Matthew Dunn - Spycatcher

“That’s correct.” Lana lit a cigarette. “My mother managed to get me one when she was living in London.” She looked worried. “We only moved to France a few years ago because of her health and so that she could be close to a particular specialist. She has chronic anemia, and they have to keep running tests. We intend to return to the U.K. as soon as she’s better.”

Will held up a hand. “Rest assured we have no problem with you and your mother having British passports. The only problem the embassy has is with an IT database system that was supposed to make our lives easier but instead has made them hellish.” He looked down at his supposed notes again. “Now, it says here that your father is deceased, and your mother is obviously living with you. You’re single. Your vocation is journalism.”

Lana grimaced. “When I can get the work.”

Will tried to look sympathetic as he wrote nothing in particular on his notepad. “And besides your mother you have no other dependents with you in France?”

“None.”

Will nodded and scanned the tip of his pen across notes. “I can see that you’ve regularly checked in with our embassy-that’s good, as it normally makes our lives a lot easier.”

Lana tapped ash. “Anything else?”

“It’s just a formality, but can I see your passport?” He checked his watch as if he were in a hurry, then smiled. “I always have to confirm the identity of people I interview.”

“Sure.” Lana stood and looked around the untidy room, frowning. She walked to a spilling-over wall bookshelf on the opposite wall, rummaged among some loose papers, and returned with the passport. She handed it to Will and sat down.

He quickly glanced at the passport’s last pages. He nodded, handed it back to Lana, and made a small scrawl on his notebook. He was satisfied that the woman before him was Lana Beseisu rather than a protective housemate or friend. He decided to change the nature of the meeting.

“Let me just check if there’s anything else.” Will spent a few moments reading his notes again. He opened his eyes a little wider and tried to look impressed. “You were in Bosnia during the wars in the early nineties?”

Lana laughed. “That was another lifetime ago. I was barely out of school.”

He went on reading, even though he had memorized the notes before coming here. “You initially worked for a German media outlet in Sarajevo before they closed down their representative office there, but you then got approached to work with an Iranian-backed newspaper based in the city.” Will nodded. “Must have been terrifying times, working in a war zone?”

Lana shrugged. “I was young then. I was blase to the danger.”

Will slowly closed his notepad and put it away. “The naivete of youth.” He flashed a smile that cut off as quickly as it had appeared. “Still, you would not have been so naive as to not know that the newspaper you worked for was in reality a front for the Iranian military intelligence services.”

“What?” Lana looked shocked.

“Maybe they got their hooks into you slowly and subtly, but pretty soon you would have known exactly whom you were working for and what you were doing for them. After all, journalists don’t secretly take Iranian money to Bosnian paramilitary units spread across the country. That’s a job for a spy.”

Lana’s shock seemed to turn into anger. Her eyes narrowed, and she spoke slowly. “Who are you?”

“Mind you”-Will ignored her question and grinned-“it would have been a logistical nightmare to work on your own in a besieged city without guidance and time-sensitive instructions. Which can only mean that you had someone with you in Sarajevo. Maybe even an Iranian intelligence officer.” He frowned. “More specifically, an IRGC Qods Force officer.” He smiled again. “But you would have been lonely as well. I’d say that it was probable your Qods Force man gave you comfort as well as orders.”

“Whoever you are, get out of my house!” Lana was standing.

Will did not move. His speech was sharp. “Whoever I am or am not, I am most certainly someone who can change your life for the worse. So I suggest you sit back down.”

Lana seemed to hesitate. She then reseated herself and picked up her cigarette with a shaking hand. “What do you want?”

Will leaned closer to her. “I need to know if you are still in contact with the Iranians. I need to know if you are still in contact with the Qods Force man.”

Lana stubbed out her cigarette, and a tear slid down her cheek. “Who are you?” she repeated.

Will leaned farther forward. “I work for MI6. And I will not leave this house until you tell me what I need to know.”

Lana shook her head, and tears were now freely spilling from both eyes. “Please don’t do this.”

Will made his voice stern. “Lana, look at me.”

She wiped the back of a hand against her face.

“I am a British intelligence officer. I have no desire to hurt you or get you in trouble. That’s not why I’m here. But you will clearly understand the implications of being a past or present Iranian spy who has a British passport. We call people like that traitors, so unless you help me, the alternative is prison. And the French authorities will not stand in our way to obtain such justice.” Will’s voice was now loud. “Are you still in contact with the Qods Force man or any of his friends?”

Lana shook her head vigorously. “No. No.”

“Anyone from Iran?”

“Nobody.” She was sobbing now.

“We can check. If we ask the French security services to analyze your phone calls over the last year or so and they find just one number dialed to Iran, you realize that all will be lost for you?”

“Then check!” Lana spat the words.

“Prison is not my objective-it does not serve my purpose in any way. I have another reason for needing to know if you are in contact with the Qods Force man.” Will leaned even closer. “Let me put this bluntly. If you are still in contact with the man or his colleagues, I can save you from prison. If not, then you are of no use to me and I will throw you to the British judicial system.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve never spied on Britain. All I did was try to help stop some Bosnian Serb fanatics from being given carte blanche to commit genocide.”

“Very touching. But you were still a covert employee of an enemy of the West. And who knows what else would come out at a trial? What actions your Qods Force man may have taken based upon the secrets you fed him? Maybe you helped stop genocide, but maybe you wittingly or unwittingly helped fuel it. A British trial will be supported by United Nations evidence. They will no doubt be able, fairly or otherwise, to pin any number of atrocities on you.”

Lana dropped her head into her hands and pulled at her hair. “I understand, I understand, but I’ve not had any contact with him since 1995. And I’ve never had contact with his colleagues or anyone else from Iran.”

“Prove it to me.”

“Oh, come on!” Lana sounded exasperated. “How?”

Will leaned back in his chair and considered. He decided that for the moment he had been hard enough on her. Quietly, he said, “Tell me more about your time in Bosnia.”

Lana stared at him for a while and then pulled out another cigarette, lighting it with deliberation. She inhaled deeply and then spoke in a thin voice. “After I graduated from university, I took a job as a freelance journalist with the Dusseldorf-based media outlet you mentioned. They sent me to Sarajevo in 1991 to cover Bosnia and Herzegovina’s impending referendum for independence from Yugoslavia. Shortly after my arrival, all hell broke out in the Balkans, and one of my colleagues in Sarajevo was killed. Dusseldorf then lost its nerve and decided to cover the conflict from Germany.” Lana shrugged. “And I was therefore without work.”