Stella Rimington - Breaking Cover

‘Did Hansen take an interest in your work?’

‘Of course he did,’ Jasminder said. ‘There was a lot of publicity about my joining the Service – but no more than any boyfriend would. And he understood that what I did was highly confidential, and most of the time classified.’

‘I’d think all of the time would be the safest description. So he didn’t ask you for information? No documents or emails, that sort of thing?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Good,’ said Fane, and Jasminder started to relax a little. Then Fane added, ‘Still, we understand that he gave you a special phone.’

‘You have been spying on me!’

Fane drew himself up in his chair. ‘Jasminder, I’m trying to explain in the gentlest possible way that the man you are seeing is a foreign intelligence officer – one opposed to everything we stand for here, and whose aim is to undermine this country. I know your views about surveillance; I appreciate your steadfast defence of civil liberties; I yield to no one in my admiration for your ideals and principles. But this man Hansen has been trying to use you as his agent to damage the Service and undermine national security. I and my colleagues would be remiss – more than that, we would be criminally negligent – if we didn’t do everything in our power to stop him. With what you know of us and the Service, I am sure you understand that?’

Suddenly, the silence that followed this remark was shattered. The phone on the table rang. Fane stared at it briefly, as if he didn’t understand what it signified, then he picked it up. ‘Fane,’ he said sharply, and listened for several minutes while Jasminder thought through her situation.

She had been taken aback when Fane first spoke Laurenz’s name, but this was turning out better than she’d first expected. Fane seemed to be kind and understanding, and from what he was saying, had no evidence at all of Jasminder’s efforts to help Laurenz. If she could hide those from him, he might accept that whatever Laurenz Hansen was, Jasminder didn’t know about it and wasn’t directly involved in his plans.

Then Fane hung up and turned to face her. He looked even more regretful.

‘That was the police in Manchester. They’ve managed to locate and detain Laurenz Hansen in Altrincham. It seems he spent much of his time there, but under a different name – that of Vladimir Karpis.’

‘So he is Russian,’ Jasminder murmured.

‘Yes. Does his name or that location ring any bells for you?’ Fane’s manner now was still quiet and calm, but slightly less friendly than before.

‘No. Laurenz was often away, but he said he was abroad on business. And I never heard about anyone called Karpis.’

‘I see. I understand your mother now lives in India?’

‘That’s right.’ He must have been looking at her personnel file.

‘But you still have family in Leicester, I think? Your brothers. They’re in business together. Is that correct?’

She nodded, puzzled. ‘They own a small chain of grocery shops. Why do you ask?’

‘Because for some reason, Hansen or Karpis or whatever we want to call him had a webcam set up that was watching one of your brothers’ stores. We know because we can see the shop’s name on the screen — Kapoor & Sons.’

Jasminder didn’t say anything, but waited tensely. Fane went on, ‘Curious, don’t you think? But there was something else. Film of a little girl coming out of school – they focused the camera shot right on her. Would she be the daughter of one of your brothers?’

Jasminder froze and blanked out Fane’s voice, no longer concerned about herself; Ali was all she was worried about. He pressed her: ‘I said, is she your niece?’ Jasminder nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Everything was over now. They would work it all out and know what she’d done – been trying to do.

Fane leaned forward and spoke very gently now, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘Jasminder, we don’t know each other very well, but everything about you tells me that you would never willingly try to damage the Service or the country. If you had decided that your conscience wouldn’t let you keep working here, then you would have done the honourable thing and resigned. You would never have worked for a hostile country, I’m absolutely positive. Unless,’ and now he leaned back in his seat again, ‘it was under duress. Unless… you’d been threatened. Or worse – your little niece had been.’

Jasminder was looking at Fane now, and he held her gaze. For all his supposed arrogance, his legendary ruthlessness, all she could see was sympathy in his eyes, and an expression on his face that told her that he understood. Then she started to cry.

Fane waited patiently while she crumpled a tissue and began to wipe her eyes. ‘Take your time,’ he said gently. ‘We have all the time in the world. And your niece is safe now, and so are you. We’ve got Laurenz. So when you’re ready, why don’t you tell me what really happened?’

And when she’d finished wiping her eyes, Jasminder began to speak. It seemed almost involuntary; she felt she was operating on autopilot. But her overwhelming feeling was one of enormous relief.

She said hesitantly, ‘It all started that night when I was attacked on my way home…’

Sarah Gordon was leaning on the balcony railing, looking out over the Thames as the sun set. The sky was a glorious pinkish-red and the colour was tinting the buildings in Tower Hamlets across the river, making them look a lot more beautiful than they were in full daylight. To her right the windows in the towers of Tower Bridge were glowing as though pink lights were switched on inside. She was sipping a last glass of champagne while behind her the caterers were clearing up the remains of a drinks party.

She loved her riverside apartment with its wonderful view. As a senior executive and part-owner of a property development company, she’d been able to buy it off plan before the other flats were marketed. The building was an old brick warehouse with beamed ceilings and huge windows; she knew as soon as her company acquired it that it was going to be stunning. Once she’d bought her part, she’d made very sure that the conversion was done beautifully, with no expense spared.

There was always something to look at from her balcony whatever the time of day. The river was surprisingly busy, though there were not many ships nowadays of a size to need the roadway on the bridge to be raised to let them through. But when it happened, she found it very exciting to watch the great arms lift themselves up into the air as they had been doing ever since the bridge was built at the end of the nineteenth century.

She drained her glass and sighed with contentment. It had been a good party. Clients and prospective clients loved coming to the apartment and the view was the great draw, especially for the foreigners. She decided to ring the restaurant in the basement and get them to send up some supper. Her busy life didn’t allow much time for shopping and cooking. Though she had a splendidly equipped kitchen and a dining table that seated twelve, most of her entertaining was done by caterers. She went inside to phone the restaurant and say goodnight to the caterers and when she came out on to the balcony again the colour had faded from the sky. Instead of glowing pink, all the buildings were returning to a dull flat grey. The traffic had died down a bit on Tower Bridge although it was never really quiet, even in the middle of the night. There were not so many pedestrians as there had been earlier. Maybe there was something good on TV – perhaps a football match – and everyone had hurried home to watch it. Sarah didn’t have time to watch TV, though she had several large shiny sets in the apartment – and she had no interest in sport.