The Righteous Spy

by Merle Nygate

  ‘So, the situation is like this,’ Yuval said. ‘We have a problem; we need a solution. Ideas please.’

  Eli laid down the croissant he was eating on the paper plate, ‘We can’t move until we’ve got a lot more information about Sweetbait’s brother. If he’s well connected he might make waves.’

  ‘So what?’ Yuval said. ‘So, he thinks it’s not Hamas but some other group. Or maybe it is Hamas but for once they’ve got an operation that’s so water-tight no one knows about it. I don’t think we should fixate.’ Yuval said.

  ‘I agree,’ Rafi said. He picked up the plastic glass that contained an inch of a kale and kiwi fruit smoothie. He tossed the drink to the back of his throat and then threw the empty container in the direction of the bin in the corner. The glass plopped in but some drops of green liquid spattered the cream plaster.

  ‘It’ll be a total mess if he turns up in the UK,’ Eli said trying not to sound as negative as he felt, trying to find a solution to the problem. ‘But he won’t be able to find her if we take away her phone.’

  ‘That won’t work. We take her phone, she uses a phone box,’ Yuval said working his lips with concentration. ‘We change the sim card and block international calls but we still have the same problem.’

  ‘Okay, if we’re going to do this we need someone in the school,’ Eli said. ‘We need someone in the school to be her friend and mentor, who’s there round the clock. Someone who, if push comes to shove, can get Sweetbait away from the brother if he turns up.’

  ‘Good, I like that. Rafi see who might make a good student. Maybe one of our youngsters – a boy. No, better a girl. That’s what the experts say.’

  Rafi opened the laptop in front of him and with his big hands started to access the organisation’s database. The tap-tap of his fingers filled the room.

  ‘I thought you didn’t believe in the experts’ reports,’ Eli said.

  Yuval didn’t look up. ‘It depends on the expert.’ He pulled another laptop towards him, pecked at some keys with his two index fingers and then started to read the screen. ‘No, no, that’s not going to work. The experts say she is shy with men and... here...’ he pointed at the screen and read out: “Unlikely to be influenced by a woman of her own age or peer group.” Have we got anyone older who could be a student?’

  Rafi looked up from his screen. ‘What about Trainer?’

  9

  Thames End Village, Surrey – Later that Day

  Petra had had an easy day. After a morning meeting in town with a fashion designer who suspected her husband of adultery, Petra had gone home, hung up her corporate suit in the floor-to-ceiling wardrobe and replaced the work costume with her running gear. It would be good to get in some exercise before she sat at the computer and wrote up the proposal. Good to get some fresh air in her lungs after central London’s scent of sour petrol. Strapping her iPhone on to her upper arm, Petra let herself out of the two-up, two-down cottage and walked briskly towards the bridle path, picking up speed as she went. As she broke into a jog Petra saw a neighbour, Sandie, in her garden, leaning over her rabbit hutch, cooing. Petra waved but didn’t stop.

  Through the common, down the path by the trees, Petra pounded the uneven ground, inhaling the damp evening air and lengthening her stride. Her mind drifted back to the fashion designer and her own recommendations for surveillance; in this case, money was no object but the prospective client didn’t look as if she’d be happy with a detailed report that would prove her fears; it was often the way. Working for the private security company paid well but gathering intelligence for the high-end divorces was always unpleasant. At least corporate intelligence clients never cried when they read the report.

  After her run Petra sat on a bench by the pond and waited for her heart rate to return to sixty beats per minute. By now it was dusk and she could see the roofline of her cottage against the sky and the porch light that would come on automatically. Time to go home; Petra stood up and started walking across the green.

  Silhouetted against her porch light, she noted a figure passing her house. It was a man, roughly 1.75 metres with a solid build. When he’d gone ten metres beyond her house he reached a side road that fed into the lane, paused, swivelled and scanned, before turning back and walking back the way that he had come. To Petra it was obvious what he was doing; some people never get over the need to check for snipers.

