by Tom Bradby
He was clearly expecting her to answer. ‘I’m happy to serve whoever is—’
‘That’s too mealy-mouthed for me. I’m offering you an opportunity. Give me your loyalty and I’ll make you the first female C in British history.’
Kate looked at him properly, perhaps for the first time. There was a directness to his manner – a desperation, even – that was almost appealing. ‘What is it you want?’
‘I’d like to be kept informed on what the fuck is going on inside your building. I’d like to know where this investigation is going. And I’d like to know it before everyone else does.’
Kate stared into the dark liquid in her cup. Whatever else, she thought, you couldn’t accuse James Ryan of subterfuge. Or subtlety.
‘Politics is the art of the deal, Kate. And I’m offering you one.’
‘And espionage is a game of snakes and ladders. But, right now, all I can see is snakes.’
‘Do you think it’s remotely conceivable that I’m a Russian spy?’
‘I’ve lost track of what is conceivable and what isn’t.’
‘If that’s how you see it, I’ll leave now. But think about what I’ve said. Give me your loyalty and you’ll get an empire in return. I want a strong, robust Britain, capable of standing up to the likes of Russia and China. I’m led to believe you want the same. So we can be a very good team.’ He offered her his hand. It seemed an odd gesture, but she took it all the same. And then he was gone.
She felt like Faustus on the walk back across Vauxhall Bridge. If politics was the art of the deal, then this was the opportunity of a lifetime. But if she took it, she’d never be able to look herself in the mirror again.
When she got back to the office she went straight to Julie’s desk. ‘Have you got hold of Rav?’
Julie shook her head.
‘Keep trying, would you?’
Minutes later, Julie was at her door again. ‘Your friend is about to say something.’
Imogen was facing a bank of cameras, on the front steps of her house. She raised a hand to still the barrage of shouted questions. ‘Most people will be aware of the events that have engulfed my family these past twenty-four hours,’ she said. ‘Some may have seen the video, though even the pixellated version should come with some kind of eighteen rating.’
‘Nice touch,’ Maddy said. She had come to stand between Kate and Julie.
‘This poses a number of extremely important questions, of course,’ Imogen went on, ‘starting with the ones I have to answer. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have treated my husband and children – the people I love most in this world – in such a selfish and careless fashion?
‘Some will no doubt believe that these considerations should disqualify me from holding any kind of public office. And the way I feel today, I don’t entirely blame them.’
She breathed in deeply. ‘But there are other questions, arguably of more importance to the country at large. Who recorded this material? Where did they do it, and why? Who leaked the footage? And for what purpose was it released at this precise moment? I don’t have the answers yet but, given what many of us have read in the Guardian this morning, we may have our suspicions.’
‘Christ,’ Kate said.
‘She’s bloody going for it,’ Julie said. ‘And, frankly, good on her.’
Kate looked at her askance.
‘You’re not telling me a sex tape would put the foreign secretary out of the race?’ Julie said. ‘It would have MPs and party members flocking to him even faster.’
‘Fair point,’ Maddy said.
‘Many of you might, with great justification, take the view that I should now be pulling out of the race to be leader of my party,’ Imogen went on. ‘I can certainly see many difficult days ahead, as I seek to persuade my family to forgive me for my unforgivable behaviour. I don’t pretend that it’s going to be easy or quick. But these are evidently not normal times, and I have been repeatedly told by colleagues during the course of the night that I have a duty now to stay in the ring. Given the public’s understandable cynicism about politicians and their motives, I can see why you may be inclined to take this with a pinch of salt, but we know all too well now of the Russians’ repeated attempts to interfere in our democratic process.
‘I have decided therefore that I have no choice but to continue to fight what I believe to be a good fight. I will leave it to my fellow Members of Parliament to judge tonight whether I have done the right thing.’
As she turned and walked away, Kate’s screen lit up. Thank you, it read. You persuaded her.
She messaged back: What news from the front line? She was in her office before her phone pinged again. Support still amazingly solid. Meg uninspiring and no one knows what to make of claims re James. She’s still in the game.
‘A couple of sex addicts, and one a foreign spy,’ Kate muttered to herself. ‘What can possibly go wrong?’
She was scanning the flurry of emails from colleagues sympathizing with her predicament – or what they had inferred from the day’s events – when Rav rang. Kate checked the door was closed before she answered. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘I have something,’ he said.
‘A very short rope. And you’re going to hang yourself with it unless you give me a good explanation.’
‘You remember my Cambridge mate at the Guardian? Did some stuff on the Panama Papers?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘He had a way in to the Swiss lawyer, so I offered him a trade.’
‘What kind of trade?’
‘He’d got to one of Binot’s former secretaries in Zürich. Turns out Binot was a complete lech. This girl remembered Ryan and the offshore company they set up for him. She also recalls some very large amounts of money being transferred to him personally as well as to the company account. And you will probably guess the source. We might have him.’
‘Does she have any paperwork?’
‘She says she has evidence of millions of pounds being moved via Zürich from one of the Russian government’s cipher accounts into Ryan’s personal account in Belize.’
