The Righteous Spy

by Merle Nygate

  ‘Finish reading, please,’ the agent said. ‘I’ll get you another beer.’

  Eli nodded and went on reading:

  ... I told you it was creative. Only time will tell if I am right. There won’t be a dress rehearsal.

  I chose lavender to put in the diffuser. It’s supposed to be a sedative. And as I write I can hear the bath running. It needs to be hot to bring my veins to the surface. I’m wearing the grey dress I bought online, the one you said made me look like a nun because it was so long. But I want to look respectable when I’m found just in case it’s not you.

  Forgive me.

  The bath is ready and I’ve taken the first ten Valium. I have to be careful not to take too many at once in case I vomit. I’ve made a jug of dry martini, I hope you don’t mind, I used the Waterford crystal jug we got as a wedding present from your godmother.

  Don’t blame yourself. You don’t understand how I feel and would never understand. You’ve always had your passions, your chess, your crosswords, your cricket, your job and your secret life. I had nothing. No reasons to live. Only you.

  One thing puzzles me: I don’t know why if you had to break faith with work and be a traitor, you chose to do it for the Jews. Why them? What’s the fascination? I never understood that. But I suppose it’s just another Derek mystery. You didn’t know me and I didn’t know you. But I liked that about you, when we first got together, your reasoning, ideas, quirky, off the wall, bouncing, bouncing...

  The handwriting was breaking up and Eli had to struggle to read the rest of the scrawl; the last sentence.

  Derek, I’m feeling sleepy, I need to get into the bath and take the rest of the pills.

  Eli kept his eyes down on the page for a couple of seconds longer before he looked up at Derek. He needed to process what he’d just read and work out some sort of way forward. More than anything he needed to get his agent runner hat back on his head, and not just for his own wellbeing: Derek was not jail sentence material; he wouldn’t survive even a low security prison term, not for the length of time he’d go down if he was caught. Because if Derek were caught and the British knew that they already had some access to signals intelligence, then an angry British government would throw the book at Derek – in other words, twenty to thirty years.

  ‘Derek, this...’ Eli pushed the sheets towards Red Cap. ‘This letter was not written by your wife. It wasn’t written by the woman you fell in love with and married; it was written by her illness. I know that’s hard –’

  ‘How the hell do you know?’ Red Cap growled.

  ‘My wife...’ Eli hesitated on the precipice of breaking protocol again; he jumped. ‘Listen man, my wife is the leading PTSD psychologist in Israel. She knows a lot about depressive disorders.’ Eli took back the sheets and pointed at the phrases; he stabbed at the words with his fingers as if they were the culprits. ‘“Failure”; “better off without me”; “the pain that’s so bad that death is preferable”. Those expressions are identifiable symptoms of the illness; they are not your wife.’

  Derek was still for moments, his elbows were on the table and he covered his face with his bony hands.

  Eli went on, talking to Red Cap’s hands. ‘If your wife had inoperable cancer would you be torturing yourself?’ Eli said. ‘If your wife was in a car crash would you blame yourself? What if your wife was in the queue to the gas chambers and you were sent to do forced labour? Would that be your fault? Derek, listen to me. Sometimes things happen. We deal with them and we endure them. That’s just how it is.’

  Red Cap moved his hands away from his face and Eli saw that the raddled face was dry.

  ‘Benny, you are the only person I can talk to. I don’t know what I’m thinking and feeling most of the time. But what terrifies me is that there are moments when I feel... relief. They’re making me see the HR shrink tomorrow; how can I tell them you’re the only person I trust?’

  46

  Hanway Street, London – One Hour Later

  After another beer in the pub Eli was able to ease Red Cap up the stairs and out into the street. At 8pm it was still light and still warm. Some of the after-work drinkers had dispersed but the hardened sorts, set for a long night, were still in place. Deftly, Eli guided Red Cap around a group that sprawled from pavement to street. His plan was to take Red Cap to Chinatown for a meal. If Red Cap was seeing the HR shrink, it might just be standard procedure for a bereaved employee – or it might be more sinister.

  Either way, this would be the last supper for a while; Eli also figured that the agent might react better if there was some food inside of him.

