A Spy by Nature - Charles Cumming [114]
‘That would be dynamite,’ Fortner says, leaning towards me. He glances over at Katharine and beams.
I go on:
‘Abnex has done all the hard work, spent all the money. All you’ve got to do is outbid us and the field is yours. But it’s going to cost you. I want two hundred thousand dollars for the information or I’m out.’
‘Two hundred thousand?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Haven’t we been here before?’ he says, but the glow in his face betrays an excitement. The geological data is too important to Andromeda for Fortner to risk alienating me.
‘I’m aware of that. But this is the Crown jewels, Fort, and it’s worth a lot more than ten grand. If Andromeda’s bid is successful I’ll have made the shareholders millions of dollars. That’s got to be worth something. I think two hundred thousand is cheap.’
‘All right,’ he says, buying time. ‘I’m not authorized to green light that kind of money. Let me talk to our people and we’ll get you an answer within seventy-two hours. My instinct says it may be a problem, but I’ll try to talk them round.’
‘You do what you have to,’ I tell him.
It is nearly midnight by the time Fortner shows me to the door.
There are no services running on the Hammersmith and City Line, so fifteen minutes later I board what must be the night’s last train at Notting Hill station. Empty hamburger cartons have been discarded on the floor and men in suits are falling asleep against greasy glass partitions. I am tired and find it difficult to focus on a single object for any length of time: an advertisement above the windows, a passenger’s shoes, the colour of someone’s scarf. I look through into the next carriage half-expecting to see Cohen in there, staring right back. My eyes sting and the skin on my face feels tight and dry.
I find it impossible to shut down: I am always thinking, evaluating, calculating the next move. I actually dread the thought of going home for another night of sleeplessness, just lying there in the dark analysing the day’s events, speculating on how much, or how little, Cohen knows. Then I picture Kate asleep in bed, her slim arm draped across the shoulders of another man. Night crap.
Last night, at three in the morning, I got up, put on a pair of jeans and a sweater, and wandered around the dead streets of Shepherd’s Bush for over an hour in an attempt to tire myself out with walking. There seemed to be no alternative beyond taking a handful of sleeping pills or sinking a half-bottle of Scotch, which I cannot do because of the need to stay sharp and clear-headed for Abnex. When I got back to the flat at around four, sleep came easily. But then there were the customary dreams, packed with sicknesses and capture, isolation and pursuit. It’s all so predictable, regular as clockwork, and tonight I will have to go through it all again.
I stare into the concave windows of the Central Line train and they warp my reflection like a hall of mirrors. I am split in half by the steep curvature of the glass, a pair of broad shoulders and a tiny, mutated head melting into an inverted reflection of itself.
Two of me.
PART THREE
1997
‘And ye shall know the truth
And the truth shall make you free.’
John 8: 32
Inscription in the main lobby of CIA Headquarters,
Langley, VA
25
The Lure
The New Year brings with it familiar cliches of renewal: private promises to take more exercise, to be a better friend to Saul, to get over Kate and to find a new girlfriend. I want to exert a greater control over my life, to try to get things into some kind of perspective. But by the second week of January all resolutions have been set aside, rendered meaningless by the simultaneous demands of Abnex and JUSTIFY. My lifestyle simply doesn’t allow any opportunity for change.
Everything now is about 5F371. Whenever I am not involved in normal day-to-day activities at work, all of my efforts