‘Fuck.’
‘My thoughts entirely.’
‘How do we know this isn’t the Russians playing us?’
‘Because I’ve met her. And so has my friend from the Guardian. She’s either on the level or she’s the best actress I’ve ever seen.’
‘It seems a tiny bit convenient that we’ve just happened upon—’
‘You say that every time I get a break into anything.’
She bridled, perhaps because there was an element of truth in it. ‘And what did you trade for this information, Rav, with your friend from the Guardian?’
‘Nothing of any consequence.’
‘Have you seen their story today?’
‘Yes. I mean, no. Of course I didn’t bloody give him that! I’m not totally out of my mind. He’s looking into one of the Russian president’s friends, and the cash being ripped out of the Crimea. I gave him a small contribution. Look, I have to go. I’m meeting her again this afternoon.’
‘Be careful, Rav. If she is the real deal, then—’
‘Of course I’m going to be careful.’
He ended the call. Kate listened to the rain lashing against her window. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she felt as if the world was closing in on her. She went down the corridor, shut the loo door behind her and splashed water on her face. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were full of fatigue. ‘You’re out of your depth, my girl,’ she whispered to herself.
She dabbed her face dry with a paper towel and returned to the office as James Ryan was graciously accepting the attention of the cameras and fielding questions from journalists in the rain-swept courtyard of the Foreign & Commonwealth Office. ‘It’s all just hokum,’ he said. ‘Arrant, utter nonsense – the Russians up to their usual tricks. But I say to the Russian president, it isn’t clever, and it isn’t sophisticated, and it isn’t fooling an
ybody any more. We’ve seen it too many times before and we’d have to be absolute lunatics to fall for it.’
‘Do you deny that MI6 is investigating such claims?’ one reporter asked.
‘I deny they’re taking them seriously. I spoke to the head of SIS this morning. They look at mounds of Orwellian misinformation every day and it’s their considered view that the idea that I’m linked to the Russians was leaked by the Russians themselves to discredit me, and interfere with our leadership election, as is their wont. You can draw your own conclusions from that. I’m confident that neither the party nor the country is stupid enough to fall for it.’
‘So you won’t stand down?’
‘Of course I won’t! In fact, I consider it a vaguely preposterous question, as will everyone watching.’ He smiled at them and waved airily. ‘I apologize for making you stand outside in this appalling weather. I blame Siberia for that too. Let the contest go on, and may the best man or woman win. I sympathize with young Imogen, by the way. There but for the grace of God … And that’s a joke, of course!’
He turned and hurried back inside. Kate, Julie and Maddy watched him go. ‘Wow,’ Julie said. ‘He’s got some chutzpah.’
Kate sat down at her desk. Her first new email was from Dr Minakis, the Athens pathologist. Attached to it was the final autopsy report. Kate looked through it, trying not to dwell on the photographs, or the fact that they had found the microphone shoved deep into Lena’s larynx.
The police report followed. There was nothing in it of any note, of course. The Andros squad had found an abandoned car, but it had been torched, so all forensic traces had been erased.
A sixth sense made Kate turn to find Sir Alan at her door.
‘A minute of your time?’
‘Of course.’
‘We need proof, by the end of the week. Otherwise we have to shut down the investigation into both politicians and Viper, then make clear that we looked into the matter and concluded it was only the Russians pissing around again. The PM’s direct order. He may be ill, possibly dying, but he still has all his faculties and, for the moment, his word remains final. He’s no fan of James Ryan, it’s true, but he seems reluctant to accept that any politician of his seniority is capable of such perfidy.’
‘Did you tell him—’
‘Naivety may be a beguiling quality in a human being, but not in a prime minister.’
‘It’s better than having a spy in Number Ten.’
‘That’s what I tried to tell him, or words to that effect. I even asked if it was possible he might reconsider his decision and delay standing down until after his treatment is completed, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I think his wife wouldn’t let him. So … we are where we are.’
‘Why Viper? I mean, Ryan and Conrad I can understand. If the foreign secretary wins, then the country needs to have faith in him, and if we can’t prove it’s misplaced, we should drop it. But I’m not sure why Viper should be in the same category. Isn’t a potential mole inside our walls still a matter for us?’
‘Not any more. I had to come clean about everything, and the PM’s views were extremely clear.’
‘How did he look?’
‘As unwell as you’d expect.’ Sir Alan opened the door. ‘I’ve just come from the Ops Room. The Empress has docked at Mykonos. So you could do worse than start there.’
Kate followed him to the lifts.
Danny was, as ever, juggling screens, as if he was in charge of Apollo Mission Control. ‘You were right about where he was heading.’
‘Who’s on board?’
‘Just Mikhail. Katya and the kid left for the airport about an hour ago.’
‘Okay, Danny, pack your bags. Take all your toys. We’re going to need a second surveillance team to join the one on the ground.’