  The restaurant was in a side road off Leicester Square and a brusque Chinese woman with a walkie-talkie shunted them up the narrow stairs. Once seated, they ordered rapidly; dim sum and duck; the black-clad waitress didn’t blink when Red Cap ordered a bottle of Johnny Walker to go with the jasmine tea. They were sitting by an open window and street sounds floated up, cracks of laughter and shouts, the night coming alive.

  ‘Here.’ Using his chop sticks as he’d been taught by his diplomat father, Eli placed one of the choicest dim sum on Red Cap’s plate.

  ‘Thanks,’ Red tossed another glass of whisky to the back of his throat but made no attempt to eat. His face had become contorted into a permanent grimace of anger as he approached the ugly-drunk phase. How far along he was down the path was hard to say. It felt like stepping out on to an icy pond trying to gauge when he would simply crack the surface and when it would break.

  Eli ate a few mouthfuls of rice and then lay bowl and chop sticks on the table. ‘Derek, we’re going to have to break contact. You know that don’t you?’

  ‘I guessed it, I’m not stupid.’

  ‘Never that,’ Eli said. ‘We also need to destroy the letter, don’t we?’

  ‘I should have done it there and then but I couldn’t. I wanted you to see it and I’m pleased you did. I found what you said helpful. I’d like to keep it.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s wise. Why don’t I hold on to it until you feel better about all of this?’

  ‘Better about all this? That’s never go to happen.’

  ‘I understand –’

  ‘No you fucking don’t,’ Red Cap said. ‘Don’t pretend that you have any idea what I’m feeling at the moment. Don’t pretend you had any idea how I felt when I read that letter.’

  ‘It’s not simply about feeling, Derek. We’ve got to think about security; you’ve got to think about security. Listen, the problem is it’s not just the letter. With Carole, we’re not entirely sure that she didn’t talk to anybody else, we...’

  ‘So, all you fucking care about is whether she blabbed and whether I will. That’s it, isn’t it?’

  Eli poured out some jasmine tea into his cup; Red Cap’s was untouched and had gone cold. ‘Derek, you know the score; I’m not going to insult you by saying otherwise. There are security issues – you need to give me the letter.’

  ‘Fuck that,’ Red Cap sprang up from his chair and knocked over the bottle of whisky, the liquor spread across the table. Before Eli could react, the agent had darted for the door and disappeared leaving Eli holding his teacup.

  Ever alert, the waitress approached as Eli tossed a fifty-pound note on the table and pounded down the stairs pushing aside some diners coming up.

  ‘Which way?’ Eli said to the woman at the front door. ‘Which way did my friend go?’ She pointed and Eli shifted along the street to the corner of Leicester Square. There he stood and scanned the crowd, looking for a single figure moving at a different pace to the rest of the heaving mass of people. Nothing. Shit. There was no point calling the watchers, by the time they got down there, Red Cap could be miles away. And Eli would have to explain why he’d gone to meet the agent alone in the first place.

  He had to find him himself. He knew the man: Red Cap couldn’t run fast or far because he wasn’t fit. That meant a limited radius. His priority would be to get out of sight, maybe hide in an alley, or shop and th
en when he thought the coast was clear, he would find a bar and top up his alcohol levels.

  He’s near. I know he’s near.

  Eli reached for his phone and dialled Rafi. He answered on the second ring.

  ‘Where are you?’ Eli said. ‘How fast can you get to Leicester Square?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Make sure you’ve got a clean car.’

  Eli put his phone away and concentrated on thinking into Red Cap’s head. Anybody else would get as far away from the Chinese restaurant as possible; that would be the instinctive reaction, but the professional would circle and double back. The only question was how much of Red Cap’s professional muscle was left and how much of it was pickled in a cocktail of grief, anger and alcohol. Whatever Red Cap had learnt on the British training course was hardwired into his brain; he wouldn’t even have to think it through; it would be like swimming: instinctive.

  But then, knowing how Eli thought, Red Cap just might double bluff.

