by Merle Nygate
22
The Israeli Embassy, Palace Gardens, London – The Next Day
During the entire journey from Heathrow airport to the meeting in central London Eli finessed his reasoning; it was imperative that he immediately take over running Trainer. Besides the break-in, under Rafi’s influence – possibly even led by him – Trainer had nearly caused another incident by leaving the scene of a traffic accident. How could this dangerous state of affairs be allowed to continue? With Rafi involved they were racing towards a major diplomatic incident even before the operation was underway.
Eli was satisfied; his arguments were incontrovertible.
And by being the senior officer on both Red Cap and Sweetbait, his promotion to head of London station was about as close to a sure thing as anything ever could be.
An hour later, still revelling in a cosy quilt of righteousness, Eli pushed through the side door of the embassy. He went past the security checks to the dedicated lift to the top-floor safe room. Once in the lift he made final preparations; he altered his expression. He wanted to appear to be stern yet still sympathetic. Or as sympathetic as anyone could be to someone whose career was going down the toilet because of their consummate arrogance and innate stupidity. However, after Eli stepped out into the lobby between elevator and safe room and the guard opened the door for him, the first thing he heard was laughter.
Unexpected.
Urit, one of the London analysts was sliding her laptop into its sleeve. She breezed past Eli with a friendly smile. He was left alone in the room with Rafi and Yuval.
For someone who was about to be the subject of an internal investigation that would, at the very least, see the end of his immediate promotion prospects, Rafi looked remarkably relaxed. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles and he was wearing a football shirt. By contrast Eli felt overdressed and unshaven in his plane-crumpled jacket.
Eli sat down on Urit’s empty chair. First he addressed Yuval, ’How was Washington?’
‘Ein baayot,’ he said. ‘No problem.’
‘And I don’t need to ask how Oxford was,’ Eli said to Rafi. ‘I read the report.’
There was no response.
Eli went on, ‘Reads like James Bond; all that was missing was the helicopter, speedboat and the part where the intelligence officer fucks the agent.’
‘Thanks,’ Rafi smirked.
‘You didn’t? Please tell me you didn’t fuck Trainer on top of everything else,’ Eli said.
Rafi looked neither embarrassed nor abashed and didn’t give the slightest hint that he was in trouble.
‘Hasn’t he been recalled?’ Eli said to Yuval.
‘The interview will take place here, in London.’
‘Why?’
‘Operational reasons,’ Rafi said. ‘We’re in the middle of a complex operation and I have to be here – I’m needed.’
Rafi’s head was back and he was smiling. Eli got a clear view of Rafi’s throat, below his beard; his Adam’s apple. Eli’s hands clenched and he spoke with care, or as much care as he was capable of, given that he wanted to lash out with his fists at the bigger man.
‘Forgive me, but I thought the purpose of this meeting was a handover. I would take over Trainer while Rafi heads home. My mistake. But I must ask: even allowing for Rafi fucking Trainer – which as we all know always ends badly in James Bond – I was under the impression that plumbing jobs need to be authorised.’
‘Eli, stop being a pompous ass,’ Yuval said.
‘I’m serious – putting Trainer in a position where she could have been arrested was irresponsible at best and certainly negligent. And then there was the traffic incident.’
‘Nothing happened. And it was a break-in, that’s all,’ Rafi said. ‘It would have taken too long to get a plumbing team here and I handled it.’
‘And you didn’t even attempt to think of another option,’ Eli said.
‘Such as?’
‘Such as getting Trainer to phone the woman at the school after the interview and coming up with a story why she’d do the job without the salary. Such as... Trainer wanted the job experience and had an educational grant from some research centre. Or something. The woman would have bitten Trainer’s hand off. Qualified staff for no salary? It’s irresistible for any company. Why didn’t you do that, Rafi? Use your brain for a change.’
Yuval spread out his small hands over the polished table, as if he was stretching out the tendons and muscles. ‘Eli, the situation is like this... It’s the first rule of intelligence. It worked. Yes, Rafi did his own plumbing; yes, Trainer assisted; yes, she had a small accident with the car – but it worked. Rafi came out with the necessary information to proceed with Sweetbait – and that’s all that matters.’
