One False Move

by Robert Goddard

  ‘Does he still live here?’ asks Forrester.

  ‘Lord no. Moved out, oh, more than ten years ago. But he still sends me a Christmas card. Such a nice boy.’

  ‘Does that mean you have his address?’

  Mrs Lane furrows her brow thoughtfully. ‘I do. But … he wouldn’t want me handing it over just like that. Even to you.’

  ‘Your discretion does you credit, Mrs Lane.’ Forrester sounds patient and understanding. I bet he doesn’t feel it. ‘Maybe you have his phone number. It’s really quite important I speak to him.’

  ‘I suppose it must be, for you to turn up at my door. How did you know I was still in the land of the living?’

  Forrester grins crookedly. ‘I didn’t. But I’d have put money on it.’

  That seems to amuse the old lady. ‘Tell you what I’ll do,’ she says. ‘I’ll call Mr Bright for you. Come on in.’

  We enter a narrow hallway and follow Mrs Lane into the sitting room. It’s small, cluttered and sparklingly clean. She offers us seats on the couch while she heads over to the phone, which stands on a low table next to an armchair.

  She dials the number and looks at Forrester thoughtfully as she waits for an answer. ‘Mr Bright said you left the Service,’ she remarks.

  ‘I did,’ he responds.

  ‘So—’ She breaks off, then starts speaking more loudly, to the person on the other end of the line. ‘It’s Mavis Lane, Mr Bright … Yes, I’m fine … I’ve got Mr Travers here … Yes. That’s right. Alan Travers … He’s here now.’ She proffers the phone to Forrester. ‘He wants to speak to you.’

  Forrester gets up and takes the phone. By contrast with Mrs Lane, he speaks quietly into the handset, almost whispering. ‘Hello, Colin … Yes indeed … I never expected you would either … Oh yes, it’s certainly urgent … It does, yes … I’ve been left little choice in the matter … I’d much rather explain face to face … Anywhere you’re happy with … OK … Yes … Got it … Let’s say an hour from now … Agreed …’Bye.’

  Forrester puts the phone down. Mrs Lane frowns up at him from her considerable disadvantage of height. ‘Are you in some kind of trouble, Mr Travers?’ she asks gravely.

  ‘Not that you need worry about, Mrs Lane.’

  ‘It’s Mr Bright I’m thinking of, to be honest. He’s been very good to me.’

  ‘We won’t be causing him any trouble,’ I say, hoping I sound reassuring. I stand up and smile at her.

  She doesn’t smile back. ‘You won’t be meaning to, I dare say. But what good’s that if it comes anyway?’

  In a gesture that surprises me, Forrester takes her hand. ‘Thanks for phoning Colin, Mrs Lane.’ His voice is gentle, almost regretful. ‘It’s been lovely to see you again, it really has. But I’m afraid we have to be going.’

  We’re heading for Soho. Bright’s agreed to meet at a pub in Bateman Street. Forrester walks fast and would clearly prefer to walk in silence, but something’s bothering me. I put it to him as we cross Hungerford Bridge.

  ‘How can you be sure Hexter doesn’t have Bright under surveillance? I mean, if he knows Bright doesn’t trust him, he might’ve guessed you’ll try to contact him.’

  ‘Hexter would need top level approval to go after another member of the Service. And I doubt he’d relish explaining why he needed to. He has a lot of advantages over us. But he doesn’t have it all his own way.’

  Suddenly, Forrester pulls up. He glances behind us and moves over to the railings, then takes out his phone and turns it on.

  ‘Anything?’ I ask.

  ‘Not yet,’ he replies, switching the phone off again and burying it in his pocket.

  He gazes downriver, at the illuminated outlines of the Gherkin and the Shard and the Cheese Grater, buildings that simply weren’t there when he lived in London. Even Hungerford Bridge has been remodelled. I wonder for a moment how the scale of the changes that have swept in during his long absence makes him feel. Then I realize I haven’t actually got a chance of guessing how Duncan Forrester – or Alan Travers – feels about anything at all.

  ‘Come on,’ he says, pushing himself away from the railings. ‘I don’t want to keep Colin waiting.’

  Sunday night or not, the pub’s crowded, with quite a few customers standing out on the pavement. We work our way through the ruck inside, entering by one door and leaving by another without Forrester giving any hint he’s spotted Bright.

