Breaking Cover

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Breaking Cover Page 20

by Stella Rimington


  ‘That’s good news. How long will you be in?’

  ‘Another night or two. I’d come home now if I didn’t feel so woozy.’

  ‘Have the police been to see you?’

  ‘Yes – twice, in fact.’ There had been a bright woman constable who’d been sufficiently struck by Peggy’s description of the attack – and by her elliptical description of her job – that she’d asked for a Special Branch detective to come in a few hours later and question Peggy further about her assailants.

  ‘I bet that’s more than they usually do,’ said Tim cynically. ‘Especially for an ordinary mugging.’

  ‘They don’t think it was an ordinary mugging.’

  ‘Really? Why not? The guy was after your handbag, I bet.’

  ‘Dressed in a suit? With a woman waiting in a car to help him make his getaway? That’s not how most muggers operate.’

  ‘You’d be surprised. Lots of people are desperate these days. Not just young delinquents either. Besides, if it wasn’t a mugging, what else could it be? Don’t tell me it was terrorists – or Edward Snowden!’

  Peggy didn’t have an answer, and if one occurred to her, it wouldn’t be something she would want to discuss with Tim. She was certain the attack on her had been planned, and she assumed it would have something to do with her job; there was nothing in her personal life – no spurned lovers, no stalkers, no arch-enemies – that could make someone want to bash her brains in.

  But there was no obvious answer to be found. Working with Liz, Peggy spent most of her time behind the scenes, analysing intelligence, doing research, investigating leads. Occasionally of late she had been operational – almost always interviewing people and always under cover. The last time had been the year before, when she had gone to question an old lady who lived next door to a house in Manchester suspected of sheltering terrorists. For that Peggy had posed as an electoral registration officer; before that she’d played other roles, a pollster, a student looking for a room and once a District Nurse. She’d never disclosed her real name, or where she lived or her real job, so it was hard to see how she could have been identified by someone or why they would want to kill her.

  For that, she felt quite sure, was what this attack had been about – there was no mistaking the lethal intentions of the man with the cosh. She shuddered as she remembered the force of the blow that had missed her, but dented the bonnet of the car.

  She pulled herself together and looked at Tim. Remembering what had happened to her brought to mind a question.

  ‘I noticed you’ve got a new phone,’ she said.

  Tim shifted suddenly on his seat. ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘I was just wondering when you got it.’

  He shrugged his shoulders, but looked uncomfortable. ‘A couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘Did you buy it? It’s very smart. It must have cost the earth.’ She knew he didn’t have the £500 or so that iPhones like his went for. Some months he didn’t even have his share of the rent.

  ‘Not really,’ Tim said reluctantly.

  ‘Well, have you signed a new contract or something?’

  ‘No. But what does it matter?’

  ‘Well, of course it matters. If you’ve taken out an expensive phone contract, how are you going to pay your share of the household bills?’

  ‘Well, I haven’t.’

  ‘So where did you come by such a fancy phone?’

  ‘From someone I met.’ He spoke jerkily. ‘Through a group.’

  ‘A group?’

  ‘Online,’ he snapped. ‘An online group. People who think like me about civil liberties. But they think of their own free will, unlike the clones you work with.’

  ‘So you made a friend online and they gave you an iPhone?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’ He looked embarrassed, but said angrily, ‘I met the person actually, since you ask. And we share the same views.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘The internet. The need for freedom of speech. Thanks to your lot, no one can be sure that communications are confidential. Snowden showed that governments can look at anything – and they do.’

  ‘It would take at least a couple of million people to look at everybody’s email. Frankly, we have better things to do.’

  ‘That’s not the point. You can’t feel safe on the internet. You never know for sure that Big Brother isn’t snooping on everything you do. Phones are much safer.’ He looked at her defiantly. ‘I’m not doing anything wrong. The state is. I don’t want them poking about in my business.’

