A Spy by Nature (2001)

by Charles Cumming

  No, I told her, I did not. So who requested it? The CIA already has a tap on my phone. Was it Abnex? Cohen himself? Or had the operator simply made a mistake?

  Thirdly, the post has started arriving later than it did, as if it is being intercepted en route to my flat, then checked, resealed and sent on. First-class letters take two days instead of one; second-class up to a week. Parcels have often been tampered with, seals broken and so on.

  I expected taps and tails, but everything else is outside normal US and British procedures. It is possible that because of Cohen, Abnex have placed me under twenty-four-hour surveillance. There is at all times a feeling of being watched, listened to, sifted, followed, pressures exerted on me from all sides. I live constantly with the prospect of abandonment, constantly with the prospect of arrest. Things have been like this for so long now that I cannot recall what life was like before they started. The sensation is not dissimilar to the experience of being ill, as the world outside goes about its business and you cannot even remember what it felt like to be healthy and well.

  Thus, walking to Colville Gardens tonight to make JUSTIFY’s sixth drop on a cold December evening, I feel tight and self-contained, certain in the knowledge that I am being tailed - by Cohen, by the Americans, even by our side. ‘Do They Know it’s Christmas?’ is playing out of the open window of a house on Pembridge Crescent. But there are no visible signs that it is Christmas. The streets have not been decked out with lights, there are no glowing trees in the bay windows of sitting-rooms and no carol-singing children scurrying from flat to flat in the cold.

  In the inside pocket of my long overcoat, zipped up against thieves and spooks, there is a single high density IBM 1.44 MB floppy disk inside a small manila envelope containing crude oil assay data from a well-head sample in Tengiz. My adrenalin, as always, is up, my heart beating rapidly with a rush like caffeine pushing me quickly down the street. I tilt my head downward for warmth and watch my breath as it disappears into the folds of the coat.

  For perhaps the tenth time today, my mind casts back to a confrontation I had with Cohen last week. I cannot ignore what happened, because it convinced me that he is assured of my guilt. This, at least for once, is not paranoia, not just some by-product of my persistent agitation. There are hard facts to consider.

  We were standing beside the printer, the same one where three months before he had discovered me spooling out the commercial price sets on a quiet Saturday afternoon.

  ‘Those Americans you’ve been spending so much time with,’ he said, adjusting his tie.

  ‘What about them?’ I replied, a void immediately opening up inside me.

  ‘Alan has found out about it.’

  ‘What do you mean he’s found out about it? You two been keeping tabs on me?’

  This was my first mistake. I was too aggressive too early. There had been nothing in what Cohen had said to cause me any alarm: simply a sly tone of voice, an implied rebuke in his manner.

  ‘We like to keep an eye on new people.’

  ‘What do you mean, “new people”? I’ve been with the company over a year.’

  ‘Did you know they work for Andromeda?’

  ‘No kidding, Harry. I thought they were guides at the British Museum. Of course I know they work at Andromeda.’

  ‘And do you think it’s wise to be spending so much of your time with a competitor?’

  ‘Implying what?’

  ‘Implying nothing.’

  ‘Why ask the question, then?’

  ‘You’re getting very ruffled, Alec.’

  ‘Listen, Detective Inspector. If I’m ruffled it’s because I don’t like the undercurrent of what you’re saying.’

  ‘There’s no undercurrent,’ he said, calm as quicksand. ‘I merely asked if it was a good idea.’

  ‘I know what you asked. And the answer is that it’s my private affair. I don’t keep tabs on what you do behind closed doors.’

  ‘So you do things behind closed doors?’

  ‘Fuck off, Harry. OK? Just fuck off.’

  At this both Piers and Ben looked up from their desks and stared at us. Cohen knew he had me cornered so he kept on probing. Typically, he phrased his next remark as a statement, not a question.

  ‘I was simply going to say that they don’t ring as often as they used to.’

  I responded to this without thinking through my reply.

  ‘No, they don’t,’ I told him. ‘I wonder why that is.’

  That was my second mistake. I should have reacted to the strangeness of Cohen’s observation.

