Matthew Dunn - Spycatcher

Will checked the time on his watch and stretched.

Ewan looked back at him and said nothing for a while. Then, “I often wonder if that man really exists. It would be wonderful to know he does.”

Will stopped his attempts to show fatigue and turned fully to face Ewan. “If he did exist and you met him, what would you say to him?”

Ewan nodded slowly, and the faintest of smiles appeared on his face. “I would say to him that I do not envy the huge burden of responsibility he must carry, nor the isolated life he must surely lead.”

As he stopped speaking, Ewan spun around and collapsed to the ground. The movement was too quick to be self-induced. Will immediately stepped back two paces and looked up and down the street and at windows and rooftops. The streetlights around him produced only a dim glow, which, coupled with the snowfall, meant he could barely see beyond thirty meters. He kept still for a moment and crouched down beside Ewan’s body. He placed a thumb and forefinger around the man’s nose and pulled Ewan’s head sideways. The man had been shot through the brain with a silenced weapon. Will checked the man’s breathing. Ewan was dead.

He patted his hands against Ewan’s legs and stomach, reached into one of the dead man’s pockets, and drew out his cell phone. He placed it into his own jacket and rose to a standing position, surveying his surroundings and listening carefully. He could not see or hear anything that suggested a nearby attacker. Besides, even if the killer was still nearby, Will decided that he would have been shot already if he were also a target. He thrust his hands into his overcoat pockets and walked rapidly away from Ewan’s body toward the city’s side streets and alleys.

Will looked out of the adjacent window and could see the first indications of sunrise. He sat in an Air France carrier, and the early-morning light gave glimpses of the snow-clad Swiss Alps beneath him. He took a sip of his tea and rubbed his temples. He shook his head as he pictured Ewan twist and fall down dead, then sighed as he recalled the man’s words:

I often wonder if that man really exists.

He looked away from the Alps and closed his eyes. He rarely dwelt on past missions, but Ewan’s words forced snippets of what had happened in Algeria into his mind.

He remembered Alistair’s message:

The team can’t get there in time. The woman and her child are going to be slaughtered.

He recalled his own response:

I’m going to stop that from happening.

And he recalled Alistair’s command:

No you aren’t. It’s too dangerous.

He remembered observing the house, seeing men arrive, seeing lights go on and off in rooms, checking the time on his watch, seeing dusk turn to night, pulling out his handgun and knife, breathing carefully, focusing on the gun-carrying sentry by the front door, sprinting at him, thrusting his knife into the man’s stomach. He remembered running into the house, shooting as he moved along corridors and through rooms and seeing men fall as his bullets struck them in the head. He remembered jumping down a set of stairs into a large basement. He remembered his heart beating fast as he saw the camera and other equipment. He remembered thinking the room looked like a film studio. He remembered seeing two men rush toward him with guns raised. He remembered kicking one of them away as he shot the other, then shooting the prone man. He remembered training his gun on the four men who stood behind the kneeling mother and her seven-year-old daughter. He remembered how the men smiled as they held their swords firmly against their captives’ throats. He remembered hesitating for the tiniest of moments as he calculated the distance between each man. He remembered shooting four bullets in less than a second. He remembered seeing all four men fall down, each with a bullet in his brain.

He could see the prisoners before him now. He could see himself cutting through their ropes. He could see the mother shaking with fear and shock. He could see the girl look at him, grab him with both arms, and pull him to her. He could see him holding her gently and telling her she was safe now. He recalled thinking that nothing else mattered to him besides saving these two innocent lives. He could see him lifting the girl in his arms. And he remembered her words:

Did God send you?

Will had arrived in Paris.

It was the morning after Ewan’s assassination, and the city was covered with frost rather than snow. Will pulled out a pad and checked his handwritten notes again. Via telephone, Alistair had provided him with an address and a concise biography of the person he wanted to meet. Will closed the pad and placed it back in his coat pocket. He stepped out of the Charles de Gaulle International Airport terminal and hailed a taxi.

Within thirty-five minutes, he was in the Marais district of the city. He paid the taxi driver and walked northwest along rue Sainte-Croix-de-la-Bretonnerie before turning right onto a narrow side street. Moments later the small terraced house was before him. Will checked the time on his watch. It was nearly 8:00 A.M., and he hoped that the occupant had not yet left for work or other duties. He knocked.

The woman who opened the door was tall, with silky teak hair that she had gathered and rested over one shoulder and breast. She was beautiful, and it was obvious to Will that beneath her thigh-length sweater and jeans she had an excellent figure. However, it was her face that interested him. She was stunning, but she also looked as though her nerves had been visibly fraying over several years, and as a result she had a hunted look.

“Miss Lana Beseisu?” Will smiled as unthreateningly as he could.

“Yes.” The woman frowned and looked cautious.

“No need to worry. My name is Nicholas Cree. I’m with the British embassy here in Paris, and I need to update our records of your residency in this country. May I come in?”

The woman retained her frown. “I filled in some new forms only a few months ago. You should have everything you need.”

Will rubbed his hands together to make it look as though he were cold. “We should, but unfortunately our database has crashed, and as a result our records are a mess. It’s caused chaos, and the only way we can try to get out of this muddle is to update our records manually. If we don’t get it done, there will be all sorts of bureaucratic problems for British residents living here in France.” Will folded his arms and squeezed them tight against his chest. “I could come back later, but it would be great if we could do this now. I’ve got another eleven people to see today who are in exactly the same position as you.”

Lana stood still for a moment and then nodded. “My mother’s at the health clinic. I need to be around for her when she gets back, so it’s better for me if we deal with it now.” She glanced quickly up the street and then back at Will. “All right, come in.”

Will followed her through a small hallway into a cluttered living area. The place was strewn with books and newspapers. Lana grabbed an armful of journals and papers from a chair and dumped them next to an open laptop on a small table. “Please, sit.”

Will removed his overcoat to reveal his suit and sat down. He took out a pen and his small notepad as Lana pulled out and perched on a dining chair.

Lana smiled. “I did not know that the British embassy had such handsome men working there. What do you want to know?”

Will sighed. “I do apologize in advance. We’re in a thorough mess, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to confirm with you some of the basics.” He looked down at his notepad and spoke quickly. “Half Jordanian, half Saudi. But you’ve had a British passport for nearly twenty years.”