Double Agent

by Tom Bradby

  She opened the account of Rav’s movements, such as they could be determined, in Geneva in the twenty-four hours before his death. Suzy had also attached the CCTV log from a newsagent opposite the entrance to the offices of the lawyer Rav had said he was going to see. It confirmed that, whomever he had met, he had not been there.

  She read Suzy’s report of the events in Berlin. It ended with a simple conclusion: On the balance of probabilities, it seems likely the Russian state security apparatus had been tipped off to expect us.

  Kate thought about the last chapter in this file, which she had no intention of writing: that somehow they’d known she was crossing into Russia to meet Sergei.

  ‘You could say they’ve been expecting us at every turn,’ Suzy said.

  Kate spun violently around. ‘Jesus, you gave me a shock.’

  Suzy stood by the door, arms crossed, eyes fixed upon the file open on the computer. Her petite, slender face was much less pretty when she was angry. ‘Julie said you were in Finland meeting a contact.’ Kate didn’t confirm or deny it. ‘I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark, Kate.’

  ‘Incredibly, not everything is about you.’ Kate turned back to her computer. The questions the files seemed consistently to ask were preferable to those from her subordinate.

  ‘It would have been courteous at least to let me know you’d be gone for a few days. I’ve looked a total idiot.’

  Kate didn’t bother to answer that. She had many problems. Suzy’s bruised ego wasn’t one of them.

  ‘At any rate,’ Suzy said, ‘it doesn’t change the question those files keep on asking.’

  There was a long silence. ‘I just need a bit of time to think,’ Kate said.

  But it was going to take more than that to force Suzy to withdraw: she leant back against the filing cabinet, as if settling in for the long haul. ‘Either someone is tipping them off as to your every move,’ she said, ‘or they’re actually tracking you.’

  ‘Perhaps they found a way to inject a microchip into me.’

  ‘Stranger things have happened.’

  Kate glanced at her. ‘This is real life, Suzy, not the movies.’

  ‘You ever consider the possibility that this has been a setup from the very first moment?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘No, I mean, really, that they’ve planned every stage of it methodically: the original tip-off about the meeting on that yacht, the news that the former PM had cancer, conveniently true, the idea that the leading candidate to replace him was working for them and now, suddenly, the “proof” that it must be true in the form of a sex video.’

  ‘You’ve spent too much time listening to Ian.’

  ‘I mean, I know you have this great source and—’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Ian told me.’

  Ah, so that was it. It shouldn’t have surprised Kate that Suzy had chosen to throw in her lot with Ian. That much had surely been inevitable.

  ‘Don’t you think it feels like a classic Moscow long play?’ Suzy asked. Now she was using some of Ian’s favourite language as well.

  ‘I’m tired, Suzy. Do you mind if we discuss this another time?’

  ‘I’m just trying to help.’

  No, you are not, Kate thought. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What did the source you went to see tell you? I’m assuming he or she was the person who tipped you off in the first place.’

  ‘Our agent told me Mikhail’s account of what has happened to his father is accurate. I’ll be briefing the foreign secretary to that effect in the morning.’

  Suzy gave her a thin smile. ‘I guess it’s your call.’

  She slipped away into the darkness. And it was all Kate could do to stop herself punching her computer. But she couldn’t quite persuade herself to log off and go home. She stared at those pictures of the Empress leaving the quay in Istanbul in the middle of the night. Who had known enough to warn them? Sir Alan, Ian, Julie, Danny. That was it.

  But only Julie could conceivably have tipped off the Russians about her trip to see Sergei.

  Unless Sir Alan had guessed what she was intending to do.

  Kate got up and went down to Operations, where Danny was on the night watch. He had his feet on the desk, a cup of tea resting on his chest. ‘Here comes trouble,’ he said easily.

  ‘You here on your own?’

  ‘No, I have someone from GCHQ on attachment. I sent him to get us a takeaway. From north London.’

  Danny was idly flicking a pound coin with his thumb and forefinger. Kate sat and watched him. ‘Did you and Rav always cheat at Spoof?’ she asked.

  Danny flipped the coin once more. ‘Of course.’ It was something of a field tradition that operational staff always played Spoof – a game in which you have to guess the number of coins people have in their hands – for the dinner bill. The first time she, Danny and Rav had worked together, on a trip to Turkey, northern Syria and then Mosul, Kate had lost almost every time. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I was just thinking about it the other day. How did you do it?’

  ‘Secrets of the subordinates, Kate. I’m not telling you that.’

  ‘Whose idea was the laundry trolley?’

  He smiled at the memory. ‘Rav’s.’

  On the last night of what had been a long, arduous and dangerous trip, Kate had accused them of cheating at Spoof and left them to pay the bill in an Istanbul restaurant. They’d blocked the exit of the restaurant until the owner got angry and then they’d bombarded her with calls when she got back to her room. When she finally switched off her mobile and unplugged the hotel phone from the wall, they’d persuaded the porter to open her door, then bundled her into a laundry basket and wheeled her around the hotel. ‘God, I miss him,’ she said.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘You were a nightmare together.’

