics of the Soviet Union.
To the SIS, he summarized it appeared it was much more important, something he had gauged by the approach of her questions.
The appearance of Rebecca in the sitting room at Downing Street had been a pleasant surprise.
The years had treated her well as far Thomas was concerned, she was now even more elegant and beautiful than when he last saw her all those years ago in Moscow, of course only then he didn’t know she was in fact, a young officer of the SIS. As he remembered about that moment he smiled, it pleased him his photographic memory never failed him.
His wandering mind’s attention moved back to his inbox. Seeing an email from Angus in reference to her, he opened it. Reading it, he noted that she had never married, had a private life, which couldn’t be at best described as a threat to national security as none of her recent lovers actually knew what she did. He also noted with a chuckle that she was considered the expert in the service on the Oligarchs.
“That explains a lot!” he thought out loud before continuing with his reading.
A rotation in Iraq as a support member in the ‘Green Zone,’ keeping an eye on the contractors then a placement in Nairobi monitoring the area in the early 2006 showed him that she was highly thought of in the service.
His mind returned to the fact she had never married and then to a collection of newspapers reports that were attached as files.
It appeared that one of her lovers, the man she planned to marry, was a member of the Red Cross and had been tragically killed in Somalia when his Land Rover had driven over a landmine.
The death of her fiancée he guessed had to be linked to her career, an assumption he reached by its lack of reference of him in Angus’s notes.
“Nice to see some secrets are still kept!” he concluded.
Experience told him that Rebecca had to enjoy the power of knowledge. In her work it was a function that was an essential prerequisite, for him he considered it a weakness.
It was then he decided that he would use to his advantage as he tested her this afternoon over afternoon tea. Bored, he skimmed the rest of the notes that were pretty standard on her background in terms of family and friends.
Truth be known he was actually quite disappointed that Angus could get that much information within an hour from former colleagues on a dedicated officer who had served faithfully her country in spite of the lack of background on the death of the one person that she appeared to be close to.
Closing the file down he reflected about the stepped up interested in him again by the SIS. The simple fact was though he wasn’t a fully paid up agent of the SVR he was certainly and had been whether he liked it or not an asset of the Mayor and as such, was his instrument just as Achilles was of King Agamemnon in the Trojan War.
He didn’t believe, like the beautiful Rebecca, in the concept of blind loyalty to one’s country rather like Dostoevsky.
“The line between good and evil is drawn, not between nations or parties, but through every human heart.”
To him the said heart was those he was sworn to protect, gave him their loyalty, and those of his blood no matter the cost, with Nara and Victoria at its epicenter.
The deal he had brokered in East Africa had originally been driven by the huge profits. The fact it had to include the interests of Russia was merely a by-product that he had no escape from.
He stroked his chin. “So let see where the game takes us Rebecca?” he mused in a final reflection as he leaned back in his chair.
At ten to three on leaving his townhouse office, Thomas with his ever-present guards led by Mikhail walked around the corner to Mount Street, up and into the famous Connaught Five-Star Hotel. On entering, Espelette, the General Manager warmly greeted him by informing him that his guest Mrs. Field was waiting for him by the window. Signaling Mikhail and his men to stay in the lobby of the hotel, he walked towards the beautiful woman.
“Thank you for seeing me on short notice, Sir Thomas,” she said offering her hand as he sat down in front of her continuing with her cover.
Taking a moment to look at her as he had done earlier in Downing Street, this time Thomas replied as he took her hand firmly. “Rebecca, you don’t need to call me Sir Thomas,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, thereby acknowledging and proving her initial conclusion that he had recognized her in an instant although Thomas didn’t know that.
“Gosh!” Rebecca exclaimed, playing along. “How on earth can you remember that it was almost twenty years ago!” she said, regaining her composure.
“One always remembers the ones that got away!” Thomas answered with a chuckle releasing her hand.
“Well I can see your charm hasn’t mellowed over the years, Thomas,” she fenced back at him dropping the ‘Sir’ in front of his name. “In any case, thank you for not embarrassing me this morning,” she answered sincerely.
Acknowledging her thanks with a simple nod to put her at ease as the waiter turned up, Thomas offered a glass of champagne. She politely declined before they both settled on a cup of tea each.
Knowing he had to leave so he could make his slot time at Farnborough in the late afternoon, Thomas immediately got down to business with her.
Rebecca, as he was offering her the champagne, was sizing up her person of interest and wondering what was his angle. She didn’t need to wait very long.
“So SIS is concerned that I am an asset of Foreign Power?” he said matter of factually.
“The sledgehammer approach, Thomas?” Rebecca replied with a slight smirk that earned in return one back from him as the waiter arrived then theatrically poured their tea through the strainers into the signature bone china cups and then placed the silver teapot on the table and left.
Their conversation resumed.
“Why don’t I put you at ease as it appears an African Oil deal and the building of a Russian Naval base stopped being of interest to the Great British Empire in 1990s,” he answered in reference to the fact that Britain’s interests were no longer Cold War focused.