Charles Cumming - A spy by nature

There’s no concealed pride in the way she asks this, only worry in her voice, perhaps even contempt.

“At the moment, I’m what they call a support agent, someone who’s not an official employee but who assists the intelligence services in some other capacity. They may grant access to a private bank account for money laundering, or provide safe houses in London, that kind of thing. MI5 have offered me a full-time job if I want it.”

I had expected her to be impressed by this, but nothing registers. She says, “Do they pay you?”

“Yes.”

But she does not ask how much. “And what? These two Americans think that you’re loyal to them and you’re not?”

“Yes. Some of the information I’ve given them is legitimate, but most of it has been doctored. That was the purpose of the initiative.”

“And the CIA pay you as well?”

I nod.

She sucks all this in, biting down on the apple for the first time.

“I can’t believe this stuff goes on. And I can’t believe you’re involved in it, Alec.”

“It’s happening all the time,” I tell her, again feeling some need to justify myself. “Everyone’s doing it. European countries spy on other European countries. The Yanks spy on us, we spy on them. There are SIS officers operating under diplomatic cover in almost every one of our embassies overseas.”

“So it’s a widespread thing?”

The experience of seeing her come to terms with this is bewildering. I had just blandly assumed that everybody knew about it.

“Of course. Let me give you an example. Just the other day, we found out that French intelligence had people listening in on secret negotiations between Siemens, a German technology company, and the South Korean government over a contract to build high-speed trains. Using that information, a French company was in a position to offer the Koreans a better deal and they won the contract.”

“It makes you sick.”

“I know. Those guys even bug business-class seats on Air France flights out of Paris. We’re all supposed to be in this fucking European community to make trading easier between member states, but this is how the real business gets done.”

“But with America?” she says. “They’re our allies. Why did you have to get involved with them? Why didn’t Abnex just prosecute the two people from the CIA?”

“Because it would be politically explosive. And because intelligence people love the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of knowing that they’re getting one over on the other guy. It’s all tit for tat.”

“Childish, if you ask me,” she says, glancing out the window. “What are these Americans called? What are their names?”

“Katharine Lanchester and Fortner Grice. A married couple. He’s much older.”

Kate clearly has a growing interest in this now, a look of privileged access, though as yet no discernible admiration of my role in it.

“And how did you know that they’d come to you? How did you…? I don’t understand how it all works.”

I put out the cigarette. It tasted suddenly sour.

“We were going to set up a meeting with the two of them at Abnex to discuss a possible joint venture with Andromeda. There’s a lot of that going on in the Caspian Basin, a lot of cooperation. Companies get together and share the cost of exploration, drilling, whatever. That’s how I wanted it to go, but Hawkes and my controller at Five thought that that approach would be too obvious.”

The sensation of finally being able to break my silence has momentarily suppressed any immediate concern for Cohen. Two years of backed-up secrets, all pouring out in a scrambled rush. I feel loose and relieved to be free of them.

“So we came up with another plan. MI5 put someone inside Andromeda, a guy called Matthew Frears, who was on my recruitment program. He fed us background on their movements, leaked documents, and so on. I then invited Saul to an oil-industry party, and Matthew manufactured an introduction to the Americans, using Saul as cover. Saul didn’t know anything about it. Everything that happened after that was carefully planned. It took a lot of organization, a lot of hard work. I saw them regularly, made out that I didn’t have very much money. I even had speeches prepared, tracts of dialogue committed to memory.”

“How do you mean?” Kate asks. “Give me an example.”

It is not difficult to recall the bones of one of the monologues. I lean forward in the chair, and it is like being back in their apartment, weaving a tale for the CIA.

“I was predicted straight-A grades, but I got ill and took a string of Bs and Cs, so I didn’t get my chance to go to Oxbridge. That would have changed everything. I meet Oxbridge graduates, and none of them has qualities I don’t possess. And yet somehow they’ve found themselves in positions of influence. What do they have that I haven’t? Am I lazy? I didn’t waste my time at university. I’m not the sort of person who gets depressed. If I start feeling low, I tell myself it’s just irrational, and I pull myself out of it. I feel as if I have had such bad luck.”

Kate has a peculiar grin on her face as I continue. I am talking quickly now, giving the words no inflection.

“I want to be recognized as someone who stands apart. But even at school I was always following on the heels of one or two students who were more able than I was. Smarter, quicker witted, faster on the football pitch. They had an effortlessness about them that I never had. I always coveted that. I feel as though I have lived my life suspended between brilliance and mediocrity. Not ordinary, not exceptional. Do you ever feel like that?”

Kate interrupts me: “That’s not a prepared speech. That is you.”

I stare back at her, smarted.

“No, it’s not.”

She gives a sputtering, patronizing laugh, which effectively kills off any chance of arguing this out.

“Whatever,” I say, unconvincingly. “It doesn’t matter. Think what you like. The basic idea was that I showed them how unsettled I was, how depressed I had become after breaking up with you…”

At this Kate balks.

“You brought me into this?”

I stall. I had not intended to mention her role at all. Her voice quickens into anger.

“Fuck, Alec…”

“Relax. It was just cover. In all this time, I must have mentioned your name once to them. Nobody at SIS or Five knows anything about you. You didn’t even come up in the interviews.”

She appears to believe this, looking visibly calmer almost immediately. I keep on talking, to take her mind off the possibility that she was more acutely involved.

“It was just a way of getting the Americans to sympathize with me.”

“Okay.”

“That’s how I was taught to approach things. Show them something you’ve lost. That’s the first rule. A girlfriend, a job, a close relative. It doesn’t matter. Then you confide in them, you show them your weaknesses. Ultimately I gave Katharine and Fortner the impression that they understood me. The relationship between us became almost familial.”

“And all the time it was just a pretense…”

Kate has that look she gets when learning lines for a play, an intense concentration, close to bewilderment, furrowing her brow. It makes her look older.

“They were not the innocent party, Kate. They knew Abnex had a small team that was exploring a sector of the North Basin that nobody else had access to. They wanted to get their hands on data from that project. They cultivated the friendship with me to that end. That’s how it works. It’s grim, and it’s cynical, but it’s the way of things.”

She does not answer. Her half-eaten apple has turned brown.

“So, to cut a long story short, they offered me the chance to spy for them. They made me feel that it would be in everyone’s interest in the long run.”