‘One day, about two weeks before our wedding, I was sitting on the beach. Alone. When a man came along. A white man. He walked up to me. He smiled, and he pulled a photo album out of his bag. He handed it to me. I thought he was a beach photographer. He said: “Remember your friends.” And he walked away.’
She stared at the fire a long moment. Morgan waited
‘I was astonished. I opened the album.’ She paused. She went on flatly: ‘It contained dozens of photographs, of me in Russia. Unmistakably Russia, the Kremlin in the background, et cetera. With Ivan. And …’ She paused again. ‘Dozens and dozens of photographs of me in bed with him.’ She glared at the fire. Taken in my hotel room in Moscow. And in his quarters in London.’ She clenched her fist. ‘The bastards must have had cameras hidden all over those rooms, to get the best angles.’ She pointed at the envelope he had found in Max’s deposit box. ‘Those are some of them.’
Morgan stared. ‘Those are you?’
She said flatly: ‘Me. The rejects. Ones they couldn’t use because they’re too indistinct, I suppose.’
Morgan was amazed. ‘Oh, God …’ He squeezed her hand.
She said: ‘Which was another reason why I was rather anxious to get to that deposit box. I wasn’t sure they were in there, but nobody likes pictures like that of themselves doing the rounds of Whitehall.’
‘But how did they come to be in Max’s box?’
‘I’m not sure, but I’ll come to that.’ She took a big, bitter breath. ‘And there were photocopies of my application to join the International Brotherhood, translated, showing that I signed a pledge to further the cause of international communism. And photocopies of my enrolment at the spy-school. Classroom photographs of me. Under the picture of Lenin. Learning to use equipment. Learning self-defence. Plus my instructor’s report on me. Oh so favourable! Plus extracts from my essays that. I had sent the International Brotherhood – distorted, taken out of context …’
She turned to him. Her eyes smouldering.
‘That’s why I didn’t marry you, Jack Morgan! … Couldn’t marry you! … Because they were telling me that they had the goods on me to make me spy on my future husband! … On the second-in-command of one of Her Majesty’s nuclear submarines! … And if I refused they would denounce me! And ruin you …’ She cried: ‘That’s why I couldn’t marry you, Jack … ’
She threw herself back on the bed. She held her face.
That night seemed unreal. The complete silence of the snowy mountains, the candlelight. Morgan fetched more wine from the kitchen. They lay deep in the double bed, and the rest of the story came out.
And that’s why she married Max. To cut herself off from Jack Morgan completely, so no harm could be done to him. Distance herself from him completely, to destroy the power of the blackmailer over him. And, yes, to protect herself too, from having to lead a double life. She could not be blackmailed into divulging anything about Max, he had no official secrets to exchange.
‘Did you ever tell Max?’
‘Of course! That was the only way to destroy the power of the blackmailer – make a clean breast, have nothing to hide. But I could not have done that with you. If I had told you that I was supposed to be a Russian spy, you would either have had to confess it to the Navy and thereby ruin your career because the Navy would never trust a senior officer with an ex-spy for a wife. Or you’d have had to cover it up and be blackmailed …’
Morgan lay beside her in the firelight and saw it all: the fear, the heartbreak. She felt frantic. She had to be alone to think, and she was frightened of being alone, in case the messenger came back. She drove. Morgan saw the sun on the turquoise waters, the palms, the white beaches, the heavy tropical foliage, the car driving round and round the beautiful island, parked at the lonely beaches; starting again, driving on.
‘The human body finally protects itself from the exhaustion of indecision – it finally just shuts down. I used to fall into exhausted sleep the moment I went to bed. But I only slept a few hours and then I was wide awake again, in the dark …’
It took five awful days and nights to know what she had to do. And, oh, the heartbreak once she truly knew it.
On the sixth day she got up before dawn, and drove through the fragrant darkness to her favourite beach. She walked along the dark sands. Then she knelt down and she prayed. Finally she returned to the car, she watched the sun rise, the tears running down her face. When the sun was well up she drove into Saint George’s, to the post office. And she wrote out the telegram to Morgan telling him that she was marrying Max. She walked back to her car, and her heart broke, and she dropped her head and she wept, and wept.
