The Protocols of Spying, page 5
‘Search me. You know I can’t cook,’ Petra said. ‘Your genius is wasted on me, but it is nonetheless genius.’ She said it mechanically as she reached inside the drawer for the bottle opener, then slid out the cork before sploshing the wine into two glasses that were ready and waiting on the kitchen island.
‘Hey, I thought that was a special bottle,’ Matt said. ‘To go with my osso bucco. Show some respect for the vintners, if not for me. What were you doing upstairs anyway?’
‘Just tidying up. I’ve mislaid one of my pens so I was checking the pockets of my running hoodies.’
‘Why would you put a pen in a running hoodie?’ Matt said.
‘No idea. I didn’t find it anyway.’ Petra took a gulp of the red. ‘Nice wine. Hurry up. I’m starving.’
But Petra wasn’t hungry. She played around with the lump of meat in its tomato sauce, all the while drinking the wine and watching Matt tuck into his plate with relish. Could she tell him, should she at least try to tell him?
‘I don’t like what’s coming along the track in the Middle East,’ Petra said. ‘You know my father had a close friend who ended up in Israel. They were fostered together.’
‘Total shitstorm.’ Matt sounded unconcerned. ‘Hard to see how the so-called start-up nation could have messed up so badly but it was ever thus. Too clever by halves, some of you Jews.’
‘That’s not funny, really. I’m uncomfortable with all this.’
‘Sorry, but it’ll give our arms guys a new beta theatre to trial kit when the Israelis go in. Never mind the income stream.’
‘So long as someone’s happy,’ Petra said.
Just then a trill interrupted what Petra was about to say. It came from her white Bakelite phone, a retro gift to herself, that sat on a corner table in the sitting area, across from the TV. It was still attached to a land line and was hardly ever used but it was an extra layer of security.
‘I’d better get that.’ Petra jumped up and strode across the space towards the phone, expecting to find a canvasser or someone asking about a car accident that she hadn’t had. Anything to get away from the table and Matt and the pointless conversation she shouldn’t have started.
‘Hello,’ Petra said.
‘I’ve been trying you on the work phone for days, messages, calls, ever since… Are you okay? I need to talk to you,’ Rafi said.
‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t involved in a car accident recently and I certainly don’t talk to people I don’t know about my finances. But if I did, I would most certainly call you.’
‘I get it,’ Rafi said. ‘You can’t talk but are you able to call me back? Are you okay?’
‘Yes and yes, I have adequate insurance and yes, that’s both car and house contents.’
From the table Matt said, ‘Just tell whoever it is to piss off.’
‘Thank you for calling,’ Petra said and put the phone down. She walked over to the table and held her hand to her head.
‘Matt, I’ve got this crashing headache, that’s why I’m not eating. Give me five minutes, I’m just going to go upstairs and get a paracetamol.’
‘You never have headaches,’ Matt said.
‘Then it’s probably a brain tumour.’ Petra was already halfway up the stairs.
Back in her bedroom she reached into the wardrobe safe again and found the work phone. She hadn’t used it for months, ever since she’d decided to have nothing more to do with the Office. It was predictably dead and she sat on the loo in the en suite with a lead and power pack, waking up the phone to see the messages that had stacked up. Petra didn’t read them, she just messaged Rafi.
I’m okay, you okay?
She saw the wavy dots as he wrote a response. It seemed to be taking some time.
I need to see you, I’m in the car park at the end of your road. Can you get out?
Petra leaned against the back of the loo and thought for a moment. Only a moment. Then she changed into her running kit and clattered downstairs, where Matt was still at the table, still eating.
‘I’m going to run this headache off,’ Petra said. ‘I’ll be back in forty minutes, I might even have an appetite.’
Before Matt could say a word, Petra was outside her front door and gently jogging along the dark street away from her house and also away from the car park, where Rafi was waiting. She found a stretch of clear road, crossed it and then ran up the hill inside a private road. There she paused and looked down. She had a clear view. The street was quiet. The village was quiet. Matt hadn’t attempted to follow her.
