Daniel Silva - The Unlikely Spy

In August 1939, Boothby brought Hawke to MI5. On Boothby's orders, the Pelican told his Moscow controllers that his star recruit was now working in British Intelligence. Moscow was ecstatic. Pelican's star rose. Boothby used Pelican to funnel true but harmless material back to the Russians, all of it allegedly from his source inside MI5-Hawke-all information the Russians could verify from other sources. Pelican's star soared.

In November 1939, Boothby sent the Pelican to the Netherlands. A young, arrogant SS intelligence officer named Walter Schellenberg was making regular trips into Dutch territory under an assumed name to meet with a pair of MI6 agents.

Schellenberg was posing as a member of the Schwarze Kapelle and was asking the British for assistance. In truth, he wanted the British to give him the names of real German traitors so he could arrest them. The Pelican met Schellenberg in a cafe in a Dutch town just across the border and offered to work for him as a spy in Britain. He admitted he had done a job or two for the NKVD, including recruiting an Oxford boy named Hawke, who had just joined MI5 and with whom Pelican was still in regular contact. As a sign of goodwill the Pelican presented Schellenberg with a gift, a collection of Asian erotica. Schellenberg gave Pelican a thousand pounds, a camera, and a radio transmitter and sent him back to Britain.

In 1940, MI5 reorganized. Vernon Kell, the old director-general who founded the department in 1909, was abruptly fired by Churchill. Sir David Petrie took charge. Boothby knew him from India. Boothby was kicked upstairs. He turned over the Pelican to a case officer- an amateur like you, Alfred: a solicitor, though, not a professor -but he kept a firm hand on him. Pelican was too important to be left to someone who barely knew his way to the canteen. Besides, the Pelican's dealings with Schellenberg were getting damned interesting.

Schellenberg was impressed with the Pelican's first reports. The material was all good but harmless stuff-munitions production, troop movements, bomb damage assessment. Schellenberg drank greedily of it, even though he knew it was coming from a Jewish Communist who had worked as a talent spotter for the NKVD. He and the rest of the SS despised Canaris and the professional intelligence officers at the Abwehr. They mistrusted the information Canaris was giving the Fuhrer. Schellenberg saw his opportunity. He could create a separate network in Britain that reported directly to him and Heinrich Himmler, bypassing the Abwehr altogether.

Boothby saw an opportunity too. He could use the Pelican network for two purposes: to verify misinformation being sent to Canaris through the Double Cross system and at the same time to sow mistrust between the two rival intelligence organizations. It was a delicate balancing act. MI5 wanted Canaris to remain on the job-after all, his agency had been totally compromised and manipulated-but a little palace intrigue was good too. British Intelligence could blow gently on the flames of dissension and treachery. Boothby started feeding Schellenberg information through the Pelican that raised questions about Canaris's loyalty-not enough for Schellenberg to plunge the dagger into the Old Fox's back, mind you, just enough to put the bloody thing in his hand.

In 1942, Boothby thought the game had spun out of control. Schellenberg compiled a lengthy list of Canaris's sins and presented it to Himmler. The Double Cross committee decided to throw Canaris a bone or two to untie the noose around his neck-high-grade intelligence he could show to the Fuhrer to prove the Abwehr's effectiveness. It worked. Himmler stuck Schellenberg's file in the drawer, and the Old Fox stayed on the job.

Boothby was pouring another cup of the obscene coffee. Vicary had been unable to finish his first cup. It sat half empty in the window, next to a dead moth that was slowly turning to powder. The little boys had been chased from the alley by the wind. It gusted, hurling rain against the glass. The room was in darkness. The house had gone quiet after the morning's activities. The only sound was the floor creaking beneath Boothby's restless pacing. Vicary turned from the window and watched him. He looked out of place in the grimy flat-like a priest in a cathouse-but he seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly. Even spies like telling secrets sometimes.

Boothby reached inside the breast pocket of his suit, pulled out a single sheet of paper, and handed it to Vicary. It was the memorandum he had written to Boothby weeks ago, asking him to issue a security alert. Vicary looked at the top left corner; it had been stamped ACTION. Next to the stamp were two nearly illegible initials: BB. Boothby reached out his hand and took the note back from Vicary. Then he gave it to Pelican.

Pelican moved for the first time. He laid Vicary's memo on the table and switched on the light. Vicary, standing over him, could see Pelican's eyes crinkle in discomfort behind the dark glasses. From his pocket he removed a German-issue camera, the same one Schellenberg had given him in 1940. He carefully took ten photographs of the document, like a professional, adjusting the light and the camera angle each time to make certain he had at least one clear negative. Then he raised the camera and pointed it at Hawke. The camera clicked twice and he put it back in his pocket.

"The Pelican is going to Lisbon tonight," Boothby said. "Schellenberg and friends have requested a meeting with him. We think they're going to give him a very thorough going-over. Before they begin their interrogation, Pelican is going to give them this film. The next time Schellenberg and Canaris ride together in the Tiergarten, Schellenberg will tell him about it. Canaris and Vogel will take it as proof that Kettledrum is good as gold. Their agent has not been compromised. British Intelligence is in a panic. Therefore, the information she's sending about Operation Mulberry must be accurate. Get the picture, Alfred?"

Vicary and Boothby left first, Boothby leading, Vicary behind him again. Descending the stairs in the dark was harder than climbing them. Twice Vicary had to reach out in the gloom and steady himself on the soft shoulder of Boothby's cashmere coat. The cat reappeared and spat at them from a corner. The foul smells were the same; only the order was reversed. They reached the bottom of the stairs. Vicary felt the soles of his shoes scraping over the soiled linoleum of the hall. Boothby pushed open the door. Vicary, stepping back outside, felt the rain on his face.

He was never happier to be out of a place in his life. Walking to the car, he watched Boothby, who was watching him. Vicary felt as though he had just peered through the looking glass. He had been given a guided tour of a secret world of deception he never imagined existed. Vicary climbed into the car. Boothby got in next to him and closed the door. They were driven to Kingsland Road, then south toward the river. Vicary glanced at Boothby once, then averted his eyes. Boothby looked pleased with himself.

Vicary said, "You didn't have to show me all that. Why did you?"

"Because I wanted to."

"What happened to need to know ? I had no need to know all that. You could have tunneled my memo to Schellenberg and never told me about any of it."

"That's true."

"So why did you do it, to impress me?"

"In a way, yes," Boothby said. "You've impressed a great many people with your idea to leave Catherine Blake in place, including me. I realized I've underestimated you, Alfred-your intelligence and your ruthlessness. It takes a coldhearted bastard to send Peter Jordan back into that bedroom with a briefcase full of Double Cross. I wanted to show you the next level of the game."

"Is that how you think of this, Sir Basil, a game?"