  ‘Look,’ he said, sympathy suddenly in his voice. ‘I’m just telling you this because you might need to be prepared for some questions.’

  ‘Questions? What about?’

  ‘Anybody who spends an unusual amount of time socializing with employees of a rival firm is bound to come under suspicion. At some point.’

  I had to presume that this was a lie designed to flush me out. He paused, leaving a silence that I was supposed to fill. My body was wretched with heat, exacerbated by the warmth of the office. I managed to say:

  ‘Suspicion of what?’

  ‘We both know what I’m talking about, Alec.’

  ‘This conversation is finished.’

  ‘That’s something of an over-reaction, don’t you think?’

  ‘Fortner and Katharine are my friends. They are not work associates. Try to make that distinction. Your life may begin and end with Abnex, and that’s admirable, Harry, it really is. We all admire you for your dedication. But the rest of us try to have a life away from the office as well. You’ll find as you get older that this is perfectly normal.’

  Smirks from Piers and Ben.

  ‘I’ll take that into consideration,’ he said, and walked back to his desk.

  I ring the street bell of Katharine and Fortner’s building and the door buzzes almost instantaneously. They have been waiting for me.

  When I get to their apartment, Fortner opens the door slowly and offers to take my coat. I pass him a bottle of wine which I bought in Shepherd’s Bush and extract the manila envelope from my inside pocket. He takes it quickly, with a magician’s sleight of hand. Simultaneously he is talking, asking about the weather, hanging up my coat, pointing out a scratch on the door.

  ‘Never noticed that before,’ he says, rubbing his thumb against it. ‘Do you want a drink?’

  ‘Glass of wine?’

  ‘You got it.’

  Katharine is in the kitchen, washing up after dinner. She has had her hair done and it makes her look older. The clock on the wall says ten to nine.

  ‘Hi, Alec. How you doin’, sweetie?’

  ‘Fine. Tired.’

  ‘Everybody is,’ she says. ‘I think it’s the change in temperature. Isn’t it cold suddenly?’

  She comes over to kiss me, a warm dry lingering on my right cheek. Next door, Fortner starts up some classical music on the CD player, piping it through to the kitchen with a switch on the hi-fi. The orchestration is loud, talk-smothering.

  ‘Oh that’s nice, honey,’ Katharine says as Fortner comes into the kitchen.

  ‘Chopin,’ he says, with no attempt at an accent. ‘Let me get you that glass of wine.’

  We have a signal, one of only four, that I use to enquire whether it is safe to talk. I simply put a straightened index finger to my lips, look at either one of them and wait for a nod. Katharine glances at Fortner and does so. It is safe.

  ‘I had a conversation with Harry Cohen at the office last week that I think you should know about.’

  ‘Cohen?’ Fortner says. ‘The one who’s always on your back?’

  He knows exactly who he is.

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Katharine asks, touching her neck gently with her hand.

  ‘He’s noticed that you’ve stopped calling me at the office. Brought it up out of nowhere.’

  ‘OK, so we’ll call a little more. I don’t think you should be unduly con
cerned. Did he say anything else?’

  Fortner takes a sip from one of two glasses of wine he has poured near the stove. He hands me the other.

  ‘No, there was nothing else in particular. I just found it odd that he should have brought it up.’

  ‘Listen, Alec,’ he says quickly. ‘Far as I can make out this guy has been all over your job since you started. He feels threatened by you, just like they all do. Askin’ you questions about a couple of Americans who happen to be working for Andromeda is just his way of puttin’ the shit up you. You gotta ignore it. You’re doin’ a great job and nobody suspects a thing.’

  I want to leave it at that, but Katharine comes a step closer towards me. She is half-biting her lip.

  ‘You all right?’ she asks. ‘You look almost feverish.’

  I sit down on one of the kitchen chairs and light a cigarette. My hand is shaking.

  ‘No. I’m well. I’m just… I get nervous. I worry about being followed, you know?’

  ‘Natural reaction,’ says Fortner, still very matter-of-fact. ‘Be strange if you didn’t.’

