“Oh, don’t you start! I hate it when they send me off on these jobs and then it’s all nudge-nudge, wink-wink. Just because I’m a woman.”
The Virgin laughed. “Relax. You were very professional. And nice with it. Who is that little creep anyway?”
“He’s my Section Head. He’s really enjoying pushing you around because he normally doesn’t get the chance to do any real work. He just stays in the office and sends us out on jobs. But he can’t do anything to you. It’s the people you’ll meet tomorrow who will decide what happens.”
“Am I really in trouble? I mean, I didn’t know what was going on. I was just doing my normal job of selling stuff.” The Virgin felt she was human enough that he could confide in her.
“Oh, that’s just Hobson laying it on thick. Don’t worry. I suppose they could make trouble with your job and so on, but why would they bother? They’ve stopped the shipment, not that it was ever going to happen. Did the Tabrizis really order two thousand litres of mustard gas just like that? We didn’t believe it in the office. In fact, I still don’t.”
The Virgin thought back to the idiocies of normal daily life in the Tabrizi Peoples’ Republic. “Yes. It’s quite possible. Sometimes you work with them and they seem quite normal, and then they’ll be off doing something really stupid.”
“It must drive you mad. I hope I never have to go there. I was born in Alexandria, you know. My mother’s Greek and Daddy was in Marine Insurance. So I know what living in an Arab country’s like. I don’t like them very much.”
“Oh, they’re OK most of the time. The Tabrizis are, anyway. Get them by themselves and they’re very pleasant. Always friendly and ready to help out. Not so good when they’re in a group, or if some-one’s given them a uniform.”
“I still don’t see how they could do anything so stupid. I mean, they must realise, surely...”
The Virgin was having trouble getting his mind around the idea as well. Major Jamal was an educated man. He must have some idea of how things worked in Britain. If he had been one of the younger generation with their minimal education and foreign experience limited to Hollywood videos, it would have been more believable. Perhaps he had fallen in to the trap of believing that the openness of Western societies implied a lack of vigilance. The Virgin hoped so, because if Major Jamal knew what he was doing, then he must have expected The Virgin’s order to flash warning signals. He would expect The Virgin to be grabbed as soon as he reached England and brought into close contact with the Security Services. The implications of that would be to worrying to think through.
Dinner was a pleasant affair. The Virgin treated Elena to a bottle of Veuve Cliquot, and they shared it between them. Hobson refused to drink any because he said it was for ‘the two love-birds’, and Mostyn was too embarrassed to take more than a small glass. They both stuck to a bottle of house red. The Virgin did not mind; he was less in awe of Hobson now and less worried about his future. The meal was nearly over when the little man threw him another shock.
“Cartwright, now you’ve enjoyed this excellent repast and the glittering company,” he nodded over his glass to Elena, “I am sure you will not mind answering a few more questions. Who is Danka?” The Virgin took a little time to realise what he was asking.
“Er - she’s just a friend. A Polish nurse in Sabah.”
“Just a friend? She is not, excuse me Miss Anthony, your lover?”
“Oh no. Just a friend. But how do you know about her?” The Virgin did not like the implications of these questions. Some-one in Sabah must have been supplying information. He had only been with Danka on a few occasions recently. He tried to remember when they had last been together in public, and who might have seen them. Any mention of Danka tended to start him worrying since that night on the beach. Should he tell the whole story? Was Hobson the man to tell?
Hobson ignored the question and returned to the attack. “What do you know about the death of Dr Hamed Ashrawi?’
The Virgin decided to back the feeling he had about Hobson’s significance. “If he’s who I think he is - was, I don’t think I should really be discussing him with you.” A phrase from spy novels jumped into his mind. “I don’t think you really need to know.”
The Virgin half expected Hobson to throw a tantrum and demand his co-operation but instead he reacted like Pavlov’s dog to ‘need to know’. “Yes. Well. Maybe you are right. Perhaps it’s better left until tomorrow. But I was specifically told to ask about Danka.”
