Breaking Cover

by Stella Rimington

  Mischa pointed out that his brother had told him more or less the same thing the last time they had met. For a second he thought his brother would get cross, but instead he broke into a grin and said, Yes, but I didn’t tell you we had two Illegals there.

  Surprised by this, Liz asked, ‘Two Illegals, are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely. My brother repeated it because I must have looked surprised.’

  ‘Are the two Illegals aware of each other?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Mischa said again. ‘They could not help but know of each other’s presence in your country. You see, they are partners.’

  ‘Do you mean, they’re married?’ Liz was astonished. ‘Or do you mean they’re working partners?’

  ‘It is hard to say. I think they have worked together somewhere else, perhaps as a married couple. But whether they are in fact married, I do not know. I doubt even my brother knows. Remember, they have no “real” identities any more.’

  Yes, thought Liz, their lives are all bound up in the roles they are playing.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, her mind starting to race with possibilities. Somehow she felt confident it would be easier to find a couple than it would a lone wolf. Then again, two needles in a haystack weren’t that much easier to find than one. ‘Did he say anything else about this couple?’

  ‘Yes. He told me that their purpose originally was subversive – trying to weaken the country by encouraging disruptive activities. It was left to them initially to find the best way of doing that. At first they had focused their attention on the intelligence agencies and trying to weaken them by helping and encouraging their opponents.’

  ‘And?’ said Liz. This was more precise than anything he’d told them before. But she could hear a note of triumph in Mischa’s voice. ‘Something’s changed though, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. My brother said the first Illegal was working on a woman, who had become tied in to the intelligence services in some way. I told him that was a stroke of luck, and he said that luck is what failures call the success of their betters. He was annoyed with me, and that was when he told me the second Illegal had also managed something extraordinary.’

  ‘Did he say what that was?’

  Mischa nodded. ‘I must go soon. They will open this chapel shortly.’

  ‘Tell me first. What was extraordinary?’

  Mischa hesitated, and Liz could sense him weighing the benefits of telling her against the rewards he might reap by leaving this disclosure for a later meet. She said, ‘There will be something for you if you tell me now. If you don’t, I cannot promise to meet you again. That is not meant as a threat, but as a fact.’

  This seemed to tip the balance for Mischa. He stood up. ‘My brother said the operation has changed. It has been renamed. It is now called Pincer.’

  ‘As in a trap?’

  ‘Something of the sort. He said the other Illegal is targeting a man, and that through him a second of your secret services might be infiltrated.’

  Liz saw that he was preparing to leave and said quickly, ‘So they’re mounting a dual attack?’

  ‘Not yet, I think,’ he said. ‘But I do know for sure that they are getting close to it.’

  Liz was stunned by this revelation that not one, but two of the UK’s intelligence services were under attack. Operation Pincer seemed the right name for such an ambitious plot. But before she could ask anything else, Mischa was gone.

  34

  The BBC weather website said that Tallinn was fine: 21 degrees and clear skies. Peggy looked glumly out of one of the windows of the fourth-floor open-plan office, and wished again that Liz had taken her too. In London a westerly wind had swept in from the Atlantic, bringing rain and a cold wind. It felt more like autumn than spring, thought Peggy grumpily.

  Until recently she’d always looked forward to the end of the day and to going back to the flat and seeing Tim. But things had changed. Now she found herself dawdling at her desk, almost looking for extra things to do, anything to reduce the hours she spent in his company.

  So when the phone on her desk rang just as she was thinking of packing up for the day, she was pleased rather than annoyed – and delighted when it turned out to be Jasminder, suggesting they meet for a drink. It gave Peggy just what she wanted: a good excuse for being late home. She’d text Tim to warn him, and with any luck he’d find his own supper and retreat to the study and she wouldn’t have to cope with his inevitable surliness.

  She met Jasminder in a wine bar near Embankment station, in one of the vaults below the railway bridge. Jasminder was looking stunning. She’d had her hair cut into a chic bob, and wore a smart raincoat, tightly belted. She was sitting in a corner nursing a glass of white wine.

