A Spy by Nature - Charles Cumming [117]
‘Don’t worry unnecessarily,’ Katharine says, resting her hand gently on my shoulder. ‘This may have nothing to do with JUSTIFY. It may be completely unrelated. But we’re gonna have to make some changes. When are the geological plans due? Any day now, right?’
Suddenly everything is clear. This is all just a bluff. They are trying to move me along, trying to scare me into thinking that we are running out of time.
‘Yes. Like I told Fortner, I’m expecting them within a week. But there have been rumours of a delay. I’m so low down the food chain I don’t get to find out…’
‘Well, let’s hope it’s soon. Now listen,’ she says. ‘Due to what’s happened, and due to the sensitivity of the 5F371 documentation, we’re gonna have to ask you to change the strategy of your handovers.’
I say nothing, but this is highly unorthodox.
‘It’s nothing too serious, nothing that you won’t be able to handle.’ After a brief pause, no more than a deep inhalation, she adds: ‘We’re going to introduce a third party.’
I glance out into the road, trying to calculate implication. A third party is outside of our arrangement, an unnecessary complication that I have been advised against.
I turn to look back at Katharine.
‘The understanding we have is that I am to deal with you and you only. Introducing a third party would be reckless.’
‘I know that, Alec,’ she says. ‘But we can’t risk any foul-ups.’
Fortner is staying well out of this, just driving the car, his lined face swept by the shifting lights outside. Katharine’s voice is close and loud in my right ear and I cannot twist around to look at her for any length of time without causing pain in the small of my back.
‘Who is the third party?’ I ask, turning back to face the dashboard. ‘Is he CIA?’
‘His name is Don Atwater,’ she says. ‘He’s an American corporate lawyer who works out of London.’
‘That’s his cover?’
‘He helps us out from time to time. That’s all you need to know.’
‘On the contrary. I need to know everything.’
‘No, you don’t,’ says Fortner, interjecting. There is a light trace of malice in his mood tonight, as if he is disappointed in me. Perhaps they are telling the truth about the surveillance and blame me for what has happened. That thought is enough to make me back down.
‘How would we work it, if I agree to go ahead?’
Katharine breathes in hard once again. She will have prepped herself for this part of the briefing.
‘As soon as you have obtained a copy of the 5F371 data, you are to call this number.’
She reaches forward and hands me a piece of white paper, no bigger than a credit card. It has a seven-digit number written on it in neat black ink.
‘When they answer, you are to give your name and ask if your dry-cleaning is ready.’
‘My dry-cleaning?’ I ask, stifling a surge of incredulous laughter.
‘Yes,’ she replies soberly. ‘They will say that it is ready and then hang up. That is your signal to us that we are ready to go.’
‘I just ask if it’s ready? Nothing else?’
‘Nothing.’
A car cuts us up at some lights and Katharine says ‘shit’ through her teeth as she is rocked by the sudden braking. I have lost track of where we are: the West End? Kilburn? Further north than that?
‘That night,’ she says, ‘make your way to Atwater’s London offices in your car.’
‘Where does he work?’
‘Cheyne Walk. Chelsea. SW3.’
‘I know where it is. Which end?’
‘Close to Battersea Bridge.’
‘What if I’m working late?’
‘You won’t be. He’s not expecting you before midnight.’
Again Fortner comes in:
‘And you should not arrive there before that time.’
‘Midnight?’
‘Midnight,’ Katharine confirms. The switch between them is disorienting, like a tussle for power. ‘Now the most important thing for you to be doing en route is to watch your tail.’
‘Tell him about the bike.’
‘I was going to,’ Katharine says impatiently. ‘If you want, we can put a motorcycle outrider with you throughout the journey. He’ll keep an eye on things.’
At this I lose