“Well, you’ve asked about her. And the answer is nothing. She’s just a friend, nothing else.” Hobson lost interest and started to clear his plate away.
The Virgin turned in early. It had been a very long and very tiring day. As he dropped off Hobson was sitting watching the muted television in the darkness. He awoke once in the small hours and Hobson’s place at the television had been taken by Elena. She was dressed in a soft grey track suit. He raised himself on one elbow but she pointed firmly at him, sending him back to bed. He slept heavily.
- 7 -
The Virgin woke early out of habit. It was already seven o’clock in Sabah and he should have breakfasted and driven to the office by now. In London it was still five o’clock in the morning and Hobson sat in front of the television, tired and unshaven. He was reading a paper-back. The Virgin grunted ‘good morning’ and made for the bath. Baths were a problem in Sabah. The cheap small-bore water piping of Tabrizi villas soon became clogged up with corrosion and scale from the brackish water, and running a bath was a slow job. A long comfortable bath is one of the luxuries of civilisation and it rated close to bacon for breakfast on the list of things The Virgin missed most. Following the hint that he had to meet important people that morning, he dressed his best.
Hobson gestured through the adjoining door and spoke quietly. “We’ll let them sleep another hour at least. I’ve arranged transport for seven forty-five. They’re opening the office especially early for you. I’ve just called for coffee. We’ll have breakfast later.” They sat together in silence, reading and waiting for room service.
Hobson waited until the last moment before having a last jab at The Virgin. “To be on the safe side,” he announced, “By which I mean, to discourage any wild ideas on your part, I think you’d better give me your passport and airline ticket.”
The Virgin thought for a moment about being bloody minded but it did not seem to be worth the effort. He opened his brief case and dug them out.
“And your wallet, I think. Your credit cards are here, yes? And your cheque book?” The Virgin went back to the brief case. “Do you have any traveller’s cheques there? Eurocheques? No more cards? Good. Now, when the transport gets here, I would like you to stick very closely to us. Once we get you into the transport, we can all relax. Please don’t frighten us. Perhaps Miss Anthony can take your arm, and Mostyn and I will follow.
“It’s not purely for our peace of mind, you know. I am worried that certain unfriendly people may be watching you. That’s why we changed your hotel, you understand. I dare say it fooled them, but we can’t be sure. Our people are having a good look around at the moment to see who might be watching - you can’t be too careful. And when the transport is ready, I would like you and Miss Anthony to leave the hotel and get straight into it. Is that suitable?”
When the telephone call came they all packed into the small lift and dropped to the lobby. As the doors hissed open Elena slipped her arm through his and steered him towards the hotel entrance. A London cab with darkened windows was waiting with its door open and she pushed him straight in. The Virgin looked around for Hobson and Mostyn but Elena had shut the door firmly. She went to the microphone on the partition glass and said, “OK. Lock up.” There was a loud click from both door locks. Hobson and Mostyn must have stayed inside the hotel.
Elena sat back and giggled. “Good. Now we’re safe. The others will follow along later.” She took his hand. “Did you sleep well? You were muttering about something but I couldn’t catch j
ust what. Who’s Evelina?”
The Virgin felt himself colouring. “She’s just a friend.”
“Another girl-friend? How many do you have?”
“Well, I don’t really. Not proper girl-friends.”
“I see. You prefer improper ones. You bachelors are all the same. I was just going to ask them if we could go out this evening, but I might have to be improper too.”
“I’d like that.”
“I dare say you would, but I haven’t said I’m volunteering yet. Seriously, I expect they’ll let us out for a while if everything goes well. Do you mind?”
“Is this business or pleasure?”
“Both, really. I mean, I’m meant to baby-sit you anyway, but there’s no reason why I shouldn’t enjoy it. It’ll be a pleasure doing business with you.”
“Where are you taking me now?”
“To my office. You’ve got to meet some people. I expect you’ll have a busy day. I’m going back to my flat to change, but they’ll tell me when we’re meant to meet up again. When do you go back?”