  ‘No sign of him?’ I ask when we’re back on the street again.

  Forrester just shakes his head.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘We—’ Forrester breaks off. He looks across the road. There’s a man standing in a doorway, watching us.

  He crosses over to join us. He’s tall and fleshy, a parka hanging open over the sweat-shirted mound of his stomach. He has a round, smooth face and virtually no hair. In the sallow lamplight, he looks desperately pale. And nervous as well. Yes. More nervous even than me.

  ‘Hello, Colin,’ says Forrester.

  ‘Hello, Alan.’ They shake hands.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Bright looks at me.

  ‘Nicole,’ I answer.

  ‘Christ,’ says Bright. ‘You’re the Venstrom woman.’ He wipes his hand across his mouth.

  ‘Good to know you’re up to speed, Colin,’ says Forrester.

  ‘Wish I wasn’t, really. I should have asked Mavis to tell you to fuck off.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  Bright shrugs. ‘She detests bad language.’

  Forrester nods over his shoulder. ‘Why weren’t you inside?’

  ‘I was afraid I’d drink too much before you got here. I’m guessing I’ll need a sober head tonight.’

  ‘You wouldn’t by any chance have wanted to be sure it was just us coming to meet you, would you?’

  ‘There was that as well.’

  ‘We can’t talk here.’

  ‘My flat’s not far.’

  ‘You live in Soho?’

  ‘Going to make something of that, are you, Alan?’

  ‘I was just wondering how easy it is to get to Vauxhall from here.’

  ‘Easy enough, thank you very much.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  Bright gives him a look that probably means more to Forrester than it does to me. Then he says, ‘Follow me.’

  He leads the way down Dean Street. We take a right into Meard Street and reach the door to a small block of flats. In we go and up the stairs. Bright’s seriously out of breath by the time we reach his flat on the second floor.

  The place is just four rooms and a passage – I think. It’s hard to be sure because most of the walls, apart from in the kitchen, are mirrored. It’s as if we’ve stepped into a fairground entertainment. Forrester rolls his eyes at me as we follow Bright into the lounge, where the furniture gives some kind of perspective, though, thanks to the mirrors, there appears to be more of it than there actually is. Not to mention three or four versions of Bright, Forrester and me.

  ‘Do a lot of reflecting in this room, Colin?’ Forrester asks drily.

  ‘It makes the flat look bigger,’ Bright responds, a touch tetchily.

  ‘That’s a good thing, is it?’

  ‘D’you want to give me a valuation for a quick sale? Or would you rather sit down and tell me what you want?’

  We take off our coats and sit, Forrester and I on the couch, Bright perched on the edge of the cushion of one of the armchairs.

  ‘You must have worked out what we want, Colin,’ says Forrester.

  ‘I’m not sure I have.’

  ‘Help.’

  ‘From me?’ He looks genuinely surprised.

  ‘How much do you know?’

  ‘About Miss Nevinson here? Nothing, other than she’s the luckless soul Venstrom sent down to Cornwall to find the Go wizard.’

  ‘How did your colleague Roger Lam get there ahead of me?’ I ask.

  ‘The Service keeps a close eye on the computer industry. We got wind from an informant
of your interest in the player who was massacring your computer at Go and decided we might have a better use for his talents than you. All we needed you to do for us was to identify him. That’s what I assume, anyway. I wasn’t closely involved. But I can’t see any other way it could have gone. Unless …’

  ‘The Chinese picked up on it from their monitoring activities,’ says Forrester, finishing the thought for him. ‘Go would interest them.’

  Bright nods. ‘So it would.’

  ‘Did they tip Hexter’s hand, d’you think?’

  ‘You tell me. You’re supposed to be the Chinese sell-out, Alan. Officially. Well, officially unofficially.’

  ‘Excuse me, Colin,’ I cut in. ‘You’ve known Hexter is a Chinese double agent for, what, thirty years?’

  Bright winces. ‘Suspected.’

  ‘And you’ve done nothing about it?’

  He shrugs. ‘Without proof, what could I do?’

  ‘Haven’t you dug up anything on him?’ Forrester asks.

