“Yep, that’s good,” Lucie nodded, “but let’s see if we can kill two birds with one stone.”
“What do you mean?”
She pulled out her smart phone and grinned, the cogs of her mind clicking into gear.
“Time to phone a friend.”
FIFTEEN
“Fantastic to see you, Lucie,” exclaimed Professor Tanja Bueltmann, standing up from behind the wooden table to embrace her friend. “Beer okay for you?”
Lucie agreed with a grin, delighted both to be in her friend’s company, and to find that she had already adorned the pub table with two large, frosted glasses of German lager. Throwing her coat onto the window sill behind them, Lucie sat down and clinked glasses with the Professor, swallowing a deep and satisfying mouthful of the cold beverage.
“Beer is very much okay for me, Tanja,” grinned Lucie, “how are you?”
“I’m well,” Tanja replied. “You’re lucky to catch me though, I’m only in London for the day to work on the campaign; I’m heading home first thing.”
The Professor was a woman for whom Lucie had nothing but admiration and respect. An ardent campaigner for the rights of the EU Nationals scapegoated and abandoned in the country’s pursuit of a pernicious Hard Brexit, she had never given up her campaign despite the horrendous abuse and almost constant threats against her. Looking at her now, her smile wide and her lipstick as fiery as her hair, Lucie would defy anybody to say that the pressures the Professor faced showed obviously in her features, and the spy mused how her friend daily displayed as much courage and more as anyone she had known.
“Then that’s another reason to be glad to see you,” Lucie said.
“Nice to have more than one reason. How’s Kasper? Any better?”
Lucie shook her head quickly, not wanting to dwell too long on the topic. To Tanja, and to the world, Lucie was simply the Parliamentary aide to the injured MP, safely out of the limelight and anonymous to all outside the Westminster bubble, and thought it pained her to deceive a friend, that was the role she played up to again now.
“No. Bastard yellow vests…”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He’ll be alright, I can feel it, but the thought that the swine are still out threatening people every day is sickening, and precious little seems to be being done about it, at least not by this useless Prime Minister.”
“I don’t know how we come back from this,” sighed Tanja, “I really don’t. I’m grateful for every single person who has stood up for us, donated, or just said ‘no, this is wrong’; I just wish there were a million more beside them…”
Lucie could only offer what she knew was a wholly inadequate smile. She understood her friend’s feelings only too well, her own heart having broken a little further by the inescapable lack of vociferous protest at the treatment of Europeans since the referendum.
“Wilful ignorance,” the spy lamented, softly. “Too many people just refuse absolutely to accept the evidence of their own eyes; when you show them how people are affected, how so many are suffering, they just deny that it’s happening.”
“Or claim it’s nothing to do with Brexit,” The Professor added. “And those that do see it wring their hands and say it’s not what they voted for while doing nothing to stop it.”
“Even though it was obvious to anyone with a mind to look what the consequences were bound to be.”
They clinked their glasses again and Tanja sighed, heavily.
“To tell you the truth, half the time I’m trying to convince myself to stop because of the negative impact all this is having on me, the rest I’m so angry I tell myself there’s no way I could ever stop. God only knows what’s going to happen.”
“Tell me about it,” Lucie concurred. “Have you applied yet?”
“Oh, don’t even get me started on that bloody ‘EU Settlement Scheme’,” Tanja replied. “Bad enough that they refused to give us a say despite happily collecting our taxes for years, but then they design this fucking app which won’t work on anything and is so full of glitches it isn’t fit for purpose. Then they tell us we have to apply for permission to stay in our homes with our own families. Not register to stay mind, apply to stay and become second class citizens. And in the next breath they say they ‘want us to stay’.”
Lucie could feel the burning anger of her friend and shared it in every sinew of her body. The latest insult saw the government demanding an application to stay, via a flawed and decidedly user-unfriendly app, with prior contribution to the country and society – not to mention familial circumstances - completely ignored.