Once she’d got to the open car park, it wasn’t difficult finding Rafi, there were only three other cars there and he’d tucked the black estate car in a corner. It was unlike Rafi to be so careless, but the car was backlit by a security light from the deserted scout hall at the edge of the car park and the clean car shone in the gloom like an oil slick. Petra continued to jog until she was right by the car, where she glanced once more behind her and slid into the passenger seat.
She was out of breath. Wordlessly, Rafi handed her a bottle of water.
‘I hope it wasn’t too hard for you to get away,’ he said.
‘To be honest, I needed some fresh air.’ She gulped at the bottle and some of it spilt down the front of her tee shirt. ‘And I needed to speak to you.’
‘Why didn’t you have your work phone charged up?’ Rafi said. ‘I’ve been trying you for days, ever since…’
‘You know why, I promised myself that was all over – all of it.’
There was silence in the car.
‘I wanted to at least try to give it a go with Matt and have a normal life,’ Petra said.
‘But you’re not normal.’ Rafi held out his hand for the water bottle and took a gulp from it.
‘How is everything?’
‘How do you think it is? That has to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever asked and you’re not a stupid woman.’
‘Okay, thank you for the compliment, but I don’t know what to say, Rafi. I’m sick with it. I can’t process what happened and I’m terrified about what’s to come. I’m pleased my father’s not alive – it would be his nightmare all over again.’ Petra let out a ragged sigh. ‘You?’
‘Shit. All shit. My kibbutz was one of the ones attacked.’
‘Oh, Rafi.’ Petra reached out a hand to his forearm. He pushed it off without looking at her. He was staring straight ahead and his hands gripped the steering wheel.
He went on, ‘I tried to go back immediately, while the attack was ongoing and I could have done something, but the Office convinced me that there was no point. I know that. It would have been too late.’
‘I’m sorry, mate. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you and I’m sorry I didn’t pick up your messages. It was cowardly, but it was easier for me not to, to stick my head in the sand and try not to think about it… How’s Eli?’
‘Saving the world, one operation at a time,’ Rafi said with disinterest. ‘You know what the hardest part is? I have to tell my girls, and Hannah, that it’s all going to be all right. That they have no need to be scared, that they’re safe and that I’ll protect them. And I’m lying. I’m pretending all the time that it’s all going to be okay. And in the Office we all have to keep up this pretence, that it’s all okay, start new operations, plan for when the fighting stops, have meetings, recruit new agents, blah blah blah. But none of it’s working, Petra. None of it. Because we can’t tell our children that they’re going to be safe.’
Petra reached out to Rafi’s forearm and this time he didn’t push her hand away but took it and squeezed it between his own. It was so tight it hurt but Petra didn’t flinch. Rafi went on, ‘Yeah, and I’ve got some bad news for you. That’s why I’m here. Your father’s buddy Alon.’
‘He’s dead, he died a few years ago,’ Petra said. ‘Lung cancer.’
‘I know, but it’s his widow, she’s one of the hostages. Eli thought you’d want to know.’
‘Oh, no, I didn’t think she could have been one of them. She must be eighty if she’s a day,’ Petra said.
‘Yeah, they knew where the ex-intelligence officers’ houses were. Eli said she was eighty-five and diabetic. Big mouth, big heart. She was some sort of peacenik, apparently.’
‘Was?’
‘Who knows?’ Rafi’s hand slackened his iron grip on hers. ‘I can’t imagine it’s going to be like the Dan Hotel in the tunnels.’
‘What can I do, is there anything I can do?’ Petra said. ‘Is that why you’re here?’
‘No, no, Petra, for once, besides telling you about Alon’s wife, I have zero agenda. You’re out of this mess. We’re starting something with the brother of that girl you worked, Sweetbait, but there’s nothing for you to do there. Eli already has the connect with him. The brother thinks Eli is some sort of Hamas commander who was running suicide actions and persuaded him to go back to the US. We’re in the process of getting him over here, but there’s nothing for you to do.’