  ‘I need to know about you and the Go wizard first. What’s the connection? When we heard about your involvement, most people didn’t even know who you were – they’re too young. For myself, I just couldn’t make any sense of it.’

  ‘There’s no sense. It’s just bad luck. I happen to be a friend of Joe’s mother.’

  ‘And but for Joe’s ability at Go you’d never have stepped out of the shadows?’

  ‘No. I never would have.’

  ‘Maybe you should have cleared out as soon as you realized we were on Joe’s trail.’

  ‘I couldn’t have done that.’

  Bright’s eyes narrow. ‘Did he inherit his analytical genius from you, Alan? Is that it? Is Joe Roberts your son?’

  Forrester sighs. ‘Charlie Roberts is named as Joe’s father on his birth certificate. And I’ve never heard you credit me with analytical genius before, Colin.’

  ‘You should have stopped the boy drawing attention to himself,’ says Bright.

  ‘I didn’t know he was drawing attention to himself. Until it was too late. And he wouldn’t have taken any notice of me anyway. I’d have had to give him a really compelling reason, wouldn’t I? Such as the truth. How d’you think that would have gone?’

  ‘Hellish unlucky for you, having a brilliant son. Or should I say knowing the mother of a brilliant son? But aren’t personal entanglements the first thing you’re supposed to avoid if you want to be invisible?’

  ‘It’s easier said than done. Take it from me.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’ve done a good job in that regard without even needing to.’ Bright smiles ruefully. ‘What about you, Nicole? Married? Children? Someone waiting at home for you?’

  ‘No to all three.’

  ‘Just as well, given the situation you find yourself in.’

  ‘What situation is that, as you see it?’

  Bright grimaces. It looks as if he feels sorry for me. That makes two of us. ‘You’re a marked woman, I’m afraid. Hexter obviously decided you knew too much. I don’t know who he engaged to deal with—’

  ‘Roger Lam tried to kill me.’

  Bright goes paler than ever. This news is apparently a shock to him. ‘That can’t be right.’

  ‘I was there at the time.’

  ‘You thought Hexter used a freelancer?’ asks Forrester.

  ‘Well, that would be … standard procedure.’

  ‘He obviously had to move too fast for that to be practical.’

  ‘Even so, it’s …’

  ‘A sign of desperation? Or arrogance?’

  ‘Christ. This is serious.’

  ‘Tell us something we don’t already know.’

  ‘You should take Nicole somewhere safe, Alan. Somewhere a long way from anywhere. You disappeared thirty years ago. Do it again. Do it for both of you. That’s my advice.’ And his expression tells me it’s sincere advice.

  ‘What about Joe?’

  ‘He’ll be well looked after. He’s a valuable asset. No one’s going to let any harm come to him.’

  ‘I should let Hexter decide Joe’s future?’

  ‘You don’t have much choice in the matter. You have nothing on your side. Well, as far as I know. Do you have anything to hurt Hexter with?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Really? Can you make it stick?’

  ‘Not sure yet. I could certainly use extra ammunition.’

  ‘And you think I can supply some?’

  ‘Well, can you?’

  ‘It’s just a rumour.’ Bright’s voice has dropped close to a whisper. ‘I’ve never been able to back it up. Chen Shufan. Remember him?’

  ‘Of course I remember him,’ Forrester replies. ‘One of Operation Yellowbird’s failures. Betrayed to the Chinese by Hexter, like as not.’

  ‘And killed by a PLA patrol?’ Bright glances at me. ‘People’s Liberation Army,’ he clarifies, though actually he doesn’t need to.

  ‘That’s what we heard.’

  ‘Well, the rumour is he faked his own death with help from a sympathetic PLA officer and left China by some other route because he was convinced he wasn’t going to be allowed to reach Hong Kong alive.’

  ‘What convinced him of that?’

  ‘Loose talk by his uncle, Deng Xiaoping’s bridge partner, about how the PLA’s intelligence arm had recruited a highly placed double agent either in the CIA or our own ranks here in London. Codename White Tiger. Chen believed White Tiger had a hand in Operation Yellowbird and wasn’t about to let someone with his connections make it out.’

  ‘And Chen’s still alive?’

  ‘That’s the rumour.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Hamburg, so they say. But I spent the better part of a fortnight’s annual leave scouring the city to no avail.’