  Peggy shook her head, partly to clear the cobwebs induced by the sedative, partly in disbelief. She had heard most of this before from Tim, but it was still utter codswallop. How on earth could an intelligent man think that accessing the internet on a phone was any different from doing so on a computer, or safer if it came to that? Someone had been filling his head with rubbish. She said, ‘This “friend” of yours, is female?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, she is. But that’s nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Oh, really? She admires your ideas, I suppose; so much that she gives you expensive unsolicited gifts. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.’ Peggy found herself growing angry, if only because Tim was being so unforthcoming. If he were having an affair, if he had found someone else, it would hurt, yes, and it would mean their relationship was over. But then why couldn’t he say so?

  ‘I promise you, it’s not like that. Marina – that’s the woman’s name – isn’t interested in me that way.’

  So maybe this woman was taking him for a mug. Though that didn’t explain why she’d given him an expensive phone. Peggy said angrily, ‘And what about you? Is your interest purely intellectual?’

  ‘I barely know what the woman looks like. I only met her for the first time at that talk we went to. You know, the one Jasminder gave before she joined the Spooks.’

  ‘Spooks? Is that what you call us now?’

  ‘It’s just a name, Peggy,’ said Tim, but he looked ashamed of himself.

  She frowned. ‘I still don’t understand – especially if this Marina woman is only interested in your mind – why she gave you a phone. It doesn’t make any sense. It would be like my giving some casual friend a laptop for Christmas. Over the top, inappropriate, and actually downright weird.’

  ‘I explained – it’s to keep our exchanges confidential. And anyway, it’s not what you think. Marina has a friend who beta-tests phones for Apple and had a few spare. She asked if I would like one. I said, of course. So she gave me one. It may look weird,’ he acknowledged, sounding defensive, ‘but that’s the truth.’

  Peggy didn’t know what to say. Fortunately the nurse came in just then, to take her temperature and blood pressure, while another woman brought supper on a tray. By the time she’d set it down and filled the water jug, Tim had left. Peggy didn’t mind that he hadn’t even said goodbye.

  38

  It had been a long day, and Liz had got back to her flat wanting nothing but a hot bath, a large glass of white wine and perhaps a chunk of Cheddar and a biscuit, when the phone rang. All thoughts of these creature comforts disappeared when the desk officer at Thames House informed her that Peggy Kinsolving had been attacked, and was now in the Royal Free in Hampstead, receiving treatment. She would be all right, the desk officer assured Liz, but had been quite badly hurt.

  It was another twenty-four hours before Liz saw Peggy in the flesh, though by then she had already made two trips to Hampstead. Peggy was being scanned on the first occasion; the next time, she was in a drug-induced sleep, which the nurses said would not wear off for several hours. There was no sign of Tim at the hospital, though apparently he knew all about the incident and had visited; a nurse told Liz he’d actually been on the scene just moments after the assault. There didn’t seem to be anyone else to notify: Peggy’s father had died many years before and Liz knew that her mother was in a home, suffering from advanced dementia.

  This time she found Peggy wide awake – a
nd looking grumpy. ‘So,’ said Liz, handing her a box of After Eights and a paperback edition of Cold Comfort Farm, ‘what’s the prognosis?’

  Peggy explained she’d be in for another day or two. ‘The doctors tell me I can come back to work next week.’

  ‘Take your time. I’d rather you were fully fit before you return.’ Liz paused, then said, ‘By the way, I’ve spoken to Special Branch. We’re trying to work out who did this to you, and why, but I can’t say we’ve got very far.’

  Peggy shook her head wearily. ‘I am sure there’s something behind it but I’ve thought and thought and I can’t work out what it is.’

  ‘Well, try and leave it for now or you won’t get better. Anyway, have you got everything you need?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. And thank you for the chocs – and the book. I’ve never read it.’

  ‘It’s very funny. I hope it won’t hurt you to laugh.’

  Peggy grinned, and for a moment looked her old perky self. Then the slight melancholy Liz had noticed recently in her young friend re-emerged, settling on her face like a gloomy mask. Liz said gently, ‘Has Tim been to see you?’

  ‘Yes. You must have just missed him. He brought me those,’ and she pointed to the grapes that were beginning to shrivel on their plate. Liz couldn’t help smiling at the unattractive-looking specimens, and was relieved to find Peggy smiling too.