‘So is that the message we want to send to new recruits? It’s all DIY and hope for the best?’
‘Auftragstaktik – mission command,’ Rafi said. ‘You said it yourself: make the plan, get Trainer into the school any way I can. And that’s what I did. What’s the problem?’ Rafi picked up a paper cup in his big hands and gulped back the contents.
‘And what about Trainer,’ Eli said. ‘You may have done your own plumbing, unnecessary though it was, but now that you’ve fucked her how are you going to contain that situation without damaging the operation? Trainer has all the potential to blow you and Sweetbait out of the sky.’
Rafi said, ‘Why is this a problem? She’s an adult. She knows I’m married and it will not affect the mission except... in a good way. And it was her idea anyway. Eli, come on. You’re being ridiculous and looking for things to obsess about. You remind me of my grandfather. He was always moaning and my grandmother was always saying, ‘Quien mucho pensa, no se la fada Yersalaim.’ Do you know what that means, Eli? Is Ladino one of your many languages?’
Rafi didn’t wait for Eli to answer, ‘Whoever thinks too much will never find Jerusalem. And you, brother, think too much.’
Eli looked at Yuval for support and saw none coming, ‘Enough,’ Yuval said. ‘As far as I’m concerned I don’t care if Rafi fucks an orangutan so long as it doesn’t affect the operation. I need both of you so you can get off your high horse, Eli, and join the rest of us. The interrogator is coming next week to give Rafi the bollocking he richly deserves and you will remain the lead in this operation. Is that understood?’
Eli scowled in response. Yuval continued, ‘In the meantime, we have a bigger problem than your ego. Sweetbait’s brother is here.’
23
Paddington, London – Three Days Later
Although they knew Wasim was in the Birmingham area, getting his exact location took a few days and gave Eli the opportunity to quietly work through his fury at Rafi’s undisciplined behaviour and arrogance. During the daily meetings he wrote and rewrote his resignation in his head, fantasised about Yuval’s expression and, finally, realised that the only person who would be damaged by him walking away was himself. And anybody he was trying to help. After all, he was the best spy runner in the organisation.
That day Eli was under additional pressure. At last they had an address for Sweetbait’s brother but before driving to Birmingham for a first look at Wasim, Eli had to debrief and rebrief Red Cap with the questions he’d brought back from Israel. This tight schedule, not to mention the prospect of the side trip with Rafi, was making him anxious. No, Eli would never admit to that. Constrained – that was all. The meeting with Red Cap could be achieved in three hours if it all went smoothly.
Sitting in the corner of the tourist hotel in Paddington, Eli glanced at his watch; he eyed a young tourist who was apparently studying his phone. The boy looked up and through black rimmed specs nodded. It was the signal that Red Cap was on the way. Good. Unlike some agents, Red Cap was punctual. Unlike some agents, Red Cap remembered the locations. Thank God for that. Finishing the last of an overstuffed wrap, Eli drained the glass of water and prepared himself mentally.
‘It's a dance,’ Eli was fond
of saying when he lectured on the training courses. ‘A tango if you like. It's not jigging around, Dad dancing or club dancing. Running an agent is a dance of seduction.’
That's what Eli said to the fresh-faced recruits and that's what it needed to be. After all, what was bringing Red Cap to him? It certainly wasn't the money. It was the love. Eli signalled for the bill, not wanting to waste any more time when Red Cap did come down the stairs into the basement lounge of the shabby hotel.
The kid in the corner held two fingers behind his phone and nodded. Two minutes before Red Cap completed his journey from Paddington Station to this shabby hotel on a summer Saturday morning. The agent had been watched from the moment he left his house in Cheltenham, to the station, and now here. And there would be more support between the hotel and the safe house. A big operation attracted budget and interest. Everyone wanted to be part of it and Eli was using the resources for security to make sure that nothing went wrong.
Eli saw the kid with the glasses stiffen and then saw a figure in his peripheral vision stepping into the basement lounge.