Petra sat for a moment thinking before she spoke. ‘You know, I never told you at the time, but before she blew herself up, the girl gave me a journal that she wrote in. She wanted me to give it to her brother.’
‘Why didn’t you give it to us then?’ Rafi sounded cold. ‘What were you going to do, track the kid down and give it to him? Say you’re sorry about his sister and you didn’t mean her to get killed?’
‘Something like that. It doesn’t matter. Tom translated it.’
‘Another innocent death. So what’s in this thing? Anything that might be useful?’ Rafi didn’t sound overly interested.
‘Not as far as I can see, just a lot of sad stuff about how she was doing the right thing and it would make a difference. Do you want it?’
Rafi flicked the ignition into life and the engine thrummed. ‘Keep it for the moment, Petra. If we need it, I’ll get in touch. I’m sorry to have barged in on your evening and I’m sorry to sound like a shmock.’
‘I’ve got news for you Rafi, for once in your life, you don’t sound like a shmock.’
Petra got out of the car and walked away. She barely checked herself between car park and home, so deep in thought was she. When she drew abreast of her cottage, she could see through the window, Matt was sitting on the vermilion sofa. The TV in the corner flickered with images of a rugby match. Petra hovered outside at the end of her path, ruminating before she took out her key and prepared to open the front door.
She was inside.
‘Good run?’ Matt said. ‘How’s your headache?’
Petra came into the sitting area and sat down on a low chair so she was at eye level with Matt.
‘There’s no easy way of doing this but I want to be clear with you – we’re done.’
‘What? Why? Why now?’
‘I got some bad news today, Matt, and it struck me, once again, that you don’t know me, you never have, and you never will. While most of that is my fault, the fundamental problem is that I don’t want what you want.’
‘What do you want?’
There was a long silence in the room. Finally, Petra said, ‘I don’t want you.’
She saw his face crumple with hurt, then his expression shifted to resolve as he started to get up and reach towards her, arms outstretched as if he was about to try to hug her. Quickly, Petra stood up and stepped back. ‘I’m not kidding, Matt. Let yourself out.’
Chapter 8
It was clear to Eli that, in his new role as acting head of Washington Station, Harel wasn’t going to waste any time. Two weeks after Yuval had made the shock announcement, before Eli had the chance to process the seismic shift in the chain of command, Harel was doing a tour of European stations. It was Eli’s turn today and Harel was in his office, striding around the space like a nouveau-riche buyer sizing up a property, deciding which walls he was going to knock down.
He was in Eli’s face, kitted out in an Yves St Laurent suit, fingering Eli’s books. To see Harel idly turn the pages of a book that Alon had given him was distasteful, not just because Harel was an oaf, who concealed his ignorance behind a cloud of cologne. It was because he was a bully, with one skill, internal politics, and at that he was world-class.
‘Nice office,’ Harel said as he abandoned the leather-bound book and strutted towards the window, to gaze at a view currently obscured by a shedding tree. ‘Nice office,’ Harel repeated, ‘but a little too classical for my taste.’
‘What, you mean not enough style magazines?’ Eli said, before he could stop himself.
Harel smiled and turned away from the window to face Eli, hunched behind his desk. ‘As you know, I prefer something a little more current, Roche Bobois or something similar that’s not necessarily High-Street. Because, Eli, being current is important, indeed being current is crucial for survival, because as times change, well, we all need to keep up with new ideas, and if we don’t…’
‘I’m aware of that,’ Eli said. ‘If you’re here to go over our internal embassy security before you go to Washington, Rafi will be here in twenty and will be happy to brief you. Or maybe you’d like to sit in on the morning meeting, give the unit a pep talk. I’m sure they’d all appreciate that.’
The chances of Harel demeaning himself by going through the nuts and bolts of internal embassy security were as likely as his expenses being accurate. Eli guessed this surprise visit was more likely to be about lunching with the ambassador and her deputy in the private dining room before catching the afternoon flight to Washington, although Harel might, time permitting, get himself down to Bond Street to gauge the street atmosphere in London.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Harel said. ‘I’m here to brief Nathan for a specific operation that will have a London angle to it.’
