A Spy by Nature - Charles Cumming [91]
‘Jesus.’
‘I can understand your sense of shock.’
‘It’s not… No…’ I begin to mumble incoherently. ‘I always thought… Jesus.’
‘Please, if I could just say at this stage that anything you might have heard or read or understood about the Agency - put that immediately to one side. The CIA is not a sinister operation…’
‘I didn’t say it was…’
‘It’s just the American equivalent of your Secret Intelligence Service. With a bigger budget.’
‘Well, everything’s bigger in America.’
This is clever. It breaks the ice and both of them laugh aloud. Katharine looks up and gives me a broad, flirty smile.
‘Would you like to know something about what we do?’ she says. ‘Would that make it easier for you? Get it down to a more realistic level?’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘But I’m sitting here wondering why you need me. Why don’t you just bug the Abnex phones and get the information you need from a satellite somewhere?’
That was always going to be a naive question, but Fortner gives it a patient, considered response.
‘Only about ten per cent of our intelligence is scooped by birds: we still need guys like you on the ground. The Agency has a budget of twenty-eight billion dollars a year. Only six of that goes on satellites. Agents like Katharine and myself still provide the backbone of the intelligence operation, and guys like you are our life-blood.’
‘So this is what you do all the time? Jesus, it’s overwhelming.’
Fortner smiles, like he’s glad to have everything out in the open.
‘This is it.’
They are looking at one another, an undisguised relief shuttling between them.
‘So what kind of stuff do you get up to? I can’t believe this, it’s so…’
‘Primarily nowadays the Agency is involved in reducing the influence of Russian organized crime,’ Katharine says, with the confidence of someone moving into an area of expertise. ‘Last June, for example, we arrested three guys who were trying to sell nuclear-grade zirconium to some of our federal agents posing as Iraqis in New York. That’s just an example.’
‘FBI agents. Not the CIA?’
‘That’s right,’ she replies. I am amazed at her candour.
‘More and more since Ames we’ve been working with the FBI,’ says Fortner.
I should ask who Ames is.
‘Who’s Ames?’
‘You know. The trait -‘ Katharine stops herself short and adjusts swiftly. ‘The CIA agent who was spying for the KGB. He was our head of counter-intelligence in Washington.’
‘Oh yeah. I think I read about him.’
Fortner sits down on the sofa beside Katharine and juts his chin towards the floor. Bad memories.
‘And how long have you guys been doing this?’
He looks up.
‘Let’s not talk too much about it now, OK? We can fill you in on everything you need to know some other time.’
‘Sure. Fine. Whatever.’
Almost to himself, he says:
‘Shit, it’s not like you’ll be doing anything in the same sphere as Rick Ames. What we’re asking you to do isn’t anything like that. What you’ll be doing for Andromeda isn’t gonna get people killed.’
‘I understand that. I wouldn’t do it if it did.’
‘Good,’ he says, looking across at Katharine. ‘That’s good to know. I think it’s important to have standards and I respect you for that, Alec, I really do. Matter of fact, I wouldn’t even compare the two. So let’s not get sidetracked. What remains to be said right now - the most important thing as far as you’re concerned - is that there’s a common misconception about how all this works.’
Katharine, who has been listening quietly, stands up and offers us coffee. We both accept.
‘All you gotta do is bring us as much information as you can without arousing suspicion with any of your colleagues or with Abnex security. Those offices are under twenty-four-hour camera surveillance; ditto the Xerox room.’
‘So you want me to photocopy stuff?’
‘We’ll go over it. I’m just giving you some basic ground rules. Everything you do on your computer terminal will be logged.’ He starts to chop the air with his hand, marking out each point. ‘Presume that your telephone is tapped. Never communicate