  Conversation flowed easily now that Jasminder knew where her friend worked. By coincidence, when she’d come round Thames House on an introductory tour, one of the people she’d been introduced to was none other than Peggy, who had laughed at her amazement.

  ‘How’s it all going?’ asked Peggy now. ‘Are you sorry you took the job? The press have been giving you a bit of a hard time.’

  ‘Not at all. I’m really enjoying it – in spite of all that,’ said Jasminder, sipping her wine. ‘I had my doubts at the beginning, as you know. But I was wrong – the job is fascinating. C has been very supportive and I think he really is committed to greater openness. So I don’t feel at all as if I’ve sacrificed my principles – which as you know was what I was most worried about.’

  ‘And Geoffrey Fane? How’s that old brute been behaving?’

  Jasminder laughed. ‘I think he still thinks my arrival signals the end of the world as he knows it – and it probably does. But to be fair to him, he’s been very friendly.’

  ‘Yes, he would be,’ said Peggy. ‘One thing about Geoffrey is that he’s a gent. But that doesn’t mean he’ll take it all lying down. Just watch your back for when he sticks the knife in.’

  ‘I hear you, but honestly, I don’t think he will.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Peggy sounded sceptical. Then something buzzed, and Jasminder reached into her bag. She brought out a shiny green iPhone.

  ‘Ooh, nice,’ said Peggy admiringly.

  ‘I know. It was a gift. I’d never spend that much myself.’

  ‘Is it something urgent?’ Peggy asked as Jasminder looked at the message.

  ‘No. It’s my friend Laurenz. I’m meeting him in a bit – in front of the National Gallery.’

  ‘Is he the guy you mentioned before? You know, when we were filling out your application form?’ From which, Peggy also remembered, any mention of a boyfriend or partner had been omitted.

  ‘That’s the one.’ Jasminder seemed too pleased to be embarrassed. ‘We met when I got mugged,’ she added. ‘Do you remember, it was just before that lecture where we first met? He was the one who chased the men off.’

  ‘I remember. Are you seeing a lot of him then?’

  Jasminder nodded. She suddenly looked shy. ‘I usually stay at his place now. When there were all those reporters round my house, he rescued me.’

  ‘Isn’t that dying down? The press is known for its short attention span.’

  ‘Yes. They’ve gone now. But Laurenz is still a bit nervy about them.’

  ‘Why does he care? It’s you they’re interested in.’

  ‘I know. But he’s a very private person and very protective of me.’

  ‘What does Laurenz do?’

  ‘Don’t laugh: he’s a private banker.’ Peggy couldn’t help but smile, and Jasminder said ruefully, ‘I know, it seems unlikely – Miss Civil Liberties going out with a representative of capitalism. But at least he’s not a hedge-fund manager. And, surprisingly, he shares my view on a lot of things. He’s remarkably liberal on many issues.’

  ‘But presumably his clients aren’t. Is that why he doesn’t want them to see him in the newspapers?’

  ‘Probably.’ Jasminder hesitated. ‘There’s something else too. He’s going through a divorce and it’s b
een very unpleasant. He says he doesn’t want his wife to know about me until everything’s settled. He said it would only make things worse if she knew he was seeing someone else. I think they’re arguing over money. He says she’s trying to bleed him dry.’

  ‘Sounds nasty. But I wouldn’t have thought the fact that he was seeing someone else would make any difference. I don’t think the courts expect any man to be a monk these days.’

  Jasminder shrugged, then glanced at her phone again. Peggy said, ‘Did he give you that?’

  ‘Yes, when I got the job at MI6. He’s very generous. If I let him, he’d pamper me the whole time.’

  Peggy smiled, trying not to think about how long it had been since Tim had given her a present. It wasn’t that she expected them; on his lecturer’s salary he wasn’t in a position to flood her with gifts. Actually, the nicest thing she’d ever had from him was a bunch of wildflowers he’d presented her with on her birthday. It just would have been good to know sometimes that he still wanted to please her.

  Jasminder said, ‘I’d better be going. Laurenz is one of those irritatingly punctual types.’