“Believe me, I know. And every second Kasper is lying unconscious in hospital, Parliament is robbed of one of the few sane voices it has left. Sometimes I wonder if that was the point…”
“You think it was an organised attack?” The Professor frowned.
“I don’t know,” Lucie said softly, not wanting to say too much. “All I do know is the clock is ticking down to a colossal punch in the face. Everyone knows it’s coming, but the ones in charge are too proud to admit it and the opposition are too busy sitting around with their thumbs up their arses, hoping to capitalise on the fallout. Meanwhile the nation ticks closer to the bloodiest of bloody noses and an almighty kick in the ego.”
The women drank in melancholic salute to the intricacies of the injustices they pondered, steadily draining their glasses.
“Speaking of Kasper,” Lucie said, “I’m checking into a few things on his behalf; actually, that’s what I needed to talk to you about.”
“Oh?”
“Do you know anyone who works in the defence industry?”
“Defence?” Tanja repeated, her eyes widening. “Not really my scene. I would have thought you’d have the contacts there, working in Parliament?”
“Well that’s the problem. Kasper wanted me to do a bit of research into the treatment of EU Nationals in the industry for him and I’m struggling. I’ve tried the official approaches but the second you start waving a Parliamentary pass in people’s faces they tend to clam up. I want to get in at the ground floor and speak freely to the people at the receiving end of shit. In particular I want to get a look at WaterWhyte Defence.”
“Ah,” nodded Tanja. “The famous Red Mako project eh? The saviour of Brexit Britain…”
“Exactly. With all the hype around it I wanted to see how people on the ground have been affected, and whether all this ‘British services for British people’ crap extends to the job market too. And as Jarvis Whyte has his hands all over the company, I don’t think he’d take too kindly if one of his Parliamentary opponents just rolls up and asks to see his project specs and who he’s getting in to staff it.”
“No, perhaps not,” Tanja laughed. “I’m sorry though, I don’t think I know anyone in the industry I could put you in touch with, although…”
The Professor took out her mobile and began scrolling through her contact list, trying to recall the name that danced at the edge of her memory. Moments later, her finger pressed down on a name and the wide smile returned to her face.
“Found her!” she smiled.
“Great!”
“Monika Barenyi.” Tanja revealed. “A friend of mine who works in recruitment.”
“A recruitment consultant?” Lucie winced. “They’re about the only people convicts are allowed to shout abuse at, aren’t they?”
“Monika’s not like that,” laughed Tanja, “she’s excellent and extremely professional. Plus, she specialises in defence and aerospace, and with this Red Mako stuff all over the news, she’s bound to be involved in recruiting for it. If you like, I’ll drop her a text and tell her you want to get in touch?”
“Tanja, you’re an absolute star!”
“Do you want me to say what it’s for?”
“Er, no, not straight off thanks, people can get a bit worried if they think an MP’s office is chasing them. If you can just say I’d love to get in touch with her for a chat, that’d be grea
t.”
“No problem,” the Professor replied, quickly rattling off a text. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to help. The last time I spoke with her she told me about how the level of abuse she was getting was on the increase since the Brexit vote.”
“Really? What kind of abuse?”
“Nothing physical, at least not yet, but a lot of verbal crap. When she turns candidates down or gives bad interview feedback, she’s getting all the old ‘you’re not even from here, who are you tell me X, Y and Z’ bullshit. You know the kind of stuff.”
“Yeah, the kind of shit spouted by the ‘why’s a foreigner telling me what to do’ brigade.”
“Monika’s tough, but nobody should have to put up with that crap.”
“I don’t know anybody who can face up to it better than you, Tanja,” Lucie said, holding her glass out to her in a toast, the academic blushing a little at the unsolicited praise.
“Thanks,” she acknowledged. “I just wish I could do more; I would have given up long ago were it not for people like you, Julia, Axel and Maike… you all keep me going.”
