Charles Cumming - A Divided Spy - A gripping espionage thriller from the master of the modern spy novel

The waiter brought their main courses and the bottle of Chianti. It was then that Riedle mentioned Minasian for the first time.

‘I’m embarrassed to admit that Dmitri – my lover, my boyfriend – was married.’

Kell allowed himself to process the revelation, seemingly for the first time, before responding.

‘These things happen,’ he said. ‘Adultery is commonplace. Men find themselves conflicted. Particularly in Russia, I imagine, where the attitude to a person’s sexuality is so toxic. Embarrassment is pointless, Bernie. Shame is what we feel when we are worried about what other people are thinking about us.’

‘This is a very liberal view.’ Riedle smiled with avuncular disapproval, touching one of the polka dots on his expensive cream tie. The light caught in his designer spectacles and flashed off a lens. ‘Dmitri was tormented by his deceit. Or, at least, he pretended to be.’

It was a first meaningful glimpse into the Minasian personality. Kell said: ‘What do you mean, “pretended”?’ as he scribbled notes in his mind.

Riedle lifted his knife and fork and carved into the fatty edge of a lamb cutlet. ‘Perhaps I am being unfair,’ he said. ‘His wife has been ill for many years. Some kind of muscular difficulty which leaves her in great pain.’

Kell suspected that this was a lie. There was nothing in the files about Svetlana Minasian suffering from a debilitating illness, muscular or otherwise.

‘That’s awful,’ Kell said, a judgment that caused Riedle to wince. He wanted no expressions of sympathy for the woman; she had simply been an obstacle blocking his access to Dmitri.

‘It is and it is not,’ he replied. ‘She prevents him from living the life he wants to live. From being the man he wants to be. She is also highly critical of him, closed off in her thinking. Spoiled and judgmental.’

Kell wondered how much of this was true. He suspected that Minasian had constructed flaws in Svetlana’s character that would both console Riedle and justify his emotional distance from the marriage.

‘And children? Do they have any?’

Riedle shook his head. ‘No.’ There was a strange kind of satisfaction in his reply; it suggested the complete absence of a sexual relationship between Minasian and his wife. ‘I think Dmitri was very sophisticated, very clever when it came to presenting himself to me in a certain way,’ Riedle said, with a perceptiveness that took Kell by surprise. ‘He knew what I wanted and he knew how to give it. He also knew how to take it away.’

‘Take what away? You mean his love for you?’

Like a breeze coming through an open window, Kell remembered the enveloping intimacy he had known with Rachel, the deepest and most fulfilling love he had ever felt for a woman; a love ripped away in a few short days by the realization that she had been lying to him. He thought of Amelia’s cunning and of his own role in deceiving Riedle. Minasian was the common denominator. ‘Dmitri’ controlled them all.

‘I mean that there is something sadistic about him. Something deeply manipulative and cruel. That is the conclusion I have come to, not just because of the way he has disregarded me since our relationship ended, but also because I can now look back on his behaviour when we were together in a different way.’

‘In what way?’

‘He was often selfish and bullying. He knew that I was not as strong as he was. He knew that I was profoundly in love with him. But rather than take responsibility for this, to be careful with my feelings, he used it as a tool, a weapon against me.’ For some time, Riedle chewed his food, saying nothing. Kell also remained silent, waiting. ‘A person should have a duty of care for someone they profess to love, no?’ Riedle’s expression suggested that his question could brook no argument. ‘I think Dmitri was obsessed by ideas of power. This is the only way I can understand things, looking back. Have you read Nineteen Eighty-Four ?’

‘Not for a long time.’

‘It is one of Dmitri’s favourite novels.’ Kell silently absorbed the irony of this revelation, but said nothing. ‘There is an exchange, towards the end of the book, when Winston Smith is being tortured. A discussion about power. Winston is asked how a man exerts power over another man. Do you remember his answer?’

‘By making him suffer?’ Kell suggested.

‘Precisely!’

Riedle beamed at Kell with astonished admiration, as if he had at last met a person who could not only understand his plight, but explain Dmitri’s behaviour into the bargain. Kell smiled. He was trying to link together what Riedle was saying. Much of it was startling, yet a jilted lover, an angry and heartbroken boyfriend, will think and say anything that might make sense of tangled emotions. Kell needed to be able to separate Riedle’s prejudices from the hard, observable facts about Minasian’s behaviour. Kell reminded himself that he had only two objectives: to build a detailed psychological profile of Minasian, and to use Riedle to lure him out of the shadows. Everything else was tangential.

‘It sounds to me as though it’s a good thing that you’re no longer with this man. If what you’re saying is true, he didn’t make you very happy. It sounds like a form of torture.’

‘It is true. Believe me. But isn’t it also the case that the things in life which give us the most pleasure also cause us the most pain?’

‘I’ll drink to that.’

Kell lifted his glass but had misjudged the moment. Riedle was uncomfortable and quickly returned to his recollections.

‘Dmitri was everything to me. I thought of us as a perfect match, despite the gap in age between us.’

‘How old was he?’ Kell asked.

‘Thirty-four when we met. He is almost thirty-eight now. I have just become fifty-nine.’ Riedle appeared briefly to slip into a private memory. Kell knew that Minasian had lied to Riedle about his age; according to his file at SIS, he was almost forty-one. ‘We laughed together,’ Riedle said. ‘I could tell him everything and he could solve my problems. He was capable of immense kindness, of great insights. We shared a love of the same literature, the same interests. The truth is that he fascinated me in every element of his personality.’

‘But he knew this and he took advantage of it.’

‘Yes!’ Riedle’s response was quick, almost convulsive. Kell noticed the table behind him coming to a sudden halt in conversation. ‘Yes, he took advantage of that.’ Riedle cut off another chunk of lamb. He spoke as he chewed. It was the first time the German’s impeccable table manners had faltered. ‘What is most painful is the loss of this side of his personality. The side that could make me happy. It is not easy at my age to meet a man, particularly one who possessed this ability to bring such contentment to me.’ Kell thought of Rachel, her ghost eavesdropping on their conversation, and concluded – not for the first time – that human beings were fools to expect other people to shore them up. He was about to repeat his earlier assertion that Riedle was well shot of the relationship when something happened that stripped him of his composure. Looking down towards the entrance, he saw a beautiful woman in her early twenties walking into the restaurant in the company of a man who was at least twice her age. The man was wearing a black suit and his hair was slicked back with gel. A large birthmark was visible to the left of his nose.

It was Rafal Suda.

Kell fixed his eyes back on Riedle and smiled a crocodile smile. If the German looked down, he would see Suda. It was that simple. The man who had mugged him only two nights earlier was standing less than eight feet away, making audible small talk with the maître d’. If Riedle recognized him, there would be a confrontation. There would be police involvement and Kell would be obliged to act as a witness. The operation would be over before it had begun. Any hope of locating Minasian by using Riedle as a lure would evaporate.