A Spy by Nature - Charles Cumming [88]
It’s time to get it out of them.
‘What are you saying?’
‘What we’re saying, Alec, is that we’d like to give you the opportunity to do something about your situation.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You won’t, immediately,’ he says, his eyes fixed on the table.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat as he says this, and look over at Katharine for some indication of what is going on. But her face is entirely inscrutable. There is an atmosphere of very carefully chosen words. I hear the first swallowing glugs of wine as Fortner starts to fill the glasses. He twists the bottle to catch any drips, his hand as steady as a flat sea. There’s just the rustle of clothing and distant traffic sounds as Fortner sits down, little else. Each of us takes a glass from the table, sipping, registering the taste. Fortner breathes in the bouquet and says:
‘We have something, we both have something we want to discuss with you.’
I do not answer. The rush of expectation in me is so great that I don’t want to risk anything on a few ill-chosen remarks. Better to react precisely to what he has to say, to let them make all the running.
‘How would you feel about coming over to our side?’
There’s no liveliness in his face as Fortner asks this, no widening of the eyes. He merely lets the question drift out of him with an uninflected stillness.
‘What, you mean work for Andromeda?’
‘Not exactly, no.’
I don’t have to look over at Katharine to know that she is watching me.
‘How, then?’
‘We want you to help us.’
His words are being phrased with care to ensure an ambiguity.
‘To help you?’
‘Yes.’
I hold the pause longer than is necessary. What Fortner is asking is very plain to anyone who works in our business, but he has couched it in such a way that if I object, neither of them will be culpable. As if to confirm this, Fortner takes a very relaxed draw on his glass of wine as he waits for my response, pausing to look at me only briefly. He’s been here before.
I look across at Katharine, more out of nervousness than anything else, and I am surprised to see that she looks almost ashamed at what Fortner has suggested. She is blinking constantly, massaging the back of her neck with her hand.
‘I don’t understand,’ is all I can think to say. There’s been a delay in the room like the disappearing echo of a long-distance phone call.
‘It’s quite simple. Would you like to help us?’
‘You mean hand over information about what Abnex is doing? For money?’
He has made me say it, just as they said he would. I was the one who put it in concrete terms.
‘That is correct.’
‘Kathy, do you know about this?’
‘Of course. It occurred to us that you would be amenable.’
At this, Fortner looks over at her quickly. It wasn’t the right thing to say. She changes tack.
‘And that it would suit you. And us.’
I take a sip of wine. My hand is shaking so violently that I can barely hold the glass.
‘You’ll obviously need some time to think it over,’ Fortner says, like a doctor who has just diagnosed a cancer. He is funnelling any anxiety into the red plastic top of the wine bottle, turning it this way and that in his thick fingers. He has gradually moulded the plastic cone into the shape of a toadstool, twirling the stem between the thumb and index finger of his left hand.
I know that at first I must appear to be offended.
‘So our whole friendship has been based on the possibility that this might happen?’
‘Alec, don’t…’ says Katharine, but I interrupt her.
‘You’ve pretended to be something that you’re not.’
‘You’re bound to be a little shocked at first,’ Fortner says very flatly. He’s absolutely certain that I’ll come over: it’s just a matter of time.
‘How long have you been planning to ask me?’
‘For some time now,’ Katharine replies, running her hands down her thighs so that the material of her dress stretches out.
‘How long?’
‘Four or five months,’ she says.
‘Four