by Jaye Rothman
“Have you a young man, dear?” enquired Mrs Reynolds.
“No.”
“What a shame, because you’re a lovely woman. Perhaps you haven’t met the right man yet.”
“Perhaps.”
Suddenly Mrs Reynolds proposed a toast. “Let’s raise our glasses to absent friends.”
I raised my glass and took another small sip. It was foul, and they were both looking at me in anticipation, waiting for me to drink up. Smiling, I put my glass onto the side table next to me and let it fall to the floor, as though I had accidentally knocked it over.
I apologised profusely. Miss Reynolds ran to get a cloth and, as I helped her clean the carpet, I caught a glimpse of a brown shoulder holster concealed under her jacket.
I glanced towards Mrs Reynolds, and found her hard brown eyes were watching me very carefully. My heart lurched.
“Would you like another glass?”
“No thanks, Mrs Reynolds. I have to be alert, for work of course.”
I looked pointedly at my watch. Without warning, Miss Reynolds clapped her hands, causing me to start. “Lunch time. Come and sit at the table.”
The table was set for three, with matching table mats and coasters depicting various wintry scenes from Russia. Was this a not-so-subtle warning to me? Perhaps they had been a gift from Polakoff? I started momentarily, and hoped that the Reynolds hadn’t seen my reaction.
“Can I help you, Miss Reynolds?”
“No, dear. Please sit at the table, in the middle.” She headed into the kitchen.
I did as requested, and then realised Mrs Reynolds was still sitting in the corner of the room.
“Would you like me to wheel you to the table?” I rose to assist her, but she recoiled into her chair.
“No, no!”
I hadn’t thought I was that frightening.
Quickly, she recovered herself. “I meant to say, no, thank you. I value my independence.”
I gave her a wintry smile that didn’t reach my eyes and sat back in my seat. Mrs Reynolds placed both hands on the wheels of her chair and slowly propelled herself to the table. That’s when I saw it: a quarter of an inch of skin showed between her cuff and her hand. It was covered in curly black hair.
Her eyes met mine. Did she know I had seen it? And the sherry – the foul taste and the way the two of them had watched to see if I’d drink it – could they have tried to slip me a Mickey Finn? My heart was hammering in my chest. I had to get out of here!
At that moment, Miss Reynolds breezed back into the room carrying a tray piled with a casserole dish, vegetables and plates. She set the tray on the table and proceeded to serve the food onto the plates. How could she poison me, without potentially killing herself and her mother? She chatted on, but I barely listened.
“Nikki, dear?” Miss Reynolds had asked me a question. “Are you alright? You’re looking a tad pale.”
“Yes, but I’ve just remembered an important fax I had must send. If you’ll excuse me.” I stood.
Miss Reynolds eyes met her mother’s.
Her mother recovered first. “I’m sure the fax can wait until we’ve finished our lunch, Nikki dear. Don’t you think so, Martha?” She had rearranged her blankets, and the shiny barrel of a gun glinted at me for several seconds. My throat had constricted with fear.
“Yes, Mother. Nothing is that urgent with time and motion studies.”
“I was wondering if I could have a glass of water. I’ll get it,” I said, rising from my chair.
Miss Reynolds pushed me firmly back down into my chair. “No, dear, I’ll get you one.”
Damn. This was going to be difficult. In a moment Miss Reynolds returned with a tumbler full of water. “Here we are dear. Drink up.”
I took a sip. I didn’t think she would be able to put a sedative in water, as I would taste it. My mind raced. I didn’t have enough time to draw my weapon and take them both out, as I was certain Mrs Reynolds’ pistol was loaded. No, I would have to distract them. How? I couldn’t “accidentally” drop my plate on the floor, as I had already used that ploy. Then I had an idea.
Both of the Reynolds were looking at me, waiting for me to pick up my cutlery and start eating. I smiled and picked up my handbag and rummaged through the contents.
“I’m sorry, but I have to take my tablets before food.”
I had painkillers and my antibiotics in my bag and took my time locating them. When I very briefly cast a glance at Miss Reynolds, she was looking concerned.