  They have bought a new picture, a Degas print in a wooden frame hanging to the right of the fridge. The one of the girl at ballet school, bending down to tie her shoes. Now, just briefly, I let things slip. My intense desire to talk to someone momentarily outweighs the wisdom of doing so with Fortner and Katharine.

  ‘It’s funny,’ I tell them, trying hard to sound as solid and as capable as I can. ‘I’m living with this constant fear that some journalist on the Sunday Times is going to call me up out of the blue and start asking questions. “Mr Milius?” he’ll say. “We’re running a story in tomorrow’s edition that names you as an industrial spy working for the Andromeda Corporation. Would you care to make a comment?”’

  ‘Alec, for Christ’s sake,’ Fortner says, putting his glass down on the counter so hard that I fear it might break. I cannot tell if he is angry with me for being afraid, or for making a direct reference to JUSTIFY. Even in the security of their apartment it was unwise to mention it. ‘What are you getting so bothered about all of a sudden? There isn’t some Bob Woodward out there trackin’ every move you make. Not unless you’re being dumb.’

  There is a brief silence.

  ‘Are you being dumb?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, there you go. Now just relax. Where is all this coming from?’

  He doesn’t give me time to answer.

  ‘If you’re worried about being tailed we can have one of our own people follow you. They’ll know in thirty seconds if you’ve got a surveillance problem.’

  The nerve of this. They’re already tracking me.

  ‘Great. So now I won’t know if I’m being tailed by the CIA or Scotland Yard or a private security firm hired by Abnex.’

  Fortner doesn’t like this now, not at all.

  ‘Now look, Alec. You’d better start being cool about this or you’re gonna slip up. When they caught spies during the Cold War they were sent to Moscow and made into heroes. If they catch you, you’ll be sent to jail and get your butt fucked. And if you get caught, we get caught. So let’s all just calm down, right? Let’s not get too excited.’

  He sits down on the chair nearest mine and for a moment I think he is going to try to reach out and touch me. But his hands remain folded on the surface of the table.

  ‘Look,’ he says, taking a deep breath. ‘Bottom line. If things get too hot we have a safe house for you here in London. In fact we have safe houses, plural. We can get you in a Witness Protection Program back home, whatever you want.’

  I almost let out a laugh here, but luckily some latent good sense in me smothers it.

  Katharine says:

  ‘The important thing is that we are all deniable to one another.’ Her voice is a welcome balm. ‘Now are we deniable, Alec? What is the nature of our relationship should you get caught?’

  ‘I’m not going to get caught.’

  ‘If you do,’ she says, trying to be patient with me.

  ‘Friendship. We had dinners and drinks. That’s it. No one has ever seen me handing anything to you. Not even in the theatre. That’s how you wanted it.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘And me?’ I ask. ‘Am I deniable to you?’

  ‘Of course,’ they say in practised unison. ‘Absolutely.’

  Now we sit quietly for a moment, no one saying anything, just coming down off the tension. Katharine gets up and pours herself a glass of wine and I light a cigarette, searching around for an ashtray. The Chopin has slowed to an aching lament, single notes collapsing into each other.

  ‘I don’t mean to get tough on you,’ Fortner says finally, moving his hand closer towards mine on the table.

  ‘Look,’ Katharine says, joining in. ‘We’re here for you. What you’re doing must be messing with your nerves.’

  This is standard procedure: officers must combine a firmness of intent with enough flattery and conciliation to keep an agent onside.

  ‘Is there anything else you need to talk about?’ she adds.

  ‘No,’ I reply. ‘I’d just like to talk business briefly, if that’s all right?’

  Fortner jerks his head up.

  ‘Sure,’ he says, looking pleased.

  ‘It’s just that I have some interesting news.’

  ‘Go on,’ he says, nodding slowly. He needs to shave.

  ‘You know of course that Abnex has been exploring 5F371 in the North Basin?’

  ‘Sure.’

  I take a long draw on the cigarette. This is what the Americans have been waiting for.

