by Matthew Dunn
Two minutes later they were in their armchairs, coffee and calvados on small tables adjacent to each chair.
Sign said, “And now to business. You have a problem, Miss Archer – one that your peers, subordinates, and superiors cannot solve,”
Archer sipped her calvados. “I have two problems; both of them delicate.”
Sign rubbed his hands. “Excellent. Juicy intrigue or salacious indiscretions. Or both.”
“Ben – stop being flippant.” Archer winked at Knutsen before looking back at Sign. “We can all playact and be chameleons. You don’t need to put on a performance for me. I will see through it.”
Sign nodded. “It’s the layers beneath that you’ll struggle to discover.” He closed his eyes, clasped his hands, and leaned back in his chair. “Proceed.”
Archer addressed Knutsen. “MI6 is a cell-like structure. Think of it as a honeycomb. I do things that my boss isn’t cleared to know about. He does things I’m not cleared to know about. In headquarters there are people in the room next to me who have no idea about my work, and I’ve no idea about their work. There are different departments. None of us knows what another department does. Most importantly, none of us know about each other’s foreign agents. It has to be that way. Secrecy is paramount. So, what I’m about to tell you is information that is only privy to a small number of security-cleared individuals. If you break my trust, Tom, I’ll crucify you.”
“Get on with it, Jayne. We have no time for melodramatics!” Sign remained deep in thought, with his eyes closed.
Archer kept her eyes on Knutsen. “I’m about to break the law by telling you something. If MI6 found out why I was here, they’d put me in prison and throw away the key. Breaching Section 1 of the Official Secrets Act is no trivial matter. It’s one step away from treason.”
Sign was getting impatient. “And yet here you are and here we are. And if we all have to spend quality time together in clink, you can look forward to the possibility of me telling you one day how I really sourced the camel. I’ll give you a teaser – it involved me donning a chequered silk dish-dash and riding the beast across fifty miles of desert. It was very Lawrence of Arabia.”
Archer sipped her coffee. “I run a female Russian agent. She’s SVR, posted to Russia’s London station. She’s only twenty five years old.”
“Her access?” Sign’s tone was curt.
“She knows the names of every Russian spy in Britain.”
“Her motivation to spy for you?”
“She hates Russia. Or more precisely, she hates the Russian regime.” Archer placed her cup back onto its saucer. “Her brother was in Special Forces. He was deployed to the Crimea. He witnessed his colleagues commit a state-sanctioned massacre. He killed his captain, though his colleagues never found out it was him who pulled the trigger. He was riddled with guilt, took to drink, and committed suicide. My agent saw him take his life.”
“And at that moment, his guilt transferred itself into her. She spies for you because it is her only was of slowly but surely bleeding the guilt out of her system.” Sign opened his eyes. “But, something’s gone wrong.”
Archer nodded. “Without doubt, she is the best agent the Russia Department has. Only I am allowed to see her. She’s single-handedly giving us the ammunition to dismantle not just the Russian spy network in Britain, but also its presence in France, Germany, and elsewhere in Europe. Plus, she has knowledge of Russia’s footprint in the States. Some of this information is in her head. Other names she has to steal from files and by the use of interpersonal guile. It’s a fraught task. She’s walking a high wire tightrope. We all know what would happen to her if she got caught.”
“Yes, we do. Why has she stopped spying for you?” Sign was looking straight at Archer.
“I didn’t say she had.”
“I’m accelerating proceedings. If she’d gone missing and you simply wanted us to find her you wouldn’t have given us the information you’ve just supplied. Instead, you’d have spun a cock and bull story about why she’s of value to you and why you need her back. No. You want us to get into her head. She’s stopped spying for you and you want to know why.”
“Correct.” Archer was cautious. “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, being here.”
Sign huffed. “What’s her name?”
Archer said nothing.
“What’s her name?!”
Archer looked at Knutsen, then Sign. “Okay. So this is the bit where I break the law. Her name is Natalia Asina.”
Sign took a swig of his calvados. “Given her age, she’s of a low rank in the SVR. But, given her access to the names of Russian spies, she has a highly confidential, but desk-bound job. She’s not yet been unleashed to be a front-line operative. She’s an analyst. Correction – she’s a human resources specialist. She has to monitor Russian spies in Europe and elsewhere. Her remit is welfare. If a Russian spy needs help, she directs support to that spy.”