I extracted my cigarette lighter with my right hand, hoping my sleight-of-hand skills would see me through. I counted to five and threw it under the table as hard as I could, aiming at the radiator by the bay window. Clang! Both of them jumped, and that gave me the precious seconds I needed.
I apologised again. “I’m so sorry. That was so clumsy of me. I don’t know how that happened. Time for my tablets.”
Miss Reynolds was the first one to recover. “That’s alright, dear. Do you have a problem with your nerves?”
“Yes, but I’ll be fine when I take my pills.” I smiled sweetly and popped two painkillers.
“Let’s start. Bon appétit, dear Nikki.”
“Thanks.” I glanced sideways at Mrs Reynolds. She was attentively watching me eat. Apparently satisfied, she attacked her own plate with gusto.
I ate without enthusiasm. The food, like much of English cuisine, was bland and tasteless. The conversation petered out as the three of us scrutinised each other warily, never looking directly at one another.
After four minutes, Mrs Reynolds’ head started to nod and a gentle snoring echoed around the room. Miss Reynolds’ eyes widened momentarily with panic.
“Your mother must be exhausted to fall asleep at the table,” I said with mock concern. “I really should be going, so you can attend to her. Thanks so much for the lunch. It was, ah, interesting and thought-provoking.” I stood up and laid my napkin across my plate.
Miss Reynolds looked dismayed and mumbled platitudes, wishing I could stay longer. Taking my leave, I hurried down the path and jumped into the car.
CJ was at Squirrel Cottage, reading the Guardian and drinking a cup of tea.
“Hey honey, how did it go? This place is clean.”
“We need to get out of here now. Move.” CJ didn’t hesitate, and ran behind me to the car. I didn’t speak until we had driven through the wood. Two fully armed soldiers in battle dress stood guard by the gate. After the security guards had attempted to kill me, the Home Secretary had insisted that soldiers be deployed from Salisbury to guard the entrance.
I rolled down my window. “I’m Faber from MI6. Do not let anyone leave this facility. I’ll get Manning to confirm it when I get back to Pagham. I repeat: no one leaves this facility, and that includes Mr Bryant. OK?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
The younger one ran behind a tree, and like the Red Sea parted for Moses, the woods parted for me. I floored the accelerator, and we shot down the lane. The woods vanished into the distance behind us. We had escaped, and I never wanted to return.
I shouted to CJ above the noise of the wind.
“Polakoff is Mrs Reynolds.”
“What?” She was astonished. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Holy cow! For three years he’s maintained his cover? That takes some doing. Do you think he attacked you last night?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe. It was someone fit and agile, so it could have been Polakoff.”
I braked to a halt outside The Snug.
“Nikki, someone or somebody wants you out of the picture permanently. Why would Polakoff compromise his safety by trying to kill you? He would get someone else to do it, like Bryant.”
I lit a cigarette. My hand was still shaking. “I think there’s a KGB mole buried deeply in MI6, and maybe I’m getting too close. Somebody wants to tie up loose ends. Think about it. The KGB already has some of the toxins and formulas in their possession. The Reynolds’ covers are blown af
ter today, so why are they sticking around? What’s the advantage? They should be on their way to Moscow by now.”
I wanted to tell her about my suspicions, but I had no proof, none, not a shred of concrete evidence. And of course, there was always the possibility of an accident, the kind that had happened to Duncan Crane. I decided that silence would be the better part of valour.
“Yes, you’re right,” CJ said. “Why are the Reynolds still here? Unless the formula is still in the village, maybe they’re holding onto it as an insurance policy.”
“I know you’re involved with Eva…” CJ covered my hand with hers and looked uncomfortable. She let the words hang in the air between us before continuing. “…but are you sure she’s kosher? I mean, I know you’re sleeping with her, but it seems to me that since she defected, a hell of a lot has happened here. Nikki, I know you don’t want to go there, but you’re enmeshed with her, and maybe you can’t see the forest for the trees.”