  Forrester furrows his brow. ‘What were you hoping to get out of him, Colin?’

  ‘A name. According to the rumour Chen has proof of who White Tiger really is. Officially that’s of no interest, of course, because the working assumption is you’re White Tiger – if anyone is – and out of the game since eighty-nine.’

  ‘What sort of proof is Chen supposed to have?’

  ‘The unspecified sort.’

  ‘And this rumour. Where’s it come from?’

  ‘Exile circles in Taiwan.’

  ‘Reliable?’

  ‘It’s an officially discredited source.’

  ‘Says who?’

  Bright smiles weakly. ‘Roger Lam. He’s our Taiwan expert.’

  Forrester says nothing. I just catch a sigh from him. ‘Surely it’s obvious Hexter is White Tiger,’ I cut in.

  ‘Not if you believe White Tiger is probably no more than an invention of a dirty tricks unit at the Chinese Ministry of State Security,’ says Bright wearily. ‘That was Roger Lam’s conclusion. Which found general favour.’

  ‘Have you really no way of tracing Chen, Colin?’ asks Forrester.

  ‘I’ve spoken to dozens of noodle chefs who are supposed to be his first or second cousin. So far all I’ve got out of that is an overdose of monosodium glutamate. I think he probably knows I’m looking for him. But he doesn’t want to be found. And I can’t say I blame him.’

  ‘So, there’s no point pinning our hopes on Chen Shufan.’

  ‘Definitely not. Like I told you, your wisest course of action is to drop out of sight. Permanently.’

  Forrester seems to be giving the idea serious thought for a moment. Then he rouses himself and says, ‘Do you know what their immediate plans are for Joe?’

  ‘No. But I can guess. His greatest potential is in combating the latest computer-enhanced encryption techniques. So, I expect he’ll be evaluated at GCHQ in the first instance.’

  ‘I need to know for certain. I bet you could find out.’

  ‘You do, do you?’

  ‘I’m not ready to give up on this, Colin.’

  Bright looks at me. ‘Can’t you talk some sense into him, Nicole?’

  What i
s sense in our situation? I have no way of judging how far Forrester can take this. Nor where my best chances lie. I spread my arms helplessly.

  ‘All right,’ Bright concedes. ‘I’ll see what I can dig up.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ Forrester presses.

  ‘I’ll do my best. But I’d feel a lot more … motivated … if you told me what you had on Hexter.’

  ‘I’ll tell you when I’m sure I can back it up.’

  ‘And when’s that likely to be?’

  ‘I’ll call you this time tomorrow night. OK?’

  ‘OK. But do you want to give me a number where I can contact you before then? In case I have something definite for you.’

  ‘No. I can’t afford to take any unnecessary risks. You can’t either. So don’t go too far out on a limb for me, will you?’

  ‘Absolutely not. An ear to the ground. That’s all I can offer.’

  ‘And it’s good enough,’ says Forrester. ‘Thanks, Colin.’

  We leave Bright’s flat and walk out into Meard Street. A terrible feeling of bleakness sweeps over me. We have nothing on Hexter and we’re not going to get anything on him. We won’t be able to help ourselves, let alone Joe. My old life’s gone and it’s not coming back. I can’t speak to my family or my friends. I can’t go into the office. I can’t go home. I can’t even take a trip on the Tube. I’m lost. And my only guide is a man I barely know who may well be lost himself.

  ‘What’s wrong, Nicole?’ Forrester asks. ‘You’re trembling.’

  He’s right. I am, though I wasn’t aware of it. I tense my shoulders and the trembling goes away.

  ‘Let’s have a drink,’ he suggests. ‘We both need one.’

  We go back to the pub where we met Bright. It’s quieter now. I ask for a large gin and tonic. Forrester opts for whisky. We sit down in a corner.

  ‘You’re worried,’ says Forrester matter-of-factly.

  ‘Shouldn’t I be?’

  ‘Of course you should. If Norrback never makes contact and Chen Shufan stays out of sight …’

  ‘We’re screwed. I mean, my whole life is … over.’

  ‘As you know it, yes. But if we do have to disappear permanently, like Colin said, I’ll help you. OK? I’ll show you how to build a new life.’

  ‘I wasn’t finished with this one.’

  ‘It’s the best I can offer.’