  Then she said, ‘Liz, if someone you knew and liked – a friend, let’s say, but nothing more – suddenly offered you an iPhone, would you think it odd?’

  ‘You mean, as a present?’

  Peggy nodded.

  ‘Well, I’d say it was pretty unusual. Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘Tim was given a phone by… someone called Marina.’ A tear start to roll down Peggy’s cheek. ‘He said they talk in an online chat room. A bunch of kindred spirits apparently. Snowdenistas one and all.’

  ‘I remember you telling me he was getting involved with those people.’

  Peggy nodded, her expression grim. ‘He says it’s purely a sharing of interests, but it sounds pretty fishy to me.’ She sighed, then winced as she moved her shoulder.

  Liz said sympathetically, ‘You mentioned things had been difficult lately.’

  ‘That’s putting it mildly. But I thought it was his politics that had changed. I didn’t think—’ Peggy stopped talking and looked away. Liz noticed another tear fall. She felt for Peggy, but something in this story didn’t seem as obvious as her friend thought. If Tim were seeing someone else, wouldn’t he have just come out and said so? He had always struck Liz as slightly weak, even nerdish, but duplicity seemed out of character for him – if anything, he was painfully ingenuous.

  ‘You know, Peggy, what he’s saying is probably true. These kinds of internet friendships can be pretty intense, but without becoming – well, intimate in that sense.’

  ‘I wish you were right. But somehow I don’t think so.’

  They talked for a few minutes more, until Liz could see Peggy was growing tired. ‘Listen, I’ll be back tomorrow, and bring you another book.’

  ‘I don’t want to spoil your weekend, Liz. I’ll be fine here; they’re looking after me very well.’

  ‘I know, but I want to make sure you’re getting better. Call it selfish but I need you back at Thames House ASAP.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks so much for coming. It’s cheered me up.’

  ‘Good. See you tomorrow.’ Liz left, glad she had come, but not just because Peggy had brightened up. There was something odd going on and she wanted to know more about it – and about this Marina woman who had befriended Tim and doubtless egged on his paranoid fantasies. Who was she and what was she up to? Liz wondered whether Jasminder knew her. If she was a hardline civil libertarian maybe she wrote articles for Jasminder’s magazine. She must get Peggy to ask her. It was certainly worth finding out more, if only to reassure Liz herself that nothing dangerous was going on.

  There was only one thing to do, she decided. With Peggy still in hospital for another day or two, this was the perfect time to tackle Tim.

  39

  The plane landed twenty minutes early, and with very little delay at passport control and customs Jasminder was soon in the baggage hall. She had brought rather a lot of clothes for a weekend, uncertain what the dress code would be. Thinking that in a place like Bermuda she would need something fairly glamorous for the evenings, she’d been shopping in her lunch breaks and had equipped herself with a choice to meet all situations. The airport confirmed her view that this would be a pretty glitzy weekend – the shops were expensive designer-label-only outlets, and the passengers in the terminal were dressed in the casually smart outfits of the rich.

  A tall man in a chauffeur’s hat was standing by the barrier with a sign bearing her name. He gave a curt nod when she approached him, took her bag and led her to a black limousine parked directly outside. They drove across the causeway from the airport, and after a few questions from Jasminder about Bermuda had received only monosyllabic replies, they travelled on in silence.

  They continued for a few miles more, past colonial-style houses set back from the road. Jasminder felt she could have been in Surrey, except for the occasional palm tree and the hints of sand beneath the manicured lawns. The sun shone in an unbroken blue sky, but it was cooler here than she’d expected – just 70 degrees Fahrenheit according to the thermometer on the car’s dashboard – and she reminded herself that she was in the North Atlantic, not the tropics. They had just passed the umpteenth golf course when the driver turned off through open gates towards a spacious bungalow that sat a good hundred yards from the road. A large and beautiful Cedar of Lebanon tree stood on the front lawn, but the grass was six inches high, as if the gardener had been ill or the mower didn’t work. When the chauffeur pulled up in front of the house, Jasminder could see that its pale ochre paint needed refreshing, and that at one end of its low slanting roof a few tiles were missing.