Red Cap's weekend get-up was no different from his everyday wear. In fact, as far as Eli could see, the agent was wearing the same frayed shirt and rancid schoolmaster's tweed jacket he'd worn the last time they'd met. In daylight, or what passed for daylight in the basement lounge, Red Cap looked worse than ever. The drinker’s rash on his skin was redder, his jowls drooped further, and the whites of his eyes were jaundice yellow.
Eli stood up and stretched out his hand, ‘Looking good, Derek.’
They shook hands and Eli noticed a tremor in Red Cap’s left arm. Somehow they needed to get the guy to have a health check. It wouldn't do for him to end up in A&E yapping on morphine or, worse, making a deathbed confession. But persuading him to have a health check would have to wait for the next meeting. For now, Eli had a tight schedule; he needed to meet Rafi and drive to Birmingham.
‘How was the journey?’ Eli said. Two women burdened with shopping bags came into the lounge and sat on the other side of the room near the bar. The one with the red wiry hair held her thumb and index finger together forming an 'O'. It meant Red Cap was clean.
'Fine,' Red Cap said, ‘the journey was fine, for once the trains were running on time and no delays. They usually choose to do maintenance at the weekend, but today...’
Red Cap was about to collapse his skeletal legs into the olive-coloured chair. Before he could, Eli said, ‘Thanks for your customary punctuality. We have a lot to get through in a short time; would you mind having a coffee somewhere quieter?’
Red Cap raised an eyebrow, ‘Sounds marvellous.’
Eli gestured towards the stairs and ushered Red Cap up them. Together they left the hotel and walked down the road dodging thundering traffic and inhaling dust-filled air. Over the noise Red Cap drawled on about the Pakistani cricket test. Eli shared his thoughts on the outcome, all the while trying to pick up the pace so that they could reach the safe house and get started.
Once they were off the main road and down a quieter avenue of Edwardian houses that had been converted to flats, Eli had the key ready to use. He opened a blue door and they moved into a dark hall with black and white tiles and steep stairs rising to the first-floor accommodation. The stairs creaked as they went up.
‘Nice place you've got,’ Red Cap said indicating a patch of damp on the wood chip painted wall.
‘Thanks, kind of you to say so.’
Upstairs it was the usual set-up; a mix of second-hand junk, not deemed good enough to be shipped back home in a container by outgoing diplomatic staff, some mismatched Ikea furniture and a few throws to disguise the frayed fabric and cushions to cover sinking springs.
There was a smell of emptiness, sweat and fear typical of safe houses. Also typical was that the fridge and kitchen in the dingy flat were well stocked.
Yes, everything was as Eli had specified on the requisition form. On a small round table by the window in the kitchen someone had laid out a platter of smoked salmon, a basket of different breads, cold roast beef, horseradish sauce, a selection of cheeses, a bowl of fruit and a plate of pastries.
Less pleasing was the view from the window. It was at the back of the house and overlooked the dustbins. Through the sash window with its chipped paint, Eli glimpsed a rat scavenging among the scattered debris in the walled area. Eli reached up and pulled down the roller blind.
On the scarred wooden worktop by the hob was a kettle, a thermos of coffee and a selection of cold drinks. But no alcohol. Eli had requested the alcohol should not be immediately visible. He didn’t know whether Red Cap was drinking or not; but what Eli wanted to avoid was Red Cap getting drunk before he’d given him the new set of questions.
However, during the walk to the safe house Eli smelt a sour scent coming off Red Cap; the agent had been bingeing. So Eli changed his mind; better to open the bottle of whisky and delay the hangover. It was the best chance of working Red Cap in the available time.
‘Beer and a chaser?’ Eli said reaching down to the stacked cupboard to the left of the fridge. ‘I’ve got some whisky I think you might like.’ Eli placed the ten-year-old single malt on the tray that already held two supermarket glasses bloomed from overuse in the dishwasher. ‘Sorry about the glassware.’
‘It’s what’s in it that counts,’ Red Cap said. He looked as if he was holding himself back from grabbing the glass as Eli reached into the fridge for a couple of bottles of beer.
