Matthew Dunn - Spycatcher

Will turned off the reading light above his seat in the Delta Air Lines 777 and closed his eyes. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, but he desperately hoped that his mind would give him some rest on this flight. He tried to relax, tried to detach himself from the man he was, tried to imagine being one of the normal people he was surrounded by in first class.

But the thoughts and memories coursed through him with ferocity and intensity before settling on the one memory he least wanted to confront.

He saw the large teenage boy smile and sniff the spring air as he strolled through the midafternoon day toward the house. He saw the boy kick at loose stones for no other reason than they were there. He saw the boy smile wider as he patted the school bag containing his report card. He saw the boy increase his pace so that he was almost running toward the nearing house.

The boy stopped and frowned but was not perturbed. The cars around the house were unusual, given that few people ever visited, and certainly not during a weekday. But the boy was still really a child, and he loved changes to his routine, and so he embraced the notion that something exciting and different lay ahead. He walked onward and combed fingers through his tousled hair to try to make himself look at least a little bit presentable. He examined the cars more closely and memorized the models so he could tell his friends about them the following day. He had no interest in cars, but he knew that some of his friends did.

The boy rubbed his shoes against the back of his trousers and then approached the rear door of the house. It was open, and he decided that was normal for such an airy and fresh day. He walked into the house, set down his book bag, and wondered if he could have some lemonade.

He called out, “Mother.”

He walked into the living room.

His life changed forever.

At eight-thirty the following morning, Will was again standing on rue Sainte-Croix-de-la-Bretonnerie in Paris. The muscles in his back ached, and he stretched his arms to try to relieve the discomfort. The road around him was busy with pedestrians forcing their way through an overnight snowfall, and Will scrutinized them all.

He saw Lana emerge from her side street and then followed her. She was dressed in a heavy winter coat and boots but nevertheless looked elegant and sexy as she strode on, turning on to rue du Bourg-Tibourg. She walked into a cafe and sat at a window table. Will stood for a moment on the street, watching her. He saw her remove her scarf, and he saw her hair fall down across her back. He saw her order something from a waiter, and he saw her take out a folded newspaper. He walked into the cafe.

“Hello, Lana.” Will sat down opposite the woman and pulled her newspaper away from her face so that she could see him.

Lana’s eyes widened. She glanced quickly around the cafe before looking back at Will. She produced a slight smile. “Hello, Nicholas. You came back for me.”

“I told you I would.” The waiter immediately attended their table, and Will muttered to the man, “Un cafe allonge, s’il vous plait.” The man left them, and Will turned back to Lana. “I do hope nobody is planning to join you here.”

Lana put her newspaper down and gathered her hair in one hand to place it over a shoulder. “Nobody.”

Will nodded, studying her face. She still retained the beautiful and hunted visage, but she seemed now to be projecting some strength, or hope. “How did you feel after our meeting?”

Lana frowned a little. She gave a slight shrug. “More than anything else, I was surprised that I showed you my scars.” She leaned forward. “Why would I have done that with someone like you?”

Will smiled. “Someone like me? Who do you think that type of person is?”

She waved a hand. “You are someone who captures secrets and souls. That is what you do, is it not?”

“I suppose it is.”

Lana looked down at Will’s ringless fingers and then back up at his face. “Are you a kind man, Nicholas?”

He frowned and then laughed. “That’s a strange question.”

“Not really.” Lana placed one of her own manicured hands flat down on the table between them. “I’ve met so many unkind men in my life. It would be nice to know that you are not one of them.”

“I can be unkind when I need to be.”

“But not when you don’t have to be.” She smiled a little, and her eyes twinkled.

Will was about to respond when the waiter delivered two coffees to their table. He sat in silence for a moment and saw Lana move her fingers slightly closer to his. He looked out the window and watched fresh snow begin to fall on Paris, then turned back to Lana. “He is called Megiddo.”

Lana looked down and spoke quietly. “I know. It is the only name he ever gave me.”

“Then why did you not tell me that was his name during our first meeting?” Will felt the anger in his voice.

Lana shook her head. “It is not his real name, so it has no relevance.”

He gripped his coffee cup so hard it was a wonder the thing did not shatter. “Only I can decide what is relevant or otherwise.”

“Why is he so important to you?”

Will took a deep breath and relaxed the grip on his cup. He looked at Lana’s lips and then her eyes and nodded once. “He is important to me because he wishes to kill others. It is my job to stop men like him.”

“That must be a lonely and thankless task.”

Will immediately recalled his meeting with his sister in Highgate Cemetery. He pushed the memory aside and smiled. “Why is it that people like you always think people like me are lonely?”

“People?” Lana’s voice hardened. “You said that if I’d been caught on my journeys in Bosnia, I could have been raped and tortured and then executed. How do you know I was never caught? How do you know that some of those things never happened?” She reached for her coffee but then withdrew her hand. “Do you think I am just like everyone else? That I’m just another person?”

“No, I don’t.” Will gazed out at the snowfall again and smiled as an unexpected memory came, the memory of five-year-old Will Cochrane throwing snowballs with his father. He wondered why the memory had come to him at this moment, then sighed as he understood that it was about innocence-his innocence, before the bad things came into his life, just like Lana’s innocence and purity before the bad men had beaten her and maybe worse. He looked at her. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to disparage you.”

Lana frowned before gently smiling. “Why did you come back to me?”

Will breathed deeply while watching Lana. He looked at her beautiful olive skin, her teak-colored hair, her large brown eyes, and her lips. He said nothing for a while, just looked at her. He wondered what her response would be to his next question, then suspected he knew. He toyed with the idea of not asking her at all, of reporting back to Alistair and Patrick with a lie. But Alistair and Patrick were men who lived and prospered in a world of lies and could never be deceived, not even by him.

He opened his mouth and said, “Lana, I-” His throat instantly felt dry. “Lana, I have something I must ask you.”

“I think I know what it is.”

Will frowned.

She looked away from him and spoke quietly, almost as if to herself. “There have been many times in my life when I have been reckless, knowingly foolish, maybe even naive.” When she looked back at Will, her voice became stronger. “But I am not a stupid person.” She nodded. “You think I might be a means to lure out Megiddo. You want to know if I am willing to help you trap him.”