“I’m meant to travel tomorrow to Crete and overnight there. Are you coming with me?”
“That would be nice, wouldn’t it? No. It would be too obvious. I’m meant to be just a girl you picked up on the plane. I expect some-one will travel with you though.”
“It’s just I must do some shopping. I positively have to. You know, small things, Christmas presents, stuff you can’t get in Sabah.”
Elena looked interested. “You have to?”
“Oh yes. There’s a lot you can’t get there, and you have to take every chance you can. I want to get some shirts and some CD’s - a few other things.”
“It wouldn’t look normal if you went back without them?” It was a strange question to ask. “Fine. If it’s important, I’ll make sure you have time to go shopping. Can I come too?”
They were driving through the prosperous streets north of Oxford Street, busy with rush hour traffic. The pavements were crowded too and when the cab drew up the driver had to wait for the way to clear before he dived in to the burrow-like entrance of a basement parking area. The cab stopped but Elena waited until the metal roll-door closed behind them and the door locks clicked free. She led him to a small door in the dark concrete wall. Inside was a brightly lit, bare room, a section of corridor closed off by a heavy fire-door. She stopped and rooted in her bag. There was a small trap in the wall beside them where she delivered a pass. The Virgin noticed a security camera peering at them from above the door.
“Good morning, Miss Anthony,” announced a heavily distorted Tannoy voice. “Would you mind asking your guest to stand clear of you?”
Elena looked back at The Virgin. “They just want a clear picture in the camera.” She stood back against the wall. The Virgin raised his elbows and opened his jacket.
“That’s fine,” said the Tannoy. “Please leave the guest’s brief-case at the desk outside. Does he have any identification?”
“No, he doesn’t,” said The Virgin. “You’ve taken it all already.”
A clunk came from the door and Elena pushed through. Her pass was waiting at the reception desk beyond, and they left The Virgin’s brief-case. There was a badge for The Virgin. It was a grey plastic slab like a radiographer would wear. The Virgin wondered if it contained some kind of tracking device. They went up in a tiny lift. On the fourth floor a man in a grey suit waited for him. “Ciao!” Elena said as she pushed him out. “See you this afternoon.” The lift door closed behind him.
The Virgin was standing in a dark, carpeted corridor. Old fashioned brown doors in cream painted walls; fire-extinguishers and illuminated emergency exit signs. Dark oatmeal carpet well worn in the centre. The man in front of him was holding out his hand.
“Cartwright. Welcome. My name is Stanford.” He was a thin man, about forty The Virgin guessed, with a hawk-like nose. His accent sounded vaguely Home Counties. Brown hair combed back. He was beginning to lose it, and a touch of salt and pepper had crept into the edges. “Come to my office. Like a coffee?”
His office was a narrow slot leading from the corridor to a tall sash window. His desk ran the length of the room and there was just enough space for a chair on either side of it. The only other furniture was a safe, and a personal computer on a shelf at the window. The desk was bare and the paper trays were empty.
“Sit down, sit down. How do you have your coffee? I’ll bring it - there’s hardly anyone in at this time.” While he was away, The Virgin sat looking at the office. It had no character. No calendar, no photographs, no personal touches. Nothing to betray the likes and dislikes of its owner. The window looked down onto a neat Victorian street, its large houses all converted into offices. There was a small Italian restaurant across the street, but no shops. The parking meters were all occupied. Stanford returned, pushing the door open with his foot as he steered in the two coffee cups.
“So; enjoying being back in London?”
“I’ve been meeting some pretty strange people,” said The Virgin.
“Yes. I can believe that. How did you take to Hobson? Ah, well, most people have that reaction. Never mind. He’s not so bad and his report has been quite useful. I’ve just seen it. What’s it like, working in Tabriz?”
“It’s not too grim. The newspapers always exaggerate. I’ve never had any serious trouble, thank God.”
“Hamdullah, you should say. But you said you’ve been in Government custody.”
