Surprised by this, Liz asked, ‘Two Illegals, are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. My brother repeated it because I must have looked surprised.’
‘Are the two Illegals aware of each other?’
‘Absolutely,’ Mischa said again. ‘They could not help but know of each other’s presence in your country. You see, they are partners.’
‘Do you mean, they’re married?’ Liz was astonished. ‘Or do you mean they’re working partners?’
‘It is hard to say. I think they have worked together somewhere else, perhaps as a married couple. But whether they are in fact married, I do not know. I doubt even my brother knows. Remember, they have no “real” identities any more.’
Yes, thought Liz, their lives are all bound up in the roles they are playing.
‘Okay,’ she said, her mind starting to race with possibilities. Somehow she felt confident it would be easier to find a couple than it would a lone wolf. Then again, two needles in a haystack weren’t that much easier to find than one. ‘Did he say anything else about this couple?’
‘Yes. He told me that their purpose originally was subversive – trying to weaken the country by encouraging disruptive activities. It was left to them initially to find the best way of doing that. At first they had focused their attention on the intelligence agencies and trying to weaken them by helping and encouraging their opponents.’
‘And?’ said Liz. This was more precise than anything he’d told them before. But she could hear a note of triumph in Mischa’s voice. ‘Something’s changed though, hasn’t it?’
‘Yes. My brother said the first Illegal was working on a woman, who had become tied in to the intelligence services in some way. I told him that was a stroke of luck, and he said that luck is what failures call the success of their betters. He was annoyed with me, and that was when he told me the second Illegal had also managed something extraordinary.’
‘Did he say what that was?’
Mischa nodded. ‘I must go soon. They will open this chapel shortly.’
‘Tell me first. What was extraordinary?’
Mischa hesitated, and Liz could sense him weighing the benefits of telling her against the rewards he might reap by leaving this disclosure for a later meet. She said, ‘There will be something for you if you tell me now. If you don’t, I cannot promise to meet you again. That is not meant as a threat, but as a fact.’
This seemed to tip the balance for Mischa. He stood up. ‘My brother said the operation has changed. It has been renamed. It is now called Pincer.’
‘As in a trap?’
‘Something of the sort. He said the other Illegal is targeting a man, and that through him a second of your secret services might be infiltrated.’
Liz saw that he was preparing to leave and said quickly, ‘So they’re mounting a dual attack?’
‘Not yet, I think,’ he said. ‘But I do know for sure that they are getting close to it.’
Liz was stunned by this revelation that not one, but two of the UK’s intelligence services were under attack. Operation Pincer seemed the right name for such an ambitious plot. But before she could ask anything else, Mischa was gone.
34
The BBC weather website said that Tallinn was fine: 21 degrees and clear skies. Peggy looked glumly out of one of the windows of the fourth-floor open-plan office, and wished again that Liz had taken her too. In London a westerly wind had swept in from the Atlantic, bringing rain and a cold wind. It felt more like autumn than spring, thought Peggy grumpily.
Until recently she’d always looked forward to the end of the day and to going back to the flat and seeing Tim. But things had changed. Now she found herself dawdling at her desk, almost looking for extra things to do, anything to reduce the hours she spent in his company.
So when the phone on her desk rang just as she was thinking of packing up for the day, she was pleased rather than annoyed – and delighted when it turned out to be Jasminder, suggesting they meet for a drink. It gave Peggy just what she wanted: a good excuse for being late home. She’d text Tim to warn him, and with any luck he’d find his own supper and retreat to the study and she wouldn’t have to cope with his inevitable surliness.
She met Jasminder in a wine bar near Embankment station, in one of the vaults below the railway bridge. Jasminder was looking stunning. She’d had her hair cut into a chic bob, and wore a smart raincoat, tightly belted. She was sitting in a corner nursing a glass of white wine.
Conversation flowed easily now that Jasminder knew where her friend worked. By coincidence, when she’d come round Thames House on an introductory tour, one of the people she’d been introduced to was none other than Peggy, who had laughed at her amazement.
‘How’s it all going?’ asked Peggy now. ‘Are you sorry you took the job? The press have been giving you a bit of a hard time.’
‘Not at all. I’m really enjoying it – in spite of all that,’ said Jasminder, sipping her wine. ‘I had my doubts at the beginning, as you know. But I was wrong – the job is fascinating. C has been very supportive and I think he really is committed to greater openness. So I don’t feel at all as if I’ve sacrificed my principles – which as you know was what I was most worried about.’
‘And Geoffrey Fane? How’s that old brute been behaving?’
Jasminder laughed. ‘I think he still thinks my arrival signals the end of the world as he knows it – and it probably does. But to be fair to him, he’s been very friendly.’
‘Yes, he would be,’ said Peggy. ‘One thing about Geoffrey is that he’s a gent. But that doesn’t mean he’ll take it all lying down. Just watch your back for when he sticks the knife in.’
‘I hear you, but honestly, I don’t think he will.’
‘Hmm.’ Peggy sounded sceptical. Then something buzzed, and Jasminder reached into her bag. She brought out a shiny green iPhone.
‘Ooh, nice,’ said Peggy admiringly.
‘I know. It was a gift. I’d never spend that much myself.’
‘Is it something urgent?’ Peggy asked as Jasminder looked at the message.
‘No. It’s my friend Laurenz. I’m meeting him in a bit – in front of the National Gallery.’
‘Is he the guy you mentioned before? You know, when we were filling out your application form?’ From which, Peggy also remembered, any mention of a boyfriend or partner had been omitted.
‘That’s the one.’ Jasminder seemed too pleased to be embarrassed. ‘We met when I got mugged,’ she added. ‘Do you remember, it was just before that lecture where we first met? He was the one who chased the men off.’
‘I remember. Are you seeing a lot of him then?’
Jasminder nodded. She suddenly looked shy. ‘I usually stay at his place now. When there were all those reporters round my house, he rescued me.’
‘Isn’t that dying down? The press is known for its short attention span.’
‘Yes. They’ve gone now. But Laurenz is still a bit nervy about them.’
‘Why does he care? It’s you they’re interested in.’
‘I know. But he’s a very private person and very protective of me.’
‘What does Laurenz do?’
‘Don’t laugh: he’s a private banker.’ Peggy couldn’t help but smile, and Jasminder said ruefully, ‘I know, it seems unlikely – Miss Civil Liberties going out with a representative of capitalism. But at least he’s not a hedge-fund manager. And, surprisingly, he shares my view on a lot of things. He’s remarkably liberal on many issues.’
‘But presumably his clients aren’t. Is that why he doesn’t want them to see him in the newspapers?’
‘Probably.’ Jasminder hesitated. ‘There’s something else too. He’s going through a divorce and it’s been very unpleasant. He says he doesn’t want his wife to know about me until everything’s settled. He said it would only make things worse if she knew he was seeing someone else. I think they’re arguing over money. He says she’s trying to bleed him dry.’