  ‘The exploration work finished as of last week. My team is expecting a geological report containing sufficient 3D seismic data to depict the extent and location of the hydrocarbon deposits within the field. That could happen at any time in the next two months. If I can get hold of a copy, it should tell you how much Abnex is prepared to pay to get access rights to the oil.’

  ‘Good,’ Fortner murmurs.

  ‘As far as I know, bids are being tabled in early summer of next year. That should allow Andromeda time to outflank us. I can also get you documentation outlining how we plan to export the oil once our bid has been accepted. There will also be maps and information regarding pipelines, terminals and shipping routes, all of which should be useful to you in making your bid more attractive. And I can get you access telephone numbers and addresses for all the key personnel at each of the transport nodes. There’s also a lot of detail on loopholes and flaws in Kazakh law.’

  ‘That would be dynamite,’ Fortner says, leaning towards me. He glances over at Katharine and beams.

  I go on:

  ‘Abnex has done all the hard work, spent all the money. All you’ve got to do is outbid us and the field is yours. But it’s going to cost you. I want two hundred thousand dollars for the information or I’m out.’

  ‘Two hundred thousand?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Haven’t we been here before?’ he says, but the glow in his face betrays an excitement. The geological data is too important to Andromeda for Fortner to risk alienating me.

  ‘I’m aware of that. But this is the Crown jewels, Fort, and it’s worth a lot more than ten grand. If Andromeda’s bid is successful I’ll have made the shareholders millions of dollars. That’s got to be worth something. I think two hundred thousand is cheap.’

  ‘All right,’ he says, buying time. ‘I’m not authorized to green light that kind of money. Let me talk to our people and we’ll get you an answer within seventy-two hours. My instinct says it may be a problem, but I’ll try to talk them round.’

  ‘You do what you have to,’ I tell him.

  It is nearly midnight by the time Fortner shows me to the door.

  There are no services running on the Hammersmith and City Line, so fifteen minutes later I board what must be the night’s last train at Notting Hill station. Empty hamburger cartons have been discarded on the floor and men in suits are falling asleep
against greasy glass partitions. I am tired and find it difficult to focus on a single object for any length of time: an advertisement above the windows, a passenger’s shoes, the colour of someone’s scarf. I look through into the next carriage half-expecting to see Cohen in there, staring right back. My eyes sting and the skin on my face feels tight and dry.

  I find it impossible to shut down: I am always thinking, evaluating, calculating the next move. I actually dread the thought of going home for another night of sleeplessness, just lying there in the dark analysing the day’s events, speculating on how much, or how little, Cohen knows. Then I picture Kate asleep in bed, her slim arm draped across the shoulders of another man. Night crap.

  Last night, at three in the morning, I got up, put on a pair of jeans and a sweater, and wandered around the dead streets of Shepherd’s Bush for over an hour in an attempt to tire myself out with walking. There seemed to be no alternative beyond taking a handful of sleeping pills or sinking a half-bottle of Scotch, which I cannot do because of the need to stay sharp and clear-headed for Abnex. When I got back to the flat at around four, sleep came easily. But then there were the customary dreams, packed with sicknesses and capture, isolation and pursuit. It’s all so predictable, regular as clockwork, and tonight I will have to go through it all again.

  I stare into the concave windows of the Central Line train and they warp my reflection like a hall of mirrors. I am split in half by the steep curvature of the glass, a pair of broad shoulders and a tiny, mutated head melting into an inverted reflection of itself.

  Two of me.

  PART THREE

  1997

  ‘And ye shall know the truth

  And the truth shall make you free.’

  John 8: 32

  Inscription in the main lobby of CIA Headquarters,

  Langley, VA

  25

  The Lure

  The New Year brings with it familiar cliches of renewal: private promises to take more exercise, to be a better friend to Saul, to get over Kate and to find a new girlfriend. I want to exert a greater control over my life, to try to get things into some kind of perspective. But by the second week of January all resolutions have been set aside, rendered meaningless by the simultaneous demands of Abnex and JUSTIFY. My lifestyle simply doesn’t allow any opportunity for change.