Jon Stock: Dead Spy Running

‘And they agreed?’

‘Until they began to doubt her commitment in Delhi. The Americans found a Bahá’í declaration card in her room. She converted on the day she died. The Indian press have picked up on it. The plight of the Bahá’ís in Iran is getting a big play around the world: “Brave Bahá’í woman saves US President from an evil, Iranian-backed assassin.”’

But Marchant wasn’t listening any more. His staff phone, a new TETRA unit, not his old one, had buzzed in his pocket. No one had his number yet. He assumed that it must be a routine test message from Legoland, but it wasn’t.

‘Are you all right?’ Fielding asked, as Marchant read a text.

‘Fine,’ Marchant said. ‘It’s good to be in London again.’ They were near the Houses of Parliament, coming alongside the Embankment. ‘A chance to catch up with old friends.’

‘The captain’s letting me off here,’ Fielding said. ‘I have a meeting at the Travellers with the new head of Clandestine Europe.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘James Spiro, God help us. Sadly, his predecessor, Carter, resigned. Took a job in the private sector. Look, why not stay on board, enjoy the trip. You’re not expected back at your desk today.’

‘I will. Thanks.’

Fielding stood up, putting his hands to the small of his back, then steadied himself on the railing as the Duck bumped against the pontoon. ‘It’s good to have you back, Daniel. You should never have been suspended.’

‘And Armstrong’s pleased, too?’

‘Harriet? She’s a pussycat these days, ever since she realised we were right about Leila. Five and Six have become allies. Almost.’ He paused. ‘When do you think Dhar will try to make contact? Six months? A year? You know there’s no hurry.’

Marchant glanced again at his mobile and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. The two men looked at each other for a moment, an unspoken knowledge passing between them. Then Fielding was gone, lost in the crowds of tourists, as Marchant headed out to the middle of the river, the low yellow bow pushing against a racing tide.