The Virgin was taken aback. I said that, he thought? Oh yes. I said it to the lie-detector. “Yes. That’s right. I was held overnight once at a police post. It happens to everyone.”
“Why were they holding you?”
“Just the usual. I was driving a company pick-up and they wanted to borrow it, so they held me until our manager came and told them he didn’t have another one to spare. It happens all the time.”
Stanford was looking at him in disbelief. “Go over that again for me, would you?”
“It was out in the desert, on one of the blacktop roads. The police never have any vehicles of their own out there. The new pick-ups all stay in town and the guys at the outlying posts are just dumped there and left alone. So if they want to go and visit their friends, they have to borrow a vehicle. They like to take our pick-ups because they’re in good shape and are not going to leave them stranded in the desert. So if your documents are not in order, they just take your vehicle and you have to get a lift home from anyone passing. I knew the documents were good so I wasn’t going to leave, and they locked me up.”
“Good Lord! And that’s normal?”
“It’s normal in Tabriz. Everyone’s been held up at some time or other. We carry a wad of documents around with each vehicle but they’re always trying to find an excuse to take the pick-ups away.”
“Hm. I hope that idea doesn’t catch on here. Where were we? Yes. Danka. Tell me about Danka.” He sat back and steepled his hands in front of him.
Christ! Danka again. What was it about that woman that they found so fascinating? How did they know about her anyway? The Virgin was getting rattled and decided to take the offensive, if only to buy time. “Look - I don’t know what you want from me. I haven’t done anything wrong, at least, I wouldn’t have if I’d known what that bloody chemical was. I’d like to help you out, but I’m getting pushed around and asked all sorts of stupid questions without knowing why. I got screwed around on the chemical. OK, I admit it, but you’ve stopped the order now, so what’s the problem? What’s going on?”
Stanford thought for a moment. “Right. You’re asking me what I’m doing. Well, you must see it my way. If you are who you say you are, no more than that, no hidden secrets, then we can sit and exchange information. Some information anyway. Of course, if you’re not who you say you are, then I shouldn’t even be offering you coffee. Not here anyway. That’s the difficulty, you see.”
He thought a little more. “I’m just going over your lie detector test again. Of course, Hobson
’s always a bit of a Devil’s advocate; it makes him feel in the centre of things. I believe I am going to have to trust you a little, but give me a couple of answers first. What were you doing on the night of the third of November? Just a brief description.”
“Oof. Beginning of November. I don’t think I went to the desert then. I don’t know; my diary’s in my brief case downstairs.”
“I think you’ll remember. It was a Saturday.”
The Virgin thought back. Saturday - that meant he certainly went to the Hash; it must have been that particular day. The one when Dov came marching into his life. “Er - I suppose I can talk about that sort of thing here?”
“Well if you can’t, there’s nowhere safe. Hm - I suppose that’s true nowadays anyway. No, you’re safe enough. We’re swept at least weekly for bugs. Go ahead.”
“Well, I was on the beach in the evening, for a swim. With Danka, as it happened. And we saw a bunch of soldiers come running down to the beach and taking off in inflatable boats. One got left behind and we took him home for the night. We sent him on his way next day. That’s all. I haven’t heard from him since, and I don’t want to. I must have been crazy.”
“Did he tell you why they were there?”
“He said they had just assassinated some Palestinian doctor who was working on chemical weapons.”
“Do you make a habit of picking up stray assassins?”
They both laughed. “No. I’m trying to give it up.”
“You would be well advised to. You see the difficulty. First we receive a routine information exchange concerning a friendly Englishman helping a foreign operative out of a particularly nasty hole. After a gung-ho raid to stop chemical weapons manufacture. Then we get another message, from a totally different source, saying the same friendly Englishman has just ordered enough mustard gas to poison a large town. Your credibility rating is not high.
“However, I am trying to piece together an explanation for the two events that makes sense, and I can’t do it. It’s completely bizarre. Which brings us back to the explanation that you have offered, unlikely though it is. I still don’t believe it, but there’s nothing else to believe.”
The Accidental Spy Page 8