“Yes. But, not all spies. She’s only cleared to know the identities of low to medium ranking agents in Britain. She has to manufacture access to the names of the top Russian spies in the West.”
“Of course. But, at great risk to her wellbeing, until recently she was able to do that and pass that information to you. Now, she’s got stage fright. You want us to work out why.”
Archer looked cold as she replied, “The why is pertinent but not paramount. I just want her to continue to do her job.”
“The why is most certainly pertinent if we are to tear apart her brain and ascertain the reason why she’s no longer cooperating.” Sign dipped his finger in his drink and placed it in his mouth. “How many MI6 officers are privy to the identity of Natalia?”
“Alongside me, the chief and four other high ranking officers.”
“What are their views on this matter?”
“The chief is putting enormous pressure on me to get Natalia back on track. The others have offered to meet her. But, I’ve declined that offer. She’d clam up further. Probably she’d flee to Russia. She only trusts me.”
“That must change.” Sign said, “Tell me about her personal life and character.”
It was clear that Archer didn’t like being interrogated in this way. “She’s single, though she had a boyfriend at university. She split up with him when she got the job offer with the SVR. Her parents are dead; she’s pretty; no financial problems, though she’s on a meagre salary; fluent English; intelligent; perceptive; lives in a one bedroom flat in Battersea; no pets; likes to go to nightclubs on a Friday night, but only to dance; drinks alcohol but not to excess; doesn’t smoke; has never taken drugs; listens to music.”
“What music?” asked Knutsen.
“Indie music. My Bloody Valentine, The Orb, Primal Scream, The God Machine. And other stuff that I’d never heard of until I met her.”
Knutsen looked at Sign. “I like her.”
Sign shook his head, a look of disdain on his face. He asked Archer, “What are her Achilles heels?”
“Hatred of Russia and vulnerability. Both can produce in her emotions and skewed decision-making. A woman bearing anger and fear can feel very frightened. She’s terrified of herself and of others.”
“As a result, we have the measure of her.” Sign slowly exhaled. “Miss Asina is lost in the world. The only mentor she has is a manipulative MI6 officer. She’s being raped by the system, on a daily basis. But, that’s not why she’s stopped spying for Miss Archer. No. There’s another reason. We must determine the cause of her volte face.”
Archer nodded. “I want a second opinion. Will you meet her? I would set up the meeting and say you are both serving MI6 officers.”
“As you wish.”
Archer’s poker face was gone. “Ben – I’m asking you to do this because I respect your judgement. If anyone can get through to her, it’s you.”
“My dear, of course. Now, you have a second reason for being here.”
Archer nodded. “I was born in Moscow in extre
mely insalubrious circumstances. At least, that’s what my parents told me. My parents were professors at Oxford University. They specialised in Russian politics, language, and culture. After I was born, my parents returned with me to England. They raised me well, educating me, inspiring me, and teaching me many matters Russian. It’s why I’m fluent in the language – both spoken and written. They taught me. They encouraged me to work in government, in some capacity. In particular they wanted me to one day get a job where I could combat the excesses of Russian regimes.”
“Russian or Soviet Union?”
“In my parents’ minds they were one and the same. By the time I was at university, they told me that it was my decision, and my decision alone, as to what career I chose.”
“But, the ground work had been done.” Sign placed his fingertips together. “They’d brainwashed you into hating Russia. No doubt they paid for your university education. And they’d been fabulous parents throughout your life. You felt you’d let them down if you didn’t pursue a job in a government department.”
“Yes.”
“But, there would have been a trigger point for their hatred of Russia. And it would have been something that was personal to them.”
Archer both loved and hated the fact that Sign was always so damn accurate. “My father died six years ago, of natural causes. My mother is in a care home in London. Her brain is completely lucid, but she suffers from a multitude of physical ailments that render her unable to look after herself. I visit her regularly, work allowing. The last time I saw her was a week ago. I’m hoping that she will soon be able to move into my house. But her medical tests need to be complete before she can be discharged; plus, I need to convert the interior of my house to accommodate her disabilities – a stair lift, walk-in bath, handrails throughout the property, panic alarms, et cetera. The reason I mention my last visit to see her is because that was when she told me something that shocked me. Before I tell you what it is, I must reiterate the my mother’s brain is as sharp as it always was and her memory is rifle shot precise. She doesn’t have dementia or false memories.”