Later that morning, she drove to Max’s house. He was surprised – he had not seen her for days. She walked into the dining room, and asked the servant to leave. She stood at the table, and she told him she would marry him the following day in Las Vegas.
‘When did you tell Max about the Russians?’
She said flatly, ‘I intended telling him only after I had married him. But that would have been deceitful. When we got to Las Vegas, I broke down and told him. That night. In bed.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It was our first night in bed together, remember. We were getting married in the morning. I was numb.’ She sighed. ‘I told him about my first tourist visit to Russia, the fun, the International Brotherhood, Ivan. My trip back to Russia. The spy-school. How furious I was …’
Morgan waited. She stared at the fire.
‘But I didn’t tell him everything.’ She snorted bitterly. ‘I was weak. I did not tell him about the Russian messenger coming to me on the beach. About his album of pornographic photographs, my essays. I did not tell him that was why I could not marry you …’ She shook her head. ‘I deceived him. I told it as a confession of something I had done long ago when I was a starry-eyed student.’ She snorted softly. ‘I simply said that after a lot of soul searching I realized that I did not love you after all. That you were only a flash in the pan.’ She clenched her fist. ‘I lied to him. Even when I was trying not to deceive him, I lied to him! …’
With all his battered heart Morgan did not blame her. ‘What did he say?’
‘Oh, poor Max. Big, rich, powerful, insecure Max … He was so in love with me. He was extremely jealous of me, but he knew I’d slept with you of course, and maybe he presumed others. But a Russian … ? And me a trained spy? Yet he laughed – he tried to take it as the silly confession I had made it sound. He said nothing would ever happen. And when I became worried that he was not taking it seriously . . She closed her eyes. ‘He got down on his knees. And begged me not to worry, not to let it stop me marrying him … And I was so grateful. And he wept.’
Morgan lay there, eyes closed. Anna went on flatly:
‘We got married finally. In one of those ghastly , twenty-four-hour wedding chapels.’ She breathed out. ‘Max took my story very well. Until the honeymoon was over.’
Morgan sighed. Oh, what a mess.
‘Of course, I should never have married him. He was dear to me, but I could not love him. I should have disappeared and fought my own battles.’ She snorted at herself. ‘I kept a smile on my face, but my heart was breaking. For you. I tried hard to make it up to him, because I felt so guilty. But you can’t fool people about these things. He’s a jealous man anyway, and he became obsessively jealous because he knew I didn’t love him, no matter how hard I tried and pretended. He figured out for himself that I hadn’t married you because of that spy nonsense. He began to drink and then he would taunt me with it. “My spy” he called me … I just had to ride it out because I was to blame. I threw myself into social work. I helped run clinics and libraries and I taught school. Church work. First Aid classes, domestic classes. I did organization work with the New Jewel Movement before they came to power. Anything to keep myself busy and forget my unhappy home. Always with a smile. I insisted that we have a religious marriage ceremony. I hoped that would reassure him. But it didn’t … I began to turn more and mo
re to religion. And he taunted me with that when he was drunk. “Confessing your sins”. Oh God …’ She massaged her forehead. ‘One of the worst things is that you lose respect. I had so much respect for him – he was on numerous government committees, under the old government, and he was very clever at business. But it’s hard to hang on to respect when there’s bad behaviour. But I felt guilty because I was responsible for his insecurity.’
‘How did he react to you joining left-wing politics?’
‘Oh, he always knew I was left-wing. I didn’t get involved as a politician, only office work. The old Cary government was so corrupt, they needed clearing out, Max knew that and Max is a survivor, he saw the writing on the wall – he began to sell up and move his money out. And when the old government was overthrown and Maurice Bishop came to power, Max was in with them too. He wanted to stay in Grenada …’ She sighed. ‘But then, something happened …’
She sighed. She went on flatly: ‘Max was a moderating influence on the revolutionary government. He was very opposed to the build-up of Russian influence. Then one day two Russian embassy officials came to his office. They told him to cool it, or else.’ She pressed her fingers to her eyes. ‘They said they had the goods on me – “very embarrassing evidence” … Max came storming home. He demanded to know what it was about. And … I told him about the album.’