  Petra gazed up and down the road to see if there was a car. Nothing. It must be tucked out of sight. Quickening her pace, the grass underfoot made no noise. A car passed, its headlights strafed the darkness and the green and Petra saw the man pause at her house where he unlatched the gate that opened on to the path to her cottage.

  Petra rose on to her toes and sprinted the last few yards across the green and the road to her cottage. At the exact same moment as she stretched out to tap the man on the shoulder, he turned.

  ‘I thought you weren’t back till next week,’ Petra said.

  ‘I wrapped it up faster than I thought.’ Matt smiled.

  Petra brushed his cheek as she went past and opened the door. He smelt of work: sweat, travel and heat. Inside, in the light of the hallway, she saw dust in the creases of his suntanned forehead; the whites of his blue eyes were red and the smile was weary.

  ‘Why don’t you have a shower?’ Petra said. ‘Then I’ll order in something to eat.’

  ‘You have no idea how good that sounds.’

  Matt climbed the stairs looking older than his forty-five years.

  Petra called up after him. ‘There’s a clean robe on the bathroom door. Use that.’

  Turning into the sitting room Petra went to the dining room where she’d left her laptop. She started the report aware that in the thirty minutes it took her to collate her notes, Matt would still be upstairs, but now he’d be fast asleep on her bed.

  Matt left a little after 10am the next day. He said he had an evening flight to a colder climate and needed to get kitted up for the trip. Petra had no reason to doubt the truth of what Matt said, nor any desire to ask. That’s not how their relationship worked.

  ‘I don’t know how long this one’s going to take,’ Matt said. ‘That’s why I came by last night. I wouldn’t have just turned up otherwise.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Petra slopped boiling water into two mugs and carried them over to the kitchen table.

  ‘Sometimes I wish I’d never learnt Kazakh,’ Matt said. ‘I’m so tired, I feel like I’ve heard everything ten times before and I’ve eaten enough Besparmak to last a lifetime.’

  Whatever Matt may have said about feeling tired, he looked fresh this morning; sleep had smoothed the creases in his brow and the dust of the steppes had been washed away. Petra took his rough hand in her own. ‘For what it’s worth I’m fed up with work at the moment, sometimes it seems so pointless.’

  ‘Why don’t we both pack it in?’

  ‘Because we’d get bored. And then get bored with each other.’ Petra let go of Matt’s hand. ‘Anyway, I like how we are. I don’t want it any other way. What would we do? Open a bar in some godawful beach resort and think about our glory days? Maybe I’ll take some time off and come visit you. How long are you going to be there?’

  ‘The initial contract is two months. It’s an oil company who are researching new fields and need security for their geologists. I might get back here and there but that’s what the contract said, two months. Why don’t you come out at the end? If you’ve never been there it’s fascinating.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Petra finished her tea and carried her cup to the sink. ‘Come on, let’s go upstairs and I’ll help you pack.’

  Moving back to the kitchen table she wrapped her arms round his head and pulled him into her body.

  After Matt left, Petra wrote the proposal. It took longer than she expected because she kept researching Kazakhstan. As Matt had said, it did look fascinating; certainly more fascinating than the fashion designer’s crumbling marriage. The day slipped away with Petra dipping
in and out of her proposal and into the history and culture of the country. Only at 5pm did Petra realise that not only was she hungry but that she’d also invited Sandie, her neighbour, to come around for a glass of wine.

  Petra was standing over the bowl of guacamole when the landline phone rang. It was rarely used these days. Most people used her mobile and Petra had even thought of disconnecting it and indeed, might have, if she hadn’t been aware of the security advantages of maintaining a landline.

  The phone was cream; a classic 1970s style rotary dial phone she’d bought on a whim. The ringtone had a mechanical peal that made her smile with its repeated trill. It reminded her of Hitchcock films.

  Petra reached for the receiver and held it to her ear.

  ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘Petra? Is that you?’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘It’s Rafi, Rafi Shomer,’ his voice was deep, accented. ‘I’m in London and it’s been a long time and I thought –’

  ‘What the fuck do you want?’