Knutsen asked, “What did she tell you?”
Archer breathed in deeply. “She told me that I wasn’t the only one to come out of her womb. I have a twin sister. Her name’s Susan. I came out first. My birth was straightforward. Susan’s birth was complicated. My mother and I were sent to hospital. Susan was kept in the medical centre where we were born, allegedly to be monitored by doctors and nurses. Something happened. My mother and father never saw Susan again. She was snatched by the Soviet authorities. My parents and I were forced to get on a plane out of Moscow. They had no choice. Soldiers made them leave. Ever since, my parents had no idea if Susan was alive or dead.”
“Which is why your parents hated Russia and why they indoctrinated you to think the same way.” Knutsen asked, “Before a week ago did you have any inkling, any suspicion, that you had a sister?”
“None whatsoever. I was in shock when my mother told me. I’m still in shock.”
Knutsen leaned forward. “Why didn’t your parents tell you about Susan before?”
Archer raised her hands. “What good would it have done? Telling me that I have a twin who may be alive or dead in Russia is hardly information that a good parent would wish to impart to their daughter.”
“So, why tell you now?”
It was Sign who answered. “Because Jayne’s mother knows that her daughter has just been promoted to head up MI6’s Russia Department. Jayne is an adult who’s now in a position to potentially find Susan. Her mother felt the time was right to burden her daughter with her secret.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Archer smoothed her hands over her skirt. There was no need to do so. Her skirt was immaculate. “My mother is security cleared by the service. I was allowed to tell her about my postings within MI6.” She lowered her head. “I wondered if you could help me find out what happened to Susan. I realise that I’m presenting you with two wholly different cases – Natalia and Susan. What are your fees?”
“The cases may have some crossover.”
Archer frowned.
Sign said, “If it’s a government or corporation, we charge a fixed rate: half up front, half upon successful completion of the job. If it’s a private client, we charge variable rates, depending on the circumstances of the client. What steps have you taken to find Susan?”
Archer looked frustrated. “I’ve tasked my analysts to do traces on the name Susan Archer, and to see if we have any details of the birth of British twins in Moscow in the month I was born. They’ve had zero results. I’ve spoken to the man who was third in command of our Moscow station at the time. He’s retired and is in his eighties. He doesn’t know anything about the incident. The second in command and the head of station died a few years ago. I’ve also spoken to two KGB defectors who were based in Moscow when Susan went missing. They couldn’t help. I believe they don’t know anything.”
“Have you asked Interpol or the Metropolitan Police to submit a formal request for assistance to the Russian state police?”
“Yes. Russian police were helpful. They said that details of births in the Soviet era were notoriously inaccurate. Many were not even recorded. They couldn’t find any records of Susan’s birth.”
“Could your mother be lying to you?”
Archer sighed. “I knew you’d ask me that. No, she’s not lying. She has no reason to lie. She was crying when she told me about Susan. They were genuine tears. She was shaking. Her face was flushed. Plus, my mother has never been good at lying.”
“She’s kept this secret from you for fifty years. She clearly has some ability in deception.”
Archer looked angry. “She withheld a secret that was deeply personal to her. That’s very different from lying.”
Sign smiled. “I agree.” He crossed his legs, glanced at Knutsen, and looked back at Archer. “Our terms for both cases will be as follows. You’ll pay us nothing up front. But you will pay us all expenses incurred during the investigation. And if, as we dearly hope, one or both cases are successfully resolved, you can then pay our company a success fee of your choosing, depending on what you can afford.”
Archer was silent for a few seconds. “That’s… that’s very kind. I realise it’s not your normal terms and conditions. Are you doing this because I’m an MI6 officer – helping a fellow pilgrim and all that?”