  ‘Did you say you’re meeting him by the National Gallery?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I’ll walk up with you, if you don’t mind. It’s on my way.’

  ‘Great. I can introduce you. That will be a first. He’s never met any of my friends.’

  ‘I’ll just get the bill,’ said Peggy. She was curious to see this man who seemed to have Jasminder wrapped around his finger. Odd, how this impressive young woman – a role model to others, known for her ability to take strong positions and argue the toss with anybody from aggressive television interviewers to senior government ministers – was acting like a besotted teenager.

  Outside it was still light as they walked up to the Strand, then cut across Trafalgar Square towards the steps in front of the National Gallery. The tourist season was just beginning, and by the fountains young visitors were posing for each other in front of Nelson’s Column. As they walked by it, Jasminder suddenly waved and Peggy saw a tall man in a dark blue suit, standing on the steps at the north end of the square, lift his hand in response.

  As they approached, Peggy hung back a bit and waited while Jasminder and the man embraced. Peggy felt slightly awkward, especially when he didn’t even look at her; she wished now she had simply made her own way home. But Jasminder turned, holding the man’s hand, and said, ‘Laurenz, I want you to meet a friend of mine. This is Peggy Kinsolving.’

  Peggy put on her warmest smile. ‘Hello,’ she said, trying to sound as friendly as she could.

  Laurenz nodded at her, but didn’t say hello. He was a handsome man, almost dauntingly so – with a strong jaw, deep-set eyes, and dark hair that he brushed straight back.

  ‘I’m just on my way home,’ Peggy explained, in case Laurenz thought she was hoping to horn in on them. ‘But it’s very nice to meet you. Jasminder’s been telling me about you.’

  ‘Has she?’ he said, and Peggy could see that Jasminder was sharing her own discomfort. ‘Do you work with her?’

  ‘No,’ said Peggy emphatically.

  ‘How do you know her then?’ he asked rather abruptly. He seemed suspicious.

  ‘We met after a talk I gave,’ Jasminder said, and Peggy added, ‘I’m a big admirer of Jasminder’s – like a lot of people.’

  Though this was intended to please Laurenz it had the opposite effect. He scowled slightly, then put his arm through Jasminder’s until she’d turned and faced him. ‘We’re running late,’ he said, and started to lead her away.

  Jasminder looked back at Peggy, with a helpless expression that seemed almost beseeching, as if asking her to understand.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Peggy called out to Laurenz with a cheerfulness she didn’t feel. ‘I’ll ring you,’ she said more quietly to Jasminder, but her friend had already turned around and Peggy doubted she’d been heard.

  35

  ‘So the mystery deepens,’ said Bruno Mackay.

  He was obviously in better spirits and recovering from whatever it was that had happened to him in Libya. His yellow spotted tie demanded to be noticed and his pinstripe Savile Row suit disguised his thinness – or perhaps he’s regaining a bit of weight, thought Liz. Somehow she would feel more comfortable with the old self-satisfed, patronising Bruno than she had with the rather grey shadow of himself of a few weeks ago.

  ‘Yes. Now we seem to be looking for two people,’ she said. Liz had just finished describing her meeting with Mischa. They were gathered in the same conference room in which they had first heard from Charlie Simmons that something was stirring and might be heading their way. They had moved on a lot since then but it was still impossible to know whether what they were now learning had any connection to what Charlie had reported.

  This was the frustration of counter-espionage, thought Liz: too many vague leads, too little hard intelligence. She wanted to see the threat – like she could see the terrorist – and to understand what she was trying to prevent. But this was more like walking into a dark room, knowing someone else was in there too, reaching out to try and touch them while at the same time dreading making contact for fear of what they might do.

  ‘If I’ve got it right,’ said Peggy, ever practical, ‘what he’s saying is that there are two foreigners in the country – and we don’t know what nationality they are pretending to be – who are manipulating people in a position to do damage to the intelligence services. I don’t see what we can possibly do with information that vague.’