  10

  The Israeli Embassy, Palace Gardens, London – The Next Day

  ‘What did she say?’ Yuval said.

  ‘What the fuck do you want?’ Rafi said in English.

  Eli snorted, ‘So much for your good connection.’

  Yuval frowned but stayed focused on Rafi. ‘How did she sound? Did you get another meeting or do we have to try another approach?’

  ‘I’m seeing her tomorrow.’

  They were back in the safe room at the embassy and Rafi was drinking another one of his health drinks. ‘I’m seeing her tomorrow,’ Rafi repeated. ‘I’d have preferred tonight but she was busy.’

  ‘It’s better tomorrow; it gives us more time to plan,’ Yuval said. ‘We cannot afford her saying no when you make the pitch, understood? That means I don’t want you charging in there like a bull.’

  ‘Relax, Yuval, I’m not an idiot. I know what we need to do. Credit me with some operational experience.’

  Eli said, ‘That’s exactly the problem, you don’t have the appropriate experience. You’re not in special operations now, Rafi; there’s no car to blow up or body to dump in a crocodile swamp. This is different. This is agent-running and requires subtlety and flexibility; qualities you lack and experience you simply don’t have.’

  ‘But Rafi has the connection,’ Yuval said. ‘And Trainer can help us; she is uniquely qualified. So, let’s be absolutely clear about the situation and our objectives.’ Yuval held his fingers curved over the table, as if it was a keyboard and he was about to type. ‘We’ve had bad luck and good luck. The good luck is that the school is hiring. What’s more, according to the file, Trainer has a teaching qualification that can be checked out. And she has the security clearance that any school will insist upon which can also be checked out.’

  ‘Okay, that I understand,’ Eli said. ‘Let’s assume that we persuade her to do it; and she wants to go back in the field after all this time. How much do we tell her?’

  ‘Need to know – as little as possible,’ Yuval said. ‘She’s British. Using Trainer edges us into the forbidden zone of using Jewish nationals in operations against a host nation. Although, technically, since we’re stopping the attack, it could be argued...’

  ‘Yeah, and it could be argued the other way,’ Eli shook his head.

  ‘Point taken. But need to know protects her. All we say is that Sweetbait has a brother and we don’t want him getting to her. Simple. When does an agent ever know the full story?’

  ‘I don’t like it, I don’t like it at all,’ Eli pushed the buff file across the desk towards Yuval. ‘I don’t like using Trainer; I don’t like using Rafi’s connection to her; and I particularly don’t like the appearance of this brother. I’m sorry to piss on your parade Yuval but I consider the combination of these volatile factors to be cause for a re-evaluation.’

  ‘I can set your mind at rest on at least one element,’ Yuval said. ‘It just came in from Shabak. The brother’s a nobody. An uncle in America sponsored him and he’s now studying engineering in Kansas. He’s in his first year.’

  ‘Kansas?’ Rafi said.

  ‘It’s in the Midwest. Made famous by The Wizard of Oz,’ Eli said.

  Yuval said, ‘In his 18-year-old mind, the boy is head of the family but Sweetbait isn’t going to listen to him. Yes, we need Trainer, but she’s back-up; she’s our insurance. We get her into the school, we monitor any contact with the brother and then we deal with it. Right, let’s talk about Red Cap. What’s your plan, Eli?’

  Eli briefly summarised the sparse comments Gidon had made about the agent during dinner and then described how he was going to re-establish contact with the errant agent. Once they’d met, Eli would re-recruit him, which was, when push came to shove, what it amounted to: bringing Red Cap back in.

  In contrast to Sweetbait, Yuval was pleasantly hands-off. He listened to Eli’s plan, made a couple of helpful suggestions about the methodology, asked about the time frame and then, glancing at his watch, stood up.

  ‘Okay, we’re out of time. I have to get across Kensington Park for lunch with the Right Honourable Oliver Zachary Milne – our illustrious friend at MI6.’