Kate spent the rest of the afternoon with Julie, mapping out the logistics of the operation, then left early and went home to cook Fiona and Gus supper. They were both unusually talkative. Gus was in the A team once more, so his life was back on track, and she wasn’t inclined to probe Fiona’s happiness long enough to discover the cause. Every time she came anywhere near broaching the subject of sex, contraception and Jed, Stuart’s warning rang in her ears. She didn’t want another argument. With any of them.
After a shower, she took an age to choose her dress for the US ambassador’s party – finally selecting the same strapless stretch-woollen Roland Mouret she’d worn last year. She adored its cinched waist and origami-style sculpted panel, and wearing a red dress to meet a Russian source at an American Embassy soirée gave her something to smile about.
She laid it on the bed and sat at her dressing-table, tying back her hair, keeping half an eye on her phone for an update from Rav. Then she applied her make-up, with infinite care. It had been an age since she’d made so much effort with her appearance.
She almost missed the ping.
Bingo. Got him. The documents are devastating.
Proof?
Close. Serious explaining to do. And then some.
She asked where he was and when he was due back, and got no response, then looked up to see Stuart at the door. She wondered how long he’d been standing there.
He eyed her warpaint, and the Roland Mouret. ‘Going out?’
‘Yes.’
‘The US Embassy thing?’
She nodded.
‘Will he be there?’
On her return from Russia as a student, Kate had admitted to Stuart that she’d ‘developed feelings’ for someone else while she’d been away, though she’d sworn on everything dear to her that her relationship had remained platonic (and she’d had to, since Stuart’s rage had been terrifying). It had taken him a long time to forgive her, and even to this day, he wasn’t above throwing it at her in the heat of an argument.
She’d made the mistake of telling him she’d bumped into Sergei at last year’s do, and he’d spotted the crisp, embossed invitation on the kitchen worktop.
‘Who?’
‘Don’t treat me like an idiot, Kate.’
‘Never that, Stuart. Never that.’
She shrugged on the dress and turned her back to him so that he could pull up her zip. She could feel his breath on her bare shoulders and neck.
‘Shouldn’t I be worried when you’re sneaking off to see an old lover, and looking good enough to eat?’
‘You bought me this.’
‘Did I? Must have been channelling Chris de Burgh.’
‘And I never did … with Sergei. You know that.’
‘But you wanted to.’ He looked haunted now. ‘Isn’t that almost as bad?’
‘No. It’s not.’ She turned and kissed him. ‘You can’t seriously be upset about something that didn’t happen more than twenty-five years ago. That would be absurd.’
‘Would it?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s funny,’ Stuart said. ‘I was thinking about it the other day. I have such a clear picture of that Gulf of Finland dacha – the huge open fire, the ice-hockey pictures on the wall, the low ceilings upstairs, the endless beach and the sun on the still water at first light.’
‘It is a wonderful place.’ She slipped on her much-loved black patent Gianvito Rossi 105 pumps – she’d had to avert her eyes from the screen of the credit-card reader when she’d tapped in her PIN – and picked up her handbag. ‘But slightly odd that it has such a hold on you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because, as far as I know, you’ve never been there.’
‘That’s precisely my point.’ The muscles bunched along his jaw. ‘It occupies such a vivid place in my imagination because it continues to do so in yours. You’ve stopped talking about it, but I know you haven’t stopped dreaming about the bloody place.’
She sighed. ‘I think we’ve had enough jealousy for one year, don’t you? If I was going to sleep with Sergei, I’d have done it long ago.’
‘Who said anything about sleeping with him? You’re still seeing him, aren’t y
ou? And I know you loved him.’
She put down the bag and clasped his cheeks between her hands. ‘It’s you I’ve always loved, as I’ve told you many, many times. This is about something different. This is work.’
‘What kind of work requires you to cosy up to an old lover?’
Kate tried not to let her irritation show. ‘The kind I do.’
‘And what if I said I really don’t want you to see him, even if it catapults us to the brink of the Third World War?’
‘I’d say that would be fine, after tonight.’
‘And why is tonight so important?’
‘For all the reasons I shouldn’t already have told you.’ She held his look. ‘This isn’t some secret assignation. I’m going to see him very briefly in the middle of a party of about five hundred people.’
‘What are you going to see him about?’
‘I’m under direct orders from Sir Alan. I really can’t discuss it. And I really have to go.’ She blew him a kiss and pulled the door shut behind her.
The ambassador’s residence was a comfortable red-brick building, set in its own grounds just north of Regent’s Park. The previous incumbent had been a great fan of vinyl and guests had been encouraged to put a favourite LP from his voluminous collection on the turntable in the spacious entrance hall. But it had been all-change since then, and guests were ushered through the hallway now to a marquee in the garden.
Despite the rain, it was still warm enough for the flaps to be furled and some of the guests to have drifted out beyond its confines to smoke or take in the damp evening air. Kate circulated. Several of her US-leaning colleagues were present. Adrian Sandalwood, a direct contemporary and now the main liaison with the CIA, introduced her to a striking, enviably ageless blonde, who turned out to be his opposite number in London. ‘You’ve met Cindy, of course.’