“No. I’m proposing this arrangement because I don’t want us all to end up in a god-awful British prison. If we take a chunk of money from you upfront, and it’s discovered why we received that money, we don’t have a leg to stand on in the eyes of the law. Discretely pay us after the event, not before.” Sign stood and walked to the mantelpiece. Next to the embedded knife was a small wooden chest encrusted with platinum patterns of cacti, won by him in a game of Texas hold ‘em poker in a Moroccan souk. He opened the box. Inside were seven mobile phones. He withdrew one of them, and its charger lead, and handed it to Archer. “This is your hotline to us. It’s deniable. There’s only one number stored in the phone. That number reaches one of my phones, also deniable. Never use your name when calling. Never text or email.”
“I know how to conduct tradecraft!”
“Yes, but you’ve never broken British law!” Sign towered over her. “Follow my instructions to the letter, pay any expenses we require, set up the meeting with Natalia, do so in a way that doesn’t scare her off, and,” he checked his watch, “get an early night tonight.”
Archer tried to hide her anger. “As you wish. Good day to you gentlemen.” She shook hands with Knutsen and Sign and left.
Sign slumped into his armchair and sipped his calvados. “What do you think?”
“I think you were very hard on her.”
Sign shrugged. “People like Archer must not be given a millimetre of due deference. To do otherwise would mean they’d snatch a mile of our souls. She’d have the upper hand. We’d be slaves. I couldn’t allow that to happen, and
she knew that before she set foot in this room. She doesn’t know me that well but she knows of me. She knew she’d be intellectually outgunned.”
“God, you can be an arrogant bastard.”
“Not arrogant. Arrogance is a propensity to look down on the weak and not help them. I don’t look down on anyone; and I help people. And when I help them I do need them to surrender to their rescuer. When a person is drowning in a lake, and a lifeguard comes to that person’s rescue, it is no one’s interest for the drowning person to panic and try to fight off the chap who’s trying to haul the person to shore. When a client engages us, they must submit to our ways of doing things.”
“You mean you mentally break them?”
“I put them in their place. Then I start work. And at the end of a successful investigation, no one is more delighted than me when I see a client has a beaming smile on his or her face.”
Knutsen asked, “How will Archer set up our meeting with Natalia? She’s already told us that Natalia’s skittish and will most likely do a runner if anyone else in MI6 tries to meet her.”
“Jayne Archer is like me. She nudges the world into a direction of her choosing. That said, getting Natalia to meet us will not be easy. I suspect she won’t say anything to Natalia. She’ll bounce us into the meeting. Almost certainly the encounter will take place in a hotel room.”
“God, you bloody spooks!” Knutsen laughed. “Mate – that was a nice dinner tonight. I’d score you at least five out of ten.”
“Five?!” Sign had a twinkle in his eye. “The meal was perfect.”
“I’d have preferred gravy rather than that sauce thing you made.”
“Gravy with fish?! You heathen.”
Knutsen asked, “Why is Natalia so important to Archer? I get the sister thing; but Natalia? That’s just business.”
Sign undid his tie. “Being an MI6 officer is a peculiar job. We know our agents better than we know our colleagues. Agents trust us with their lives. We communicate with them in English or their language, hold their hands, hug them when they’re crying and scared, talk to them about their families, talk to them about anything that matters to them in their private lives, offer them hope, assistance, tell them they should only trust their handler, buy them nice dinners, cheer them up with a drink or two, talk about the latest Strictly Come Dancing results or any other mundane nonsense that comes into our heads, take them shopping, pheasant shooting, fly fishing, buy them perfume, or any other activity that flicks their switch, and all the time we do that because we want them to betray their countries and risk their lives. It’s a contract between handler and agent. We look after them and make them feel special; they spy. The agent signs up to the contract, as does the MI6 handler. And the agent knows that the charming and considerate handler is sending them to their death. But, at the same time it’s a marriage of sorts. Platonic love is a constant. Both handler and agent share one overwhelming fear: failure. Together, they try to make the relationship work.” He arched his back. “Natalia is special to Jayne. She gives Jayne what she needs – information. But the marriage is on the rocks. Jayne doesn’t like that. She’s come to us because she thinks of us as mediators. Jayne’s pride is at stake. She doesn’t want the marriage to fail.”