‘Oh God …’
She said, ‘You can imagine. Not only was he insanely jealous, he was outraged, mortified that photographs of me … “fucking” were “doing the rounds”. And absolutely outraged that he was being blackmailed, his political position compromised.’ She sighed wearily. ‘He went storming to the Russian embassy, demanded to sec the ambassador. Demanded that their blackmail cease. The ambassador denied it, of course. But with a wolfish smile. Max hit the bastard. He came storming home again. And …’ She shook her head. ‘That was when I began to fight back. I felt as guilty as hell, but I had to fight back, for my sanity.’ She took a deep breath, ‘And it was because the Russians had the goods on me that he changed his stance against the bastards. He had to hold his tongue. To save me and himself from disgrace. What I did not know at the time was that it compromised his position with P2 – I did not know he was a member at that stage.’ She sighed, bitterly. ‘Anyway, this was when the real cat and dog life began. Like that shark hoax. Then, when you came back, he went berserk … You know the rest. He got rid of you off the island, then got you dismissed from the Navy. About this time Klaus Barbie entered the picture – trying to join P2. At the same time, God’s Banker was getting into deep hot water financially. Then came the Falklands War and Argentina needed exocet missiles and P2 sent Max with Barbie’s microfilm to God’s Banker so he could blackmail the Vatican into paying up. And the British got to hear about it and nipped that in the bud, and won the war.’
Morgan rubbed his hair. ‘And how did these pornographic negatives get into Max’s box?’
‘I don’t know for sure. Most of these revelations from Max came out in furious outbursts. Often drunken. I know he tried to bribe the Russians, for the pornographic negatives. But when he came into possession of the microfilm from Barbie, he had something to fight back with. So he tried to make a deal, the microfilm for all the pornographic negatives. They jumped at the opportunity. They gave him some negatives gratuitously, to encourage him. These, I think.’ She nodded at the envelope. ‘He waved them at me in one of his outbursts. But he realized they must have copies, so he backed off. Then he found another use for the microfilm – exocet missiles, with Vatican money.’
‘Did you know the negatives were in the box?’
‘I thought they might be. They disappeared from our house. I searched high and low.’
‘Why didn’t he destroy them?’
‘To keep a hold over me, I think.’
Morgan dragged his hands down his face. He felt he had supped full of horrors. She looked at him and her eyes glistened. ‘And I’ve dragged you into this horrifying business.’
He turned and took her in his arms. She went on resolutely: I don’t want you to do any more. I’ll handle the rest on my own. I’ve ruined my own life, and yours, and Max’s. This much I’ve got to do.’
He held her tight. He whispered: ‘We’re not doing anything until after Christmas.’ He rocked her. ‘We’re going to rest. Then we’ll figure out what we’re going to do.’
She closed her eyes. Oh, to rest … Oh, to do nothing until Christmas, just be with him, alone in this lovely house, an end to running until after Christmas. And then?
‘You must give me the microfilm after Christmas.’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you really not got a plan yet?’
He shook his head, ‘No.’
She knew he was lying and she knew he was doing it for her, to stop her trying to handle this herself, and she loved him for it: he was an honest man, a babe in the woods of big, bad politics that Max used to hunt in, but an honourable man, and for the moment it didn’t matter that he was lying to her for her sake. She would get the microfilm from him, but, oh God, all she wanted right now was to rest with him, in his arms, her true love, for the little time they had left together; because she knew the world was a cruel place that was not going to hesitate to destroy her, and it would not care afterwards that it was not necessary.
‘Please believe that the only reason I didn’t leave Max and come to you after he got you dismissed from the Navy was because he threatened to have you extradited.’