  Danny flicked the coin one last time, caught it in his palm and bunched his fist. He sighed heavily. He’d frequently called Rav a blood-brother and claimed him as the family he’d never had.

  ‘Could I ask you a favour?’ Kate said.

  ‘Depends what it is.’

  ‘I need some internal phone logs.’ Kate gave him the date and then a piece of paper with the names she wanted checked. He almost spat out his tea. ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘Not exactly, no.’

  The laughter lines around his eyes had disappeared. ‘I can’t start rooting around in the chief’s phone records.’

  ‘I just need to rule him out of something.’

  ‘You know we’re all officially suspects, right? A team from Five came to my apartment last night.’

  ‘Yes, I do know.’

  Danny stared at the sheet before him for a long time, as if it would make the problem miraculously disappear. With a frustrated grunt, he logged on to the computer beside him and went hunting for what she had requested. She watched as the electronic dots darted around the screen before him. ‘In the office until eight p.m. Then at home in Pimlico.’ He closed in on the screen. ‘No activity at all there until the phone goes off at eleven p.m.’

  ‘How about Julie?’

  ‘Are you really going to do this, Kate?’

  ‘I have to.’

  He checked Julie next. The screen remained blank all night. ‘Phone off.’ Kate nodded. ‘Who next?’

  ‘Ian.’ He pulled up the log. ‘Busy between five and six,’ he said, ‘something going on.’ The dot on the screen clearly located Ian in his office.

  ‘Then . . .’ The dot moved across London now and Danny closed in on its final destination. ‘Chelsea . . . That’s home, right?’

  ‘Frith Street, yes.’

  ‘Okay, yeah, so home. One more burst of communication at nine p.m., then phone off.’ Danny turned to her. ‘You haven’t asked for my phone log.’ There was a strange glint in his eye. He was smiling knowingly at someone over Kate’s shoulder.

  She whipped around to see Julie’s departing w
isps of auburn hair. She turned back. ‘Another complication.’

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘Anything going on between you and Julie? I know that look.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I think I’m entitled to say it’s none of your business.’

  ‘She’s only just broken off with Ian.’

  ‘Nothing’s going on.’

  ‘I’m not going to ask if you know what you’re doing.’ She smiled at him and stood. ‘Thanks for your help.’

  ‘Remember me when I’ve been sacked,’ he said.

  She’d got almost to the door before she had a final thought. She turned back. ‘Could you just do one other thing? How about the logs of Rav’s phone for the weekend before his death?’

  Danny pulled them up. Rav’s phone was consistently located at his home on Sunday, but it was switched off all day on Saturday. ‘That’s . . . odd,’ Kate said.

  Danny nodded. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Why would he have his phone switched off all day?’ she asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe he just wanted some peace. Maybe he had another phone.’

  Kate thanked him again and went to get her bag from the office. She ran out into the rain and caught a taxi to the Fulham townhouse that Rav’s former partner, Zac, shared with his wife. They and their children were gathered around the kitchen table, a picture of familial warmth in a pool of light on this dreary night. She almost lost her nerve, but she rang the bell before she could change her mind. Zac came to answer and the expression on his handsome, youthful, slender face moved from neutral curiosity to visceral hate. ‘You,’ he said.

  ‘I’m so sorry to trouble you, Zac.’

  ‘I have nothing to say to you.’

  ‘I don’t blame you. But there’s just something I really need to ask.’

  She had expected him to slam the door in her face, but he held his temper. ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘Would you mind if I came in?’

  He stepped back to allow her inside. He ducked his head into the kitchen to explain to his family that he would be a few moments and led her through to his study at the back of the house.

  It was a wood and glass addition, which stretched out into the garden. It might have been bleak and dark on that gloomy, rainy night, but it had been decorated with the same refined but austere flair as the rest of the house. Kate took in the photographs of their ideal family, which appeared to cover every tiny scrap of available space. There were no photographs of his dead boyfriend.

  Zac closed the door and sat opposite. A picture of his wife in a swimsuit in what looked like the South of France loomed over his shoulder. He did not seem to be conscious of the incongruity. ‘What do you want?’ He had long, feminine eyelashes and brooding dark brown eyes. But petulance didn’t suit him.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said again.

  ‘You can’t ever be sorry enough.’

  There were so many things Kate could have replied to this, not least that no one had forced Zac to return to his wife and shatter her old friend. But what was the point? ‘I’ll make this quick,’ she said.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘We’re still looking into various issues relating to Rav’s death.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Kate was trying not to be put off her stride by his hostility. ‘He was murdered, as you know.’

  ‘The coroner found no evidence of that.’

  ‘The fact that there was no evidence doesn’t change the reality that it is the most likely explanation for his death.’ Zac breathed in deeply. ‘He may have been upset with you,’ she went on, ‘and me, for that matter, since I should never have told him you’d been staying back here with your wife. But that wasn’t why he died. He did not kill himself. Rav would never have done that.’

  Zac shook his head. ‘I’ve been through this with the police, with MI5, with your people. And I’m sick of it. He’s dead. He’s still dead. And the hows and the whys just don’t matter to me any more. I’m trying to move on.’