  Leicester Square was busy and as Eli walked past the Odeon, the ten o’clock show was coming out. Couples and groups fell out of the doors, stunned from their journey into a fictive world. There was no sign of Red Cap among the cinema goers or the tourists going into the casino on the square. Eli strode into an ersatz French bistro, looking left and right with the face of a man who was on a date, searching for the welcoming smile. No one challenged him. No one asked if he wanted a table. No one cared. And in the same way, he walked into every shop, casino, and bar working his way around the square and its tributary streets until he was back where he started; in the side street with the Chinese restaurant. There was a bar two doors down, a spit and sawdust relic of pre-gentrification. Too obvious. Much too obvious, but still Eli had to check.

  On the point of pushing open the scuffed painted doors, Eli’s phone buzzed. It was Rafi.

  ‘Where are you?’ Eli said.

  ‘Adam Street... I got a van, just in case.’

  ‘Thanks, nothing to put in it yet –’ A shout from within the bar arrested whatever he was about to say next. Cutting the call, Eli pocketed the phone and pushed his way in.

  He was there. Red Cap was at one end of the bar against a wall. A burly man with grey hair in a ponytail was standing over Red Cap. Nearby a small woman in a knitted skirt and boots was touching the man’s elbow. Whether she was staff or relative or passer-by, Eli didn’t wait to find out.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Eli said trying to sound like authority which was just as well as the two kids behind the bar were cowering. He spoke to the big man, ‘Is this man bothering you? This is supposed to be a quiet bar, not –’

  ‘Keep out of it,’ the ponytail said. ‘I’m waiting for an apology from this creep here.’

  ‘Benny, so pleased you could join me,’ Red Cap slurred. ‘Ever the faithful hound eh? This creature, this... this Caliban is an oaf. I was defending the honour of this lady and Caliban turned on me.’

  ‘He don’t mean no harm,’ the woman said. Her face was even more lined than Red Cap’s.

  ‘Why don’t we all calm down, okay?’ Eli said, trying to edge round and take Red Cap’s arm. ‘Me and my friend will go and drink somewhere else. We’ll get out of your way and leave you in peace. I’m sure he didn’t mean any offence.’

  ‘But I did, Benny. Truly, I did. I am deeply offended by this oaf and even more than that, disgusted by the rat tail at the back of the creature’s head. It is a rat tail isn’t it?’

  There was a nervous laugh from the Goth girl behind the bar.

  If it hadn’t have been for the girl’s laugh Eli might have got Red Cap out of there, but the loss of face was too much for the big guy who, judging by his face, was also drunk. He raised his fist. ‘You deserve a good hiding and I’m the man gonna give it you; I’m gonna knock you all the way across this fucking room and enjoy it,’ he said.

  Before he could strike, Eli kicked him in the shin that was closest. With surprising speed, the man turned and before Eli could regain his balance he had his horny hands around Eli’s throat.

  Training kicked in. Without thinking Eli raised both hands, twisted round forty-five degrees, brought all his weight down on the big man’s arms and broke the grip. Then he kneed him in the groin and when the oaf’s head came down in agony, Eli head-butted him. The man crashed to the ground knocking over a table of drinks on the way.

  ‘Oh bravo,’ Red Cap said putting his hands together.

  ‘Shut up.’ Eli hauled him out of the bar, half carrying him when he stumbled. ‘Derek, we have about two minutes before the police arrive.’ Eli shoved Red Cap out of the door into the street, but the drunken agent’s legs would no longer hold him upright. He lurched into the wall, hit his side and then slumped down like a sack.

  ‘Get up, Derek,’ Eli tugged at him. ‘For God’s sake get up.’ His voice was rasping from his constricted throat.

  A voice was at Eli’s elbow. ‘Bevakasha,’ Rafi said. ‘May I?’

  Without waiting for an answer Rafi knelt, put his hands under Red cap’s armpits and hauled him upright in one fluid movement. ‘You take his other side, your left arm round his waist and his arm over your shoulder. Right, now, lift and run.’

  Carrying Red Cap between them they ran in the direction of Chinatown, away from Leicester Square. They charged through dawdling tourists and night-time revellers and it was only when they heard the sirens by Charing Cross Road that they slowed to a walk. Red Cap’s head was lolling to the side but as they passed a patrolling pair of policemen, he still could have been any drunk being helped home by a couple of friends.