Lucie could feel the smile on her face grow every bit as strongly as the admiration she had for her friend, and even if she embarrassed her, she couldn’t let the moment escape without making her feelings plain. Tanja had suffered verbal abuse, physical threats and even been stalked in the street, but still she came back, day after day, never giving up the fight for citizens as the country lost its mind. There were those who heaped praise on Lucie, but she knew that the real champion sat before her now with flushing cheeks.
“You do enough,” Lucie said, “more than enough. And do you want to know something, Professor? You and everyone like you; you’re all my heroes.”
SIXTEEN
Lake’s advice to Lucie when he had first recruited her into the Overlappers, had been that the best spies were just ordinary people, and it had been advice she’d taken to heart. A person being themselves had no need of elaborate cover, and dressing up with cloaks and daggers had never been Lucie’s scene. There were by necessity however, occasions when a greater degree of skulduggery than usual was required, and she found herself in such a situation this morning. Using the false name at the centre a couple of nights back had made her uncomfortable, but today at least she could fall back on the role of journalist which had previously helped her get close to the late Sir Geoffrey Hartnell, when uncovering his shrouded agenda.
Monika had proven every bit as professional as Tanja had claimed, responding immediately to the text, happy for Lucie to get in touch. A brief conversation followed, and Lucie found herself invited to her professional offices in Charing Cross for a chat. Upon arrival, Lucie had related the cover story of researching an article for The New European about life in the workplace for EU Nationals, and what such a prestigious contract as the Red Mako, given its importance to the Hard Right as a symbol of Brexit, meant to the day-to-day lives of EU Citizens within the industry. Monika, a Slovakian woman of similar age to Lucie, with short, cropped black hair, green eyes and high cheek bones, was immediately intrigued and the pair struck up an instant rapport.
Tanja had been correct in her guess that Monika was aiming to recruit for the project on behalf of her company, and the consultant was in fact preparing her pitch for the next round of recruitment shortly to commence. There was an unusual level of secrecy around the project, and suppliers were required to re-tender for each recruitment phase – a tedious endeavour but one unquestionably worth it given the size of the commissions on offer. With the women bonding so quickly, it became an easy task for Lucie to have herself invited along to the pitch meeting a couple of days later at WaterWhyte Defence’s Rochester site, which housed the bulk of the project, software development and strategic work, while physical construction of the projects took place at the larger premises in Portsmouth. And so it was that Lucie found herself two days later in the passenger seat of Monika’s BMW, heading down to Kent and silently praying that the car would not meet the same fate as Ismail’s had only a few nights previously.
Ismail himself had remained in London, to examine the social media presence collated by Lake’s team and await the additional electronic data that Lucie hoped to gain during her visit. The corporate fire walls around WaterWhyte’s intranet were both sophisticated and formidable, and while Lake had been sure his specialists could break them, he had ordered a different approach and provided Lucie with a small piece of hardware, now held in her suit jacket pocket.
To the naked eye a simple flash-drive, when plugged into any computer, active or not, it would automatically access and store all information contained on the device, link to the local network and scan it for selected buzzwords. Lucie’s light-hearted query as to whether her being kitted out with the ‘Bond stuff ’ signalled her acceptance back into Lake’s good graces had received only a customary frown from the spy master. Her initial sarcasm soon gave way to the realisation that she would need to engineer an opportunity to use it, and it was that that preoccupied her as they drove past the guard house and pulled into the vast and neatly arranged carpark of WaterWhyte Defence itself.