I was silent, thinking. CJ had a point. Eva’s version of how she was approached to defect differed from MI6’s. Also, she had not summoned assistance last night after I was attacked, presumably because she was terrified of the Police arresting her. This was in sharp contrast to her behaviour in the restaurant, though, where she had flaunted her sexuality. Or maybe Eva was becoming more confident living in the West? Perhaps the KBG had blackmailed her? And how had she sustained the bullet wound in her shoulder?
And how had my assailants known I was a lesbian? Could Eva have…? No, that was out of the question. She wouldn’t have put herself at risk. Or would she? CJ and I hadn’t been exactly discreet during our stay in Hammamet, openly sharing the same room, and I could have easily been followed when I visited a gay club or bar when I was in London.
Was Eva genuine? Was she too good to be true? Or was she part of an elaborate set-up by the KGB?
Our thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Manning, who took the steps of The Snug two at a time and ran towards the car. Lonnie was close behind. He opened the door and enveloped me in a bear hug.
“Where the hell have you been?” Manning barked. “Come on. Let’s talk inside.”
After we were seated, I recounted my lunch with the Reynolds. Stunned silence fell upon the room. Manning was the first to recover.
“That’s incredible. How could this be possible? What about the security checks? Lonnie, get onto Broadway immediately!” Lonnie left the room, and Manning turned his attention to me again. “Damn it, Sinclair, I told you to be careful. It looks as if you escaped the lions’ den by the skin of your teeth.”
“Sir, the facility needs to be completely locked down. No-one should leave, and that includes Bryant and the Prof.”
“Will do. I’ll be back in a minute.” With that Manning, too, left the room.
CJ and I were alone again. I rose and stared out the window.
“CJ, do you think that Eva is for real?”
She crossed the room and hugged me from behind. I felt the brush of her lips against my neck, and she gave a soft moan as she felt my response.
“No, I don’t, honey.”
I heard Manning’s footsteps, and she released me from her embrace, returning to her chair as Manning re-entered the room.
“Sir, did you find out who leaked my ID to the Egyptians?”
Manning sat down, crossed his legs and paid close attention to the razor-sharp crease in his trousers. “Yes, I did. Our enquiries led us to Cavendish. Apparently he tipped them off.”
Cavendish! The man was a pompous fool, but I knew he was no traitor. Some nights before falling asleep, he would tell me how proud he was to serve his country, as his father and grandfather had done. Someone at 6 was doing a superb job of covering their tracks.
“Really? How did you find out, sir?”
“From the DG. He phoned yesterday and told me about Cavendish. I must say it was a shock. He was useless as an agent, but a traitor … I can’t believe it…” Manning’s voice trailed off and he lit a cigarette.
I took the opportunity to ask a few more questions about the Professor.
“He and the DG are old boys from Harrow,” Manning said. “The DG hadn’t seen him until three years ago when he was asked to sit on an interview panel. The DG thought the Professor would be a good man to steer the helm.” He leant forward in his chair. “I strongly advised the DG that the facility should be closed down until security and checks are thoroughly in place.”
I should have been relieved, but I wasn’t. Could this have been the master plan of the KGB from the beginning? With the facility closed, the UK’s ability to develop toxins would be severely restricted.
“Sir, what about the ‘soldiers’ who tried to kill Pat Varley and me? Did you manage to ID them?”
“No, we didn’t. Corporal Johnson and Private Price don’t exist. They’ve never served in the Army, or any of the other services.”
“Private Price had an East End accent.”
“These men were highly skilled professionals. All their clothing labels had been removed. My guess is that they are KBG and have been undercover in the United Kingdom for some time.”
He lit another Woodbine and inhaled so deeply that a third of the tobacco was burnt. “What about Horaknova? I know you don’t rate her as a suspect.”
“There are some things in her story that don’t add up. Horaknova told me a somewhat different story about her defection. Eva maintains she was approached by MI6. However, that doesn’t make her a spy.”
“But it doesn’t make her clean either, does it, Sinclair?” Manning responded. “I’ve spoken to Sasha Cosgrove in Prague again.” Sasha was an MI6 officer under cover as a trade official. We had worked together a year ago, and she had been vital to the success of the operation. “She remembers the evening well. There was a cocktail party to welcome a delegation from Romania. Horaknova definitely made the approach. She slipped a note into Sasha’s handbag, asking for an urgent meet. Sasha met her, and she was desperate to come over to the West.”