  The chauffeur took her bag and escorted her to the front door, then shook his head when she asked how much she owed him. She rang the bell, but when the door swung open from her inadvertent push, she stepped inside, into the hallway. Open arched doors led to rooms on either side, but when she peeped in, there was no one about.

  ‘Hello,’ she called out cautiously, then repeated it more loudly. There was no response at first, but then she heard a door close at the back of the house. A moment later, a woman came towards her down the narrow hallway.

  ‘Jasminder?’ she asked. She was blonde and expensively packaged – as if on show rather than holiday. She wore a skin-tight dress of rainbow stripes, and white high heels that looked uncomfortable. Her arms and bare legs were the colour of caramel, and her skin had the leathery look that comes from too much exposure to the sun.

  ‘That’s me,’ said Jasminder with a smile. The woman did not smile back.

  ‘Let me show you where you’re staying,’ she said. She led Jasminder to the back of the house, down a corridor with closed doors on either side. The last door turned out to lead to Jasminder’s bedroom.

  ‘Is Laurenz here?’ she asked. There was no sign in the room of his things.

  The woman shook her head. Pointing to a connecting door, she said, ‘His room’s through there. They’re all in a meeting, but you’ll see him at dinner. It’s at seven at the club.’

  ‘The club?’

  The woman looked at her expressionlessly. ‘The golf club. It’s just over there.’ She pointed through the wide window of the bedroom. Turning to look, Jasminder could see a few holes of a golf course. Did anyone do anything else in Bermuda?

  The woman said, ‘You can walk there in a few minutes. If you want, I’ll go with you so you don’t get lost. There’s a pool at the back,’ she added – pointing behind the house. ‘Feel free to use it. And help yourself to anything in the fridge.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jasminder.

  ‘See you just before seven then,’ the woman said, and left the room.

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sp; The bedroom was small and stuffy – the air conditioning seemed woefully underpowered. Jasminder opened the connecting door and walked through to Laurenz’s room. It was the same size as hers, and though one of his suits was hanging in the cupboard and his shaving things were in the bathroom, it seemed equally soulless. It was certainly not the luxurious accommodation he had implied there would be. Still, Jasminder decided, she mustn’t grumble; not many people got a free holiday to Bermuda.

  Going back to her own room, she decided to have a swim, and changed into a new bikini she had bought for the trip. Taking a bath towel with her, she went out of the back door of the house and found the pool set behind a group of squat palmettos. The pool was small, kidney-shaped, and didn’t look very inviting; clusters of flying beetles were flitting on and off the surface of the water and some were floating on it, apparently dead.

  Two recliners were positioned in the shade at the far end and Jasminder went and lay down on one of them. She should have brought her book, she thought, then realised how tired she was.

  When she opened her eyes again she was cold and, looking at her watch, discovered she had slept for an hour and a half. It was almost six-thirty. She went into the house, where no one else seemed to be about, including the woman she was starting to think of as Miss Glamour Girl. In her bedroom Jasminder considered what to wear for dinner – would it be smart or casual? She compromised, and put on smart trousers and a pretty, flowery top, with silver sandals. She applied a little makeup, brushed her hair, and went back to the front of the house. There she found Glamour Girl waiting in the sitting room, turning the pages of an old copy of Vogue.

  ‘Hi, Jacintha, all set?’ The other woman stood up. She was wearing a low-cut black evening dress, with a heavy gold necklace, dangly earrings and a pair of gold bracelets that jingled when she moved her arm.

  ‘It’s Jasminder. And yes, I’m ready. But what’s your name?’

  ‘My real one is long and unpronounceable. But you can call me Sam. Everyone else does.’

  They went outside and Sam closed the door firmly behind them. Jasminder followed as the woman went through a gate in the back garden that led on to the golf course. As they walked along one of the fairways, Sam asked, ‘Have you known Laurenz long?’

 

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