  Five minutes later they had bundled Red Cap into the back of the Renault van and Rafi was nosing his way in the traffic while Eli sat back and massaged his throat. From the back of the car reverberated the sounds of Red Cap snoring.

  ‘If we go A25 for two miles, past the Houses of Parliament, then out towards the M40 we should be in Cheltenham by 1 o’clock,’ Eli said. ‘Let’s stop when we’re out of London and patch up Red Cap. Did you bring your first aid kit?’

  ‘What do you think? Never leave home without it.’

  ‘Again, Rafi... thank you.’

  ‘It was a pleasure. It was keyf, fun. I feel like I’ve been sitting in meetings for too long.’

  ‘Keyf? That bastard nearly killed me,’ Eli said.

  ‘More like you nearly killed him, I watched you from the door, nice moves, Eli. Didn’t think you had it in you. Come on, admit it, you enjoyed it.’

  Eli thought for a moment, then turned to Rafi, ‘Yeah, I did.’

  Rafi and Eli patched up Red Cap in a service station on the M40; the agent’s guardian angel must have been looking out for him because Red Cap had nothing worse than a few bruises and a hangover. After making sure that his house wasn’t under surveillance, Eli decided to take the agent inside. He wanted a moment with him; he wanted to be sure, or as sure as he could be that Red Cap wasn’t in any further danger.

  Eli helped him up the path to the front door. Red Cap’s hand was shaking as he tried to find the lock in the dark; gently Eli took the key from the man’s cold hand.

  ‘Good of you to take me all the way home,’ Red Cap said. ‘Come in for a coffee, before you go.’ He sounded hopeful; it was almost a plea.

  ‘We’ve got to get back to London, Derek, but some other time, I will.’

  ‘Sure you will,’ Red Cap said.

  Inside the front door the hall had black and white tiles. Eli noted the dust balls nestling around the legs of a mahogany occasional table in the hallway. From the kitchen at the far end of the hallway he could smell a food bin that hadn’t been emptied. The whole house had a sour scent.

  ‘Let’s get you upstairs,’ Eli said. ‘You’ve got to get some sleep if you’re going to see the HR shrink tomorrow. Have you got a clean shirt?’

  Eli was aware that it was the same conversation he had with his son before he took him to school in the morning. But Red Cap had no kids and no family.

  ‘I’ll be fine, I�
�ve been worse than this in my time. Run along Benny. Run along back to London and leave me to get on with it.’ Red Cap waved his hand in the direction of Eli, dismissing him with a flick of his hand as he reached the first-floor landing. The action destabilised the agent and he wobbled, almost losing his balance. Eli put his arm over the man’s shoulder and guided him into the nearest room where he sat the agent down on the unmade bed. The curtains were drawn, drooping in the middle where a ring was missing; piles of dirty and discarded clothing were buried under an armchair and the wardrobe was open showing more mess inside. From inside Eli’s pocket he felt his phone vibrate, he reached in and saw a text message from Rafi: How long?

  He texted back: 10

  By the time Eli had pocketed his phone again Red Cap had slumped over on to the pillow. ‘Derek, I’m going to make you a coffee and bring you some water, okay?’

  ‘What...’ Red Cap’s eyes were shut. ‘I’ll just sleep for a... for a...’ A trickle of dribble was leaking out of the agent’s mouth on to the pillow. One yellow eye opened, ‘You still here?’

  ‘Derek, sit up for a minute. I’m going to get your jacket and tie off, okay?’

  ‘Tucking me up?’ Red Cap slurred the words.

  Eli hauled the drunk into a sitting position and eased the jacket over his shoulders. He undid the agent’s tie and then eased him down on to the bed. Eli lifted Red Cap’s legs, straightened the limbs out, removed the scuffed Oxfords and then covered him with a dressing gown he found lying on the floor.

  ‘Derek, listen to me,’ Eli said. He was hanging the jacket on the back of a chair the seat of which was piled high with clothes. With his back to Red Cap he felt inside the pocket and pulled out the envelope with Carole’s letter. All the while he continued talking; his voice was soothing and firm. ‘Derek, you have to get into work tomorrow. Even if you go in and say you feel too ill to talk to the shrink, you have to report in otherwise they will get interested in you and that won’t be good.’