Lonnie rushed back into the room. He was waving some papers. “Sir, I’ve heard back from 5 and the check on Mrs Reynolds was never completed. Guess who stopped it?”
I spoke. “The Professor?”
“You’re on the money,” Lonnie said, then dropped his bombshell. “The Reynolds don’t exist. The real Martha Reynolds died at birth fifty years ago, so my guess is that someone applied for her birth certificate. As for Mrs Reynolds, there are no records of her birth, no medical, social or any other records.”
Manning chipped in. “Why didn’t 5 complete a check on Miss Reynolds? She has access to Top Secret material.”
Lonnie shook his head. “There’s a note in her file at MI5: ‘further checks unnecessary.’ The DG initialled it.”
There was a long silence. All of us exchanged frightened and uneasy looks. We were all aware of what had happened to Douglas Masters when he had accused a former DG of spying for the Soviets. The establishment hadn’t believed him, and he had been banished into the wilderness, and had died in exile in New Zealand.
Manning took charge. “I don’t think we should focus on that now. Sinclair, let’s go through what we do know.”
“We know that Mrs Reynolds is bedridden, so no one ever sees her during the day. This would enable Polakoff to work in the facility and become Mrs Reynolds in the evening, as required. He was able to leave the facility while Bryant was otherwise engaged. Eva Horaknova was his alibi on the first occasion; it would’ve been a piece of cake for her to keep him distracted for hours in her bed. On the second occasion, someone impersonating a nurse phoned Bryant to inform him his mother had been taken ill. He left the facility in a hurry and didn’t alert anyone. So there was nobody at the facility to take any action when the alarm activated on the electronic tag.”
Manning nodded. “Continue. We need to go through this thoroughly.”
“Miss Reynolds is in charge of the mail. I’m sure she steamed Maksimov’s letters open, and would hav
e known in advance when he planned to visit the mysterious Dr Adam Levy. It’s likely that Polakoff followed Maksimov to London and murdered him with toxin embedded in the tip of his umbrella.”
Manning stood and began to pace the room.
“This is a huge operation for the KGB,” I went on. “Maybe they were hedging their bets and brought another officer in as backup. If the Reynolds’ cover had been blown, or they were under scrutiny, they would need another agent in place. The Intel they’ve received from the Reynolds has been priceless, absolutely priceless over the years.” I lit a cigarette.
“The KGB reasoned that Mester would play ball if he was blackmailed. However, they didn’t count on Mester’s patriotism for his adopted country. Moscow was well aware of Maksimov’s Zionist sentiments, so they played on them. I didn’t think that the Israelis would risk compromising their diplomatic relations with us by running an agent out of a secure facility. Dr Adam Levy was Maksimov’s KGB handler. It wouldn’t have been difficult to persuade him to spy for Israel. Maksimov’s dream was to live there, and probably his handler promised to extradite him after he delivered the toxin.”
“Do you think Leonid Yerzov is KGB?” CJ interjected.
“I’m not sure about Yerzov, but he clearly has a problem with women, and therefore he’s a loose cannon. Maybe the KGB brought him in to watch the others’ backs, to be the muscle if anything went wrong.” I lit another Rothmans from the one I had just smoked.
Manning said, “OK, so now the Reynolds are blown and out of the picture. And if the facility were to close, Yerzov and Horaknova would be offered plum jobs in other government facilities and given top-level clearance. I think that’s probably been the plan all along.”
“Clever, very clever,” Lonnie acknowledged.
It was 6.30 p.m. The storm had passed through. It was dark, and the only light came from the lampposts that cast a yellow shadowy glow on the wet pavements.
A sea fog was forecast to be rolling in fast over Pagham, which would reduce our visibility and speed. Manning joined me at the window.
“Damn. I don’t think it will clear until morning,” he said. “Do you think the Reynolds have fled already?”