He held her tight. ‘I figured that out for myself. But now I’ve come to you. I’m back … We’re together at last, alone in our lovely house in the mountains and nobody knows.’ He squeezed her. ‘Isn’t this a good old house to have our honeymoon in?’
She held him tight and stifled a sob. ‘It’s a lovely house. I want to stay forever …’
50
Makepeace had got an FN rifle and an old Sterling machine gun from a contact of Danziger’s in Amsterdam. ‘Danziger doesn’t know where we are, does he?’ Morgan demanded.
‘No,’ Makepeace sighed. ‘Relax.’
‘Where is he now?’ They were alone.
‘In Marseilles, I think. That’s where a lot of the boys hang out. He and I have a job together soon, in Spain.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Never mind,’ Makepeace said loftily, ‘you have no need to know. Know what I mean?’
‘You be careful of that guy.’
‘The job,’ Makepeace said sanctimoniously, ‘is actually for the Spanish government. Against the Basque terrorists.’
Morgan smiled. ‘For somebody who has no need to know, I already know quite a lot. Know what I mean?’
Makepeace offered to stay on as bodyguard, for a hundred pounds a day, until the Spanish job came around, but Morgan wanted to be alone with Anna, to forget about the whole awful business, until December. Makepeace dropped his price to fifty pounds, then to nothing, just his food and booze, but Morgan still did not want him. ‘I’m sure we’re safe here, Dougie. But I want you to come back for a few days at the beginning of December. You must phone me once a week at a public telephone in the village.’ He produced a slip of paper. ‘This is the number. I noted it down when I passed through the village.’
‘What must I come back for?’
‘To look after Anna. I have to go away for a few days, I’ll tell you when to come, on the telephone. And I want you to bring me two things. Most important. One is a top-quality miniature tape-recorder. The kind I can hide in my pocket and stick the microphone through a button-hole on my jacket.’
Makepeace nodded. ‘I know the type.’
‘The other thing is a canister of nerve gas. The stuff that you squirt in your assailant’s face. Knocks him out.’
‘Okay.’
Morgan paced, thinking.
‘In your line of business, does the name Hank or Henri mean anything? An arms dealer. And the name Sanchez?’
‘No. What kind of arms dealer?’
‘Okay,’ Morgan said. I’ve got a job for you in Marseilles. Flat fee, three hundred pounds, plus reasonable expenses. No success, no pay. In Marseilles there’s a small airline called Meteor Air run by a man called Alex Wallen. He knows who Hank is. I simply want you to find out from him Hank’s full name, address and telephone number. And Sanchez’s if possible. But Hank is the important one. He is probably an American, with a nickname like that. Sanchez is probably Argentinian.’
Makepeace blinked. ‘And how do I find this out from Wallen?’
‘Meteor Air air-freights arms for mercenaries. You pose as a mercenary. You tell him you want to contact Hank to make a big purchase, which Meteor Air is going to freight.’
‘And if he won’t tell me? These guys can be suspicious of strangers.’
‘Pester him. Follow any clues. Ask discreetly round the underworld. But if you still don’t succeed, work him over.’
‘Work him over? How badly? Break an arm?’
‘No, Makepeace. I have no compunction about working over somebody who traffics in death, but surely you can make a man talk without mutilating him?’
‘Supposing he’s got heavies? Can I take Danziger along?’
‘No. And nobody must know you’re working for me!’
Makepeace blinked. ‘What kind of arms am I supposed to be after? There’re all kind of specialists in that game. If you want tanks it’s no good going to a pisspot hand-grenade man.’
Morgan said, ‘Except as a last resort, you refuse to discuss it with Wallen – you say you’ll only deal with Hank. But you must not meet Hank. All I want is his details. But it’s exocet missiles you’re supposed to be after.’
Makepeace stared. ‘Exocet missiles? … Jesus Christ.’
‘And that’s all you need to know.’ He sighed. ‘And I want to know Danziger’s contact number.’
Makepeace was taken aback. ‘What for? I thought you didn’t trust him.’
‘In case I need him.’
A Woman Involved Page 36