  Yuval rolled down his shirtsleeves and shrugged himself into a crumpled linen jacket. From a pocket he took out a tie that didn’t match and arranged it around his collar in a semblance of a knot. ‘I am expecting the usual two courses of arrogant platitudes but I think in the not-too-distant future Her Majesty’s Government will be a little less casual about our contribution to the “war on international terror”.’ The last expression was spoken in Yuval’s strongly accented English. He went on, ‘And how pleasant that will be.’

  Eli stood up and eased the chair he’d been sitting on under the cherry wood table. ‘Does that bother you? Do you care what the Brits say or how they say it?’

  Yuval fiddled with his tie while he considered the question. Finally he said, ‘In truth, no. I don’t. Some of the English I like personally. They’re intelligent and they understand war. They’ve been serving officers so we have that in common. The older generation were in Northern Ireland, so we share the experience and the problems of doing the job. God knows, we gave them enough problems during the mandate. So this isn’t personal – it never is; but they have something we want. That’s what the Sweetbait operation is about. We might have drones over Gaza watching Hamas pick their noses but we can’t compete with GCHQ and NSA – at the moment. Somehow, and we don’t know exactly how, they’re getting raw data from the Qatar Embassy; with the Hamas European HQ based in the embassy, it would be invaluable to us if the British would share and they will only do that if they have no other option.’

  Yuval said no more but walked out of the room leaving a half-drunk coffee and a crumbed paper plate on the table. Eli picked up both and carried them to the bin hesitating for a moment as if considering what to do with the liquid. Then he replaced the cup on the table.

  ‘I know you don’t like me,’ Rafi said. ‘But you heard what Yuval said; we’ve got to work together for the success of the operation, the organisation, and our careers.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Eli said. ‘Meanwhile, I have to prepare to reactivate Red Cap.’

  Rafi uncurled his height from the chair and ambled towards Eli. He sat on the edge of the table while Eli gathered up his file and tablet. ‘What unit were you in when you were called up?’

  ‘Military intelligence. Why do you want to know?’

  ‘I was in hayehida, the unit, but before that, in my first week of basic training I got into a fight with another kid. As it happens, he was a Brit. He’d got himself into some trouble in the UK, car stealing, shop lifting or something, and his folks bundled him off to the relatives in Eretz Yisroel before he could be caught. He was a real punk and a dirty fighter – liked knives. But I gave him a good thumping.’

  ‘I’m sure you did and it’s lovely that you feel able to share this touching incident from your past.�
� Eli was at the door of the room about to key in the code for the exit lock on the panel.

  ‘Wait, it’s important, Eli. Listen to me for a minute,’ Rafi said. ‘So, after they pulled us apart and the medics patched us up we get hauled in front of the platoon leader. He gave us the usual crap about brotherhood and honour and the punishment was for us to be handcuffed together while we dug out the trenches for the latrines. So, there we were, in the desert, me and this kid I tried to kill, 40 degrees, dying in the heat, trying to work out a way of doing it. Eli, ever tried to dig a hole with one hand handcuffed? You can’t do it.’

  The door swung open. But Rafi wasn’t done; he put his hand on Eli’s shoulder and went on, ‘That guy became my best friend. He was my best man at both weddings, I trust him with my life and I respect him. It’s a beautiful thing.’

  Eli looked over his shoulder at Rafi, ‘Don’t worry, that’s never going to happen to you and me, no matter how much shit we have to dig.’

  11

  Thames End Village Station, Surrey – The Next Day

  Petra picked up the giveaway paper from the train seat next to her and scanned the headlines. It was all inconsequential chatter; not unlike the copy she wrote in her fake corporate journalism.

  Why this particular journey into London should be different from any other commute was a puzzle to Petra. Yet so it was. During the entire journey into London she felt flashes of déjà vu. She found herself checking the exits and studying her fellow commuters in a way she hadn’t done for years. Much as she tried to focus on the newspaper, her phone, and the changing view outside the window, she felt a familiar and forgotten sense of detachment. She might be on a train with commuters going about their daily business yet she existed in a parallel world: the secret world. For some reason, it was pleasing.