‘Taste it, Derek, tell me what you think.’
With apparent relief Red Cap reached for the glass and took a mouthful. He nodded with a pretence at appreciation before he knocked back the rest of the glass. Eli refilled it. He would have to move quickly, not just to get to the meeting with Trainer.
‘How’s your wife,’ Eli said. ‘The offer still holds.’
‘What offer? The one where we time travel?’ Red Cap gulped the second drink back and smiled a softer smile that suggested he was feeling mellow. It was a look Eli recognised, the stage where Red Cap was great company: erudite, intelligent, perceptive.
‘You remember,’ Eli said sipping at the single malt, feeling the burn at the back of his throat. ‘We talked about getting some specialist help for your wife.’
‘You talked about it. I didn’t. Don’t worry, we’re both on a one-way ticket to hell.’
‘I’m not worried, you look okay,’ Eli made his voice light and reassuring, ‘but we have resources, Derek. Resources that you should take advantage of.’
‘Highest doctor-to-patient ratio in the world? Is that it, Benny?’ Red Cap poured himself another three fingers of whisky and looked over the top of his glass at Eli.
‘Something like that. I’m not going to nag you anymore but I’d like to help if I can.’
‘I believe you would.’
There was an awkward silence at the table. Eli filled it by taking out his Moleskine notebook and pen from his inner jacket. They were props; the flat was wired for sound and sight but if physical notes were taken it gave the illusion that Red Cap was being listened to, concentrated upon, respected and believed. ‘So, let’s get going. I have some questions for you.’
Red Cap felt inside his tweed jacket and extracted a USB chip; he placed it on the table and nudged it forward with his index finger. His nail was ragged.
‘That’s it, Benny, all the latest on the data science tool that’s analysing the American far right, who’s funding them and how – it’s my parting gift.’
‘Parting gift? What are you talking about?’ Eli looked up and met Red Cap’s rheumy eyes.
‘I wanted to tell you face to face. I might have just not turned up, but somehow it didn’t feel right – although I did think about it,’ Red Cap smiled that disarming expression that showed the man he once had been. ‘I wouldn’t have started again if it hadn’t been you; you do know that, don’t you?’
‘And I appreciate that. Believe me. But...’ Eli laid down his pen and pushed the pad and the
chip aside. ‘What’s going on?’
For a second, Eli was back on the training course, looking down at the eager young faces, each convinced that they were the real deal, all with conviction that all the dirty stuff they were about to do was meaningful, was safeguarding their heritage, their future, their children, their parents’ and grandparents’ memories. And Eli was giving them as many of the tricks of the trade as possible. Among the smoke and mirrors, the rabbits pulled from hats and the disappearing ladies, was the absolute certainty that at some point in the course of the handler-agent relationship, every agent has a crisis. For some of them it was the first time they passed over information. For others it was the moment they realised that behind the false flag of a multi-national company, a news agency or a friendly intelligence agency that it would do no harm to help – they were dealing with Israel. And for some, like Red Cap, it was personal.
When the crisis came sometimes they threw up; cried, wept, threatened, even begged. That was the hardest: begging and pleading. To see someone that you had developed over months, maybe even years, disintegrate into helpless tears was hard. When that happened, the most important action was to let them recover alone for a moment so as not to allow them to lose face. The handler had to judge the appropriate action for the situation; like the tango dancer, the handler always had to lead. In keeping with his singular nature, Red Cap’s crisis had taken none of these forms. Wreck of a man he may be, anti-establishment and angry, but he was still British to the core and was in control of his emotions and the crisis.
Eli poured another shot into Red Cap’s glass and refilled his own.
‘Talk to me, Derek. Let’s forget about all this, tell me what’s going on.’
‘I told you, I’ve had enough and I want to wrap everything up.’
‘Why now? Nothing happens in the summer; it’s the best time of year. Why don’t you wait a few months, say September for example, and then stop?’
‘It’s getting to me, Benny. I thought I could handle it, but I can’t.’