Alexander McCall Smith - The Dog Who Came In From The Cold

“He must be pretty busy,” said William.

Sebastian nodded. “We’re understaffed. Everybody thought that the end of the Cold War would mean considerable reductions in our workload. Hah! For a year or two, maybe, and lots of chaps took early retirement. Then lo and behold, the other side merely changes its colours and a lot of extremists of one sort or another pop up under our noses. So it’s business as usual, and when we take a roll call we discover we’re three hundred people short.”

“I don’t know how you cope,” said William.

Sebastian shrugged. “With difficulty. Here’s me working on a Saturday – just for instance. My wife wanted us to go down to Sussex to see her mother, but we had to beg off because I had to meet you. Not that it’s your fault, of course – it’s the rota. The rota’s a mess.”

William thought for a moment; he felt he should at least try to say something. “Can’t C do something about it?”

Sebastian considered the suggestion. “He could, I suppose, but I don’t think that he should have to concern himself with that sort of stuff. No, the answer’s to recruit more staff. But try telling that to the establishment people. A flat refusal is what you get. Public spending restraints and so on.”

“Everybody’s feeling the pain,” said William. “My own margins are down a lot.”

Sebastian turned to him. “You’re in the booze trade, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I was wondering if you could recommend a not-too-expensive bubbly for an occasion? It’s my mother-in-law’s sixty-fifth coming up, and we need to get something that will keep about forty people – no, maybe a few more – happy. Somebody suggested cava, but frankly I’m not too keen.”

William smiled. The absurdity of what was happening was now complete. “New Zealand produces a number of very good champagne-style wines,” he said. “They’re more expensive than cava, but well worth the extra .” He was on the point of saying something more, but his companion seemed suddenly to have lost interest.

“You do realise that all this is potentially fairly dangerous,” Sebastian said.

William stopped walking. “Dangerous? For me?”

Sebastian shook his head. “No, not for you.” He pointed down at Freddie de la Hay. “Dangerous for him. As our friends in the Italian secret service are rather fond of saying, pericolo di morte.”

“Look,” said William. “I agreed to meet you because Angelica asked me and I … well, I suppose I felt it was my duty.”

William wanted to stop walking, but Sebastian Duck, although he inclined his head sympathetically, took hold of his arm and pressed him onwards. “Just make it look natural. Two colleagues taking a stroll during a quiet hour at the office.”

“It’s Saturday,” pointed William. “And one of us has a dog. Not very credible, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

Sebastian smiled. “Office dog,” he said. “Quite a few places have them these days, I’m told. Helps staff to bond, I believe.”

William said nothing.

“However,” Sebastian continued, “I fully understand your concerns. It probably seems a bit strange to you, meeting me in the park and all this cloak and dagger stuff …”

“Precisely,” said William emphatically. “Ridiculous , if you ask me.”

Sebastian was silent for a moment. Then, when he answered, there was a note of steely seriousness in his voice. “Oh, you think so? You think this is all play-acting? Well, let me tell you something: this isn’t a game. Kipling talked about the Great Game – remember? Kim? You ever read that? Well, it isn’t a game any more, I can assure you. You know the stakes?”

William shook his head. “I know nothing about intelligence work,” he said. “Which makes me wonder what on earth I’m doing here.”

“You’re helping us,” said Sebastian. “And I can assure you, we’re extremely grateful.”

“Well—”

Sebastian cut him short. “The reason I mentioned the stakes is that many people just don’t know what we’re up against. We’re an open society, Mr French. And any open society is in one sense extremely weak – vulnerable, indeed. We have great strengths and resilience because we’re open, but there are numerous people willing to take advantage. People who abuse our hospitality. People who hate us for one reason or another. And then there are people who use this city as a playground for battles which are really nothing to do with us, but which can be fought by proxy on our streets.

“I suspect that you understand all that. What you may not know, though, is that every one of us involved in this work is a potential target. You may think that I’m being unnecessarily furtive, but I assure you I’m not. Over the last three years I’ve lost two people I’ve worked with closely. One drowned in Ireland. Where was his lifejacket? He had it on when he went out in his boat, but he wasn’t wearing it when they fished him out of the water. Another died of food poisoning. Very sudden. Where had he had his last meal? In a restaurant that had opened up at the end of his street the previous month and closed two days after his demise. And where was the proprietor? Nobody knew. One of the staff said that he heard him being addressed by three different names. Interesting.

“So if you think I’m being too careful, let me tell you, I am not. Let me also reveal to you that the woman who was sitting on the bench when you arrived is known to us. She was arrested by the police five minutes after she left the bench – charges of littering – just to get her out of the park and prevent her from witnessing our meeting. Yes. You may well be surprised. And you’d be surprised to know who she works for. Which I can’t tell you, I’m afraid.”

Sebastian paused now and looked at William. “So, does that put a different complexion on the matter?”

William nodded. He was beginning to feel miserable; the farce had turned to dark drama within the space of a few minutes. He had no doubt about the seriousness of these people, but what he did not know was what they wanted of him. Sebastian had said nothing about that.

But the explanation soon came. “Look, William – you don’t mind if I call you William, do you? Look, I can’t tell you absolutely everything, but I can give you the broad outlines. We – that is, my section – are currently involved in watching a group of Russians who have taken a year’s lease on a flat near Notting Hill Gate. These people are simply not who they claim to be. They have form, as we put it – lots of form. We suspect that they’re in this country to buy sensitive commercial and military information. I can’t really say much more than that.”

William shrugged. “I suppose I don’t really need to know.” He was keen not to know, in fact; some information, he thought, was best left well alone.

But Sebastian had more to tell him. “We’ve obtained the flat next door to them and put one of our people in it. A woman. Often women are less the objects of suspicion than men. So as far as they’re concerned she’s just the neighbour – a harmless, middle-aged woman, who likes dogs.” He paused. “Which is what the head Russian likes too. He’s called Anatoly and he’s talked to our woman on a number of occasions. He told her that he had a dog until about eight months ago, when it died. He said it was a Pimlico Terrier.” He stopped, and looked at William. “He said that he could never bring himself to have another breed. It would have to be a Pimlico Terrier. And yet there were so few of them around …”

William held his breath. He glanced down at Freddie de la Hay, who was, of course, a Pimlico Terrier. Freddie gazed back up at him with mild curiosity. He had given up on the hope of finding a squirrel and he was now vaguely thinking of going home, where he might be given something to eat.