‘Nathan? What do you want with Nathan?’
As far as Eli was concerned, Nathan was dead wood that he’d inherited when he took over as head of London Station. Eli knew that Nathan spied on him and that he was Harel’s creature but, as a devout Jew and former head of Tsafririm, the unit charged with protecting Jews in the diaspora, he had certain uses in his ability to liaise with the orthodox elements of the British community. But working an operation, a specific operation, loaded with the expectation that Harel wanted – no, needed – a career-defining success to secure him in a permanent place as head of Washington Station? Never. Choosing Nathan would be career insanity for anything that involved logistics and precision and, whatever Harel might be, he wasn’t insane. Opportunistic for sure, but not insane.
‘Sure,’ Eli said. ‘No problem. I can shift Nathan’s ongoing operations to other members of the unit. Do you want to take him back with you to Washington?’
‘No, he’ll be based here, reporting directly to me.’
‘That’s a little unusual, isn’t it?’ Eli said.
‘Protocol. I don’t mind telling you, Eli, that it’s a sensitive operation that’s come down direct from the Prime Minister’s office. It’s strictly need-to-know.’
‘Understood,’ Eli said for form’s sake, although his mind was turning over all the possibilities that the Prime Minister would entrust a sensitive operation to Harel and his creature. Presumably, this operation was bypassing the Minister of Defence, who so far hadn’t lost his scruples in the ride up the greasy pole to power.
‘I want one of your safe houses for a contact meeting, but I won’t need watchers or a tech team, as I’ve got them coming in from home.’
‘Fine.’ Eli pulled his laptop towards him, as much for something to do as to see what the status was on their individual safe houses. ‘Any particular location or other requirement?’
Just then there was a knock on the door and the armed security jock who was now placed outside his office during office hours stuck his head around the door.
‘Rafi’s here, are you still in conference?’
‘No, come on in, he can chat to Harel if that’s okay with you?’ Eli glanced up at Harel, who pasted on his customary smirk.
‘Always happy to see our very own movie star,’ Harel said, a comment clearly meant to belittle Eli’s deputy, and a proxy put-down to Eli. Ever the professional, Rafi was unperturbed.
‘Good to see you, man.’ In one swift move Rafi held Harel’s arm and clapped him on the back, a move that only emphasised how much taller Rafi was than Harel but also how much fitter he looked in his leather jacket and white tee shirt.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Harel. Congrats on Washington, but I’ve got something for Eli that could have a major impact on our operation. Eli, I’ve just seen Trainer and I picked up both—’
Eli held up his hand, ‘Rafi, stop. Don’t bother Harel with this. He’s only here for a short while and our priority is to facilitate his requirements while he’s in London.’
Just for a moment, Rafi looked taken aback but then he nodded. Eli looked up from his laptop and smiled at Harel. ‘Would Mayfair work for you? We’ve got a small apartment near Shepherd’s Market we rarely use, as it’s not wired and it’s too close to the old MI5 building. Five still use it for their internal communication training programmes. Would that do for you? Or would you like something in Westbourne Grove? Or Ladbroke Grove?’
‘Mayfair would be perfect, particularly if it’s near Berkeley Square and the Connaught. Most convenient.’
‘Good, let me know if you need anything else.’ Eli stood up from his desk and walked Harel to the door.
‘I will. You can be sure of it.’
A moment later the door was shut behind Harel and Rafi was helping himself to juice from the fridge in the unit under the bookcase.
‘What was all that about?’ Rafi said.
‘You’re spilling that green shit on the rug.’
‘I’m not.’ Rafi licked the side of the bottle where it was dripping down. ‘Happy now? So go on, why’s Harel here, why are you letting him treat you like yesterday’s cold pasta, and why didn’t you want me to tell you what I’ve got from Trainer in front of him? He’ll see it in signals when it goes back home for analysis.’
‘He won’t.’
‘What?’