After having been welcomed into the gleaming reception area of the enormous, white-washed and thoroughly modern building, Lucie and Monika were directed to wait in the seating area until all the representatives of the various competing companies had arrived. Sitting down in a low armchair coated in blue fabric, Lucie looked up into the face of a skinny young man in his twenties, wearing an almost glimmering silver-grey suit, stiff collared white shirt and red tie, who grinned at her with a look on entitled smugness. His chin sported meticulously styled stubble which might have looked more effective had he been old enough to grow more of it, and what remained of his shaved and layered hair was gelled back with such rigidity he could have been mistaken for an action figure. The condescending wink he offered to the two women met only with a snort of disdain from Monika, and one of Lucie’s more withering stares, before he laughed at his own display and turned to talk with his similarly attired colleague.
“I don’t know how the hell you can do this job,” Lucie whispered to Monika, who offered a knowing smile in return.
“It gets easier as you go along,” the recruiter whispered back. “A lot of these guys are all mouth and no balls. They’ll look down on you because they think you’re an interloper in a man’s world, even though most of them have no experience in either the business or life; they just stick on a flash suit, cover themselves in aftershave and hope that being an arrogant little shit will impress the people they need to do business with. It rarely does.”
“Well good for you for not letting them get to you,” Lucie replied.
“It can be difficult sometimes,” Monika admitted. “When you start out and you’re trying to get commissions and generate new business, you get stuck on the brew rounds and have all the usual comments about ‘taking one for the team’ to bring the jobs in. Then that’s exactly what they accuse you of doing when you start out-billing them and earning big money. And if you stick to your guns and keep doing your job well, before too long you’re heading a desk and they’re all working under you and complaining about the evils of positive discrimination.”
“While in reality you’ve had to work twice as hard as any of them to get the same level of recognition,” Lucie finished, tired of having heard so many similar stories from female friends across so many different industries.
The reception area was beginning to fill with many more variants of the winking wonder and his friend and a number of perma-tanned young women with perfectly placed hair, pouting lips and unmoving features, juxtaposed with a smattering of more modestly presented professionals who looked to Lucie like they actually knew what they were talking about.
Monika gestured to the latter group, one in which she most definitely belonged.
“These are the people I’m really competing with,” she said. “Too many in our industry think image is everything, but it’s the ones who are low on f
lash talk and heavy on detail that really impress the clients and make the big bucks.”
As she spoke, a figure emerged from behind the reception desk and walked over to the group.
“Excuse me,” the young man began, before clearing his throat and trying again. “EXCUSE ME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.”
This time he was met with silence and the stare of expectant faces.
“Thank you. If you’d like to follow me, Dr Rigson and the team are ready for you. Please step this way.”
The group began to move en masse, Monika moving herself to the front with effortless and uncontested ease, Lucie falling into place alongside her. The spy shuffled and twitched uncomfortably in the stiff business skirt and jacket she wore, while walking on heels remained an activity unimproved since her attempt a few evenings earlier. It was a hindrance which Monika didn’t share as she carried herself with professional confidence and led the way into the conference room. The pack of recruiters jostled and bustled themselves into the seats laid out around an enormous horse shoe table, some offering smiles to friendly competitors, while other faces twisted into resentful sneers as quicker rivals bagged seats closer to the end of the horse shoe and closer to the department heads who shifted uncomfortably under insincere gazes. Monika, at the head of the pack, led Lucie to two prime seats, closest to the execs and the large monitor clinging to the wall facing the tables, the remaining walls decorated with numerous framed photographs of previous projects and portraits of distinguished company engineers.
When the scrape of chairs, the rustle of papers and the tuts of discourteous opponents subsided, the room was silenced by a loud and authoritative welcome from the woman who had risen from her seat to stand in front of the screen, all eyes turning to her as she spoke.
Lucie took the opportunity to properly observe the room, feeling instantly alien in a chamber packed with sharp suits, glittering watches and a potent clash of expensive aftershaves and perfumes. And while there was an abundance of designer stubble, immaculate hairstyles and more than a few eyes glistening with the tell-tale signs of a well-fuelled coke habit, Monika’s seemed one of the few genuine smiles in the room, Lucie admiring the strength it must take to forge a successful niche in an industry she did not appear suited to.
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