  ‘I understand that. I have only one question. What was he doing on the Saturday before he died? His phone was off all day.’

  ‘I told the police that.’

  ‘Would you mind explaining it to me, too, and then I can leave you in peace?’

  Zac stared at the floor. Kate glanced around the room again. Rav’s absence here was quietly devastating, as if he had been airbrushed from existence. Zac looked up and seemed to divine the direction of her thoughts. ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I just can’t. She’d kill me.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘I used to have a picture of him on my desk, but it upset my eldest son and . . .’ He stared at his hands. ‘I’m sorry . . . My God . . .’

  He started, very quietly, to sob. Kate didn’t know what to do. She stood and moved to comfort him but he raised a hand to prevent her. She watched as he brusquely wiped the tears from his cheeks. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘There’s nothing to be sorry about. Look, there isn’t much to say. I did see him. He was very angry with me when I got back to the apartment on that Friday night, as he had every right to be. We argued. I came here. The next morning he was waiting when I went out to get a newspaper. He was regretful, tearful. He begged me to have a coffee with him. We went to a café just up there on Fulham Broadway.’

  ‘What did you discuss?’

  ‘He said he understood that I was conflicted, uncertain. I told him I didn’t know what to think. I was confused. I loved him. I told him I always would, but I didn’t want to abandon and let down my family, not just Emily but the kids . . . I was all over the place. He was actually incredibly thoughtful and kind, as you would expect. He kept saying he understood and would support me – be my friend – whatever I decided . . .’

  Zac was still wrestling to hold back the tears. Kate waited until he had regained control of himself. ‘Do you know what he did for the rest of the day?’

  He seemed confused. ‘No. We hugged in the door of the café. I said I needed some time, space. He said he’d always love me and then he was gone. That was the last I saw or heard of him.’

  ‘He didn’t say what he was planning to do?’

  ‘He said he was driving to the West Country. He’d been trying to track down a former school master there.’

  ‘At Sherborne?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was the place the prime minister went to school.’

  ‘He was still investigating him?’

  ‘Not him. The other one, your boss, Sir Alan whatever his name is.’ Kate gasped. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s just . . . How can you be so sure that it was Sir Alan he was investigating?’

  ‘He was a bit obsessed with him. I told him it wasn’t a very good career-development strategy.’

  ‘What do you mean he was obsessed with him?’

  ‘He was always asking me about public-school friendship.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘He had this conviction that there was no way you could become best friends in an experience as prolonged and intense as boarding school – based on my descriptions of it, though Eton is a bit different in various ways – and suddenly not be friends years later. He kept on referring to it as an unbreakable bond. He had tracked down the housemaster and said he was going to talk to him about Sir Alan and his friendship with the prime minister . . . Are you all right? You really don’t look well.’

  Kate insisted she was absolutely fine. She thanked him and left. She caught an Uber and asked it to stop about half a mile from home. She needed to clear her head.

  It had started to drizzle. She stood for a moment in the darkness and let the cool water land on her cheeks, then run in tiny rivulets down her neck.

  The same thoughts circled in her head until she felt dizzy.

  Was Stuart telling the truth?

  What had promp
ted Rav to become fixated on investigating Sir Alan’s past?

  She walked for a while, then stopped beneath the shelter of a beech as the rain thickened. She watched it thump on to the pavement beside her. It reminded her of all those childhood days when she had sat in the kitchen with her father, waiting for the rain to cease so she could go out and climb the beech at the end of the garden.

  How she yearned now for the comforting and warm certainty of his love, for his ability to magnify her hopes and banish her fears. She closed her eyes and could almost feel his arms around her, the roughness of his bristles on her cheek and the comforting smell of his aftershave.

  God, she felt alone. Why had she told the children she could be friends with Stuart again, that it might work, implied that she would even consider welcoming him into the marital bed as her lover? She must have taken leave of her senses. ‘Get a grip, girl,’ she muttered, under her breath.

  She straightened, heading home to what was left of the bottle of rosé – or perhaps open a second – and another hefty dose of sleeping pills.

  She would have downed both at the double, but Fiona was waiting for her at the kitchen table, her bright face shining with newly found contentment. ‘I spoke to Dad!’

  ‘Great!’ Kate said, without thinking, as she headed for the fridge. She found she’d all but finished the half-drunk bottle earlier and fetched another from the cupboard. She filled a glass with ice and sat opposite Fiona.

  ‘Are you all right, Mum?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You’re drinking a lot and you don’t look well.’

  ‘Work is complicated,’ she said. But not nearly as difficult as life, she felt like adding.

  ‘We got out a map and everything. He’s keen on the Dordogne in France. Far enough south to be a bit warmer – which would be great – but near enough to make it possible to drive, if we wanted to. We looked up flights and Gus and I reckon we can easily get to Bergerac, or maybe Bordeaux.’

  ‘That’s good news.’

  ‘He’s not sure what he’s going to do for work. He said he reckons he’ll have to think outside the box about that.’