Peggy said, ‘They might not be one of us. Think back to the Cold War. We used to try to recruit the window cleaner at the Soviet Embassy or the gardener at the flats where the Bulgarians lived. They often turned out to be very useful.’
‘True,’ said Bruno, with a grin. ‘But even MI5 wouldn’t have regarded a window cleaner as a coup, so I don’t suppose the FSB does.’
Peggy groaned, Miles smiled and Liz said, ‘I don’t think it’s the window cleaner at all. I don’t know how this has happened but I think the female they’ve targeted has recently joined either one of the intelligence services or perhaps the Home Office or the police or even the Foreign Office. Anyway they’ve got themselves inside and that’s why Mischa’s brother is so excited. The male target’s either not in play yet, or their position isn’t as helpful.’
‘I would guess romance is involved somewhere in all this.’ It was Miles speaking.
‘Romance?’ said Liz.
‘He means sex, Liz,’ said Bruno. ‘He’s just too well brought up to say so. You know, the old-fashioned honey trap. In that case we’re looking for a lover boy pursuing the female target.’
‘Don’t be so sexist,’ said Peggy. ‘It could be a seductress.’
‘It could be same sex in both cases,’ agreed Liz. ‘We just don’t know as yet.’
Peggy worked late, feeling buoyed by the meeting. She’d met Miles a couple of times while Liz was away, and far from the slightly naive American she remembered from the past, she now thought him relaxed, friendly and clever. After months of Tim’s bad-tempered outbursts, many directed at her, she found spending time with a courteous but quick-thinking man a welcome change. She knew Miles didn’t have a wife, and found herself wondering if he had anyone in his life. Peggy thought not: he’d made a passing reference one afternoon to the ‘bachelor supper’ awaiting him, which he confessed was going to be a takeaway. If there hadn’t been Tim to think about, Peggy would have offered to make him supper.
She was feeling more confident of finding the Illegals. If they’d somehow infiltrated MI5 or MI6, then they were operating on turf she knew well. She liked this kind of pursuit, and was good at it. Hadn’t Liz told her the best antidote to personal troubles was immersion in the job? It looked as though that was how it was going to be now, and Peggy left work feeling much better than she had when the day began.
The Underground was packed, and she just managed to squeeze herself and her briefcase into a carriage. As the train moved on out of the centre towards North London, the crowd gradually thinned and she was able to get a seat. She wondered if she would find Tim at home. They were partners in name only nowadays, she realised sadly. They still shared a bed, though there might as well have been a wall of steel dividing the mattress for all the intimacy there was between them.
She had not looked at Tim’s computer again, or even gone into the room he used as his study. But the memory of ‘Marina’ rankled, and Peggy couldn’t help imagining – or fantasising, since she had nothing to go on – about what this Marina did and who she was. A femme fatale no doubt, mature, exotic, good-looking – all the things Peggy worried she wasn’t. Marina would have been attracted by Tim’s intelligence, his intensity, and – not that Peggy saw much of it these days – his gentle kindness. They probably shared the same political views; she could hear Marina’s withering take on Peggy’s choice of career.
That is, if Tim had told her what his partner did for a living. He had promised never to do that – even his parents thought she worked at the MOD in HR. Yet Tim had always been so open by nature that Peggy couldn’t help but believe that the man who had once shared everything with her was now sharing it with someone else.
When she left the Underground it was dusk and the streetlights were coming on as she turned on to her street. The road on both sides was lined with cars – parking was at a premium out here, since so many of the houses had been divided into flats, with multiple cars per building. She watched as a hundred yards ahead of her a maroon Vauxhall saloon was trying to back into a rare but rather small space.
Parking aside, Peggy liked her neighbourhood; it was quiet, unpretentious, and the only celebrity living within a mile of it was a second-division footballer. She reckoned it was only a matter of time before Tim moved out. She liked the flat, but wasn’t sure she could afford to stay there on her own. She supposed she’d either have to find a flatmate, which she didn’t really want to do, or move to a smaller place. She tried to cheer herself up by deciding it would be good to find somewhere closer to work. It would feel odd to live on her own, but at least there would be no tension each evening when she turned the key in the door.
She noticed that the Vauxhall had given up trying to squeeze into the space and was driving slowly along the road towards her, its driver looking for somewhere else to park. It was then she heard footsteps behind her. She glanced back and saw a slim male figure in a hoodie walking fast towards her. She couldn’t see his face properly but there was something alarming about him, especially when she remembered how Jasminder had been attacked.
Peggy decided to cross the street, where a man in a dark suit and tie, wearing a hat with a brim that shadowed his face, was standing doing something with his phone. As she crossed, the Vauxhall saloon was about fifty feet in front of her, moving very slowly. Peggy could see the driver, a woman in her forties, still searching for a parking space.
When Peggy reached the far pavement, the man was standing there staring at his phone, his free hand in his jacket pocket. She had started to walk round him when he said, ‘Excuse me.’
She looked up just in time to see him raise his arm. He was holding a short truncheon, and as his arm came down Peggy flinched and turned away. The truncheon missed her head but hit her hard on the shoulder, and the pain was excruciating. The man looked ready to hit her again so she ran into the road just as the Vauxhall drew level with them. The car braked sharply and Peggy staggered into the side of it then fell hands first onto the bonnet. She rolled instinctively, just in time to avoid the truncheon, which missed her head and slammed down with such force that it dented the steel of the bonnet.
Peggy was now standing in front of the car. To her surprise, the female driver was staring at her – as if nothing were wrong. Peggy opened her mouth and screamed. The man in the suit, still holding the truncheon, seemed to be deciding whether to come at her again, then suddenly he flung open the passenger door and jumped in. The woman at the wheel seemed entirely unsurprised, and Peggy realised she was working with the man.
Peggy managed to take two steps towards the pavement as the car accelerated sharply, narrowly missing her, and sped away. Looking around, stunned and rubbing her shoulder with one hand, Peggy could see no sign of the hooded figure anywhere.
She felt dizzy and knew she was going into shock. A door slammed nearby and she heard a man shouting as he ran towards her. ‘Are you all right? What’s happened?’
Peggy’s dizziness was worse now. ‘I need to sit down,’ she said, and the man led her to the low wall separating his front garden from the pavement. Someone else appeared as she tried to catch her breath; it took a moment for her to realise that it was Tim.
‘Peggy, are you all right?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. She looked up and was relieved to see that his face was filled with concern. ‘Someone hit me,’ she said, close to tears. ‘They hit me with a stick.’
‘Who was it?’ asked Tim, bewildered.