  Liz said, ‘Hang on a minute. Mischa was more precise than that. What he was saying was that they came here with the broad brief of finding ways of damaging and weakening the country. They first focused on the intelligence services and on getting alongside our critics and encouraging and helping them. That sounds like a classic subversion operation. But then he said that recently the operation has changed its aim because they have got close to two people, a woman and a man, who are actually in or very close to the intelligence services – that means us and you, Bruno, or else possibly GCHQ. It’s less likely to be Defence Intelligence.

  ‘Mischa said that the two Illegals are working in partnership, as they have done before, though whether here or somewhere else, I don’t know. Since they each have a different intelligence service in their sights, they’ve renamed the initiative, which is now called Operation Pincer.

  ‘Make of that what you like,’ Liz concluded with a shrug. ‘But,’ she added, ‘you can be sure that if the FSB are congratulating themselves on a success, then it’s serious. If they’ve penetrated us and you, Bruno, we’re right back to the Cold War. Heaven knows what damage will be done.’

  ‘Well, it certainly sounds terrible,’ said Peggy. ‘And so clever as to be almost incredible. Are you sure Mischa is kosher, Miles, and not just spinning us a story to get lots of your lovely dollars?’

  Miles Brookhaven shrugged. Like Bruno he wore a suit, but his tie was striped and his shirt a white Brooks Brother button-down at its most conservative. He said, ‘Our Kiev Station thinks he’s reliable. He’s given them some good stuff about Russian activity in Ukraine.’

  ‘From what he said to me,’ Liz responded, ‘it wasn’t brilliant work on the Illegals’ part. They got lucky. Something happened that they weren’t expecting, and they took advantage of it. Though I don’t think Mischa’s brother put it that way to his bosses. It sounds as though he’s taking credit for a brilliant coup.’

  There was silence in the room for a moment.

  ‘This doesn’t make sense,’ said Bruno. ‘How could someone who looked at first as though they would help undermine the intelligence services, suddenly get inside one? None of us is going to start employing Wikileakers or Snowdenistas. Not nowadays.’

  Peggy said, ‘They might not be one of us. Think back to the Cold War. We used to try to recruit the window cleaner at the Soviet Embassy or the gardener at the flats where the Bulgarians lived. They o
ften turned out to be very useful.’

  ‘True,’ said Bruno, with a grin. ‘But even MI5 wouldn’t have regarded a window cleaner as a coup, so I don’t suppose the FSB does.’

  Peggy groaned, Miles smiled and Liz said, ‘I don’t think it’s the window cleaner at all. I don’t know how this has happened but I think the female they’ve targeted has recently joined either one of the intelligence services or perhaps the Home Office or the police or even the Foreign Office. Anyway they’ve got themselves inside and that’s why Mischa’s brother is so excited. The male target’s either not in play yet, or their position isn’t as helpful.’

  ‘I would guess romance is involved somewhere in all this.’ It was Miles speaking.

  ‘Romance?’ said Liz.

  ‘He means sex, Liz,’ said Bruno. ‘He’s just too well brought up to say so. You know, the old-fashioned honey trap. In that case we’re looking for a lover boy pursuing the female target.’

  ‘Don’t be so sexist,’ said Peggy. ‘It could be a seductress.’

  ‘It could be same sex in both cases,’ agreed Liz. ‘We just don’t know as yet.’

  Peggy worked late, feeling buoyed by the meeting. She’d met Miles a couple of times while Liz was away, and far from the slightly naive American she remembered from the past, she now thought him relaxed, friendly and clever. After months of Tim’s bad-tempered outbursts, many directed at her, she found spending time with a courteous but quick-thinking man a welcome change. She knew Miles didn’t have a wife, and found herself wondering if he had anyone in his life. Peggy thought not: he’d made a passing reference one afternoon to the ‘bachelor supper’ awaiting him, which he confessed was going to be a takeaway. If there hadn’t been Tim to think about, Peggy would have offered to make him supper.

  She was feeling more confident of finding the Illegals. If they’d somehow infiltrated MI5 or MI6, then they were operating on turf she knew well. She liked this kind of pursuit, and was good at it. Hadn’t Liz told her the best antidote to personal troubles was immersion in the job? It looked as though that was how it was going to be now, and Peggy left work feeling much better than she had when the day began.