The Increment: A Novel - By David Ignatius Page 0,50
may speak the same language, but they don’t salute the same flag. Don’t forget that, or you’ll get in a kind of trouble I can’t help you with.”
Harry went into his daughter’s room that night to say goodbye. He would be on the plane for London the next evening when she got home from school, and he had always made a habit of giving his children a farewell kiss before going anywhere on assignment. He was superstitious that way, never sure which trip might be the last one. He expected that his daughter would be clipped and sullen with him, the way she usually was these days, but tonight was different. Lulu’s face was illuminated in the glow of her laptop computer when he opened her door, listening to her music and visiting the Facebook sites of her friends, probably, but she closed the lid and put the computer aside when he came into the room.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said brightly.
“I have to go away for a few days,” said Harry. “I wanted to give you a goodbye kiss.”
She reached out her arms. She never asked where he was going. Neither did Andrea. That was part of the family bargain.
Harry kissed her cheek and held her, longer than he had intended. Her head felt small in his arms, the way it had when she was a baby.
“You seem sad, Daddy,” she said.
Harry pulled back. He hadn’t meant to seem like anything.
“I guess I am.” He paused. “I miss my family when I go away.” Something made him want to keep talking. “Sometimes I miss my family when I’m home, too. There’s never enough time. It’s hard to say the words.”
“We know how hard you work, Daddy. We know it’s important.”
“It’s not more important than you, Louise.”
She smiled up at him. It was almost a look of compassion, like what he used to see in Andrea’s face back when she didn’t turn away when their eyes met.
“Don’t be sad, Daddy,” said Lulu. “We love you.”
Harry got into London very early on the United flight, and he had some time to kill before his meeting with Adrian. He took a taxi into the city, and walked along the Thames for an hour. London was just coming awake. The delivery trucks were out, but otherwise the streets were empty. He strolled down Victoria Embankment, just below Whitehall, and then crossed the Waterloo Bridge toward the railway station and Royal Festival Hall. Britain had still been in a post-imperial daze when these graceless concrete buildings were constructed. Maggie Thatcher was just getting started with her wrecking ball.
Harry walked along the south bank until he came to Century House, the old headquarters of SIS before it moved upstream to Vauxhall Cross. How many times had he visited this building over the years? Dozens, maybe scores. The British were junior partners in the firm, but courtesy calls were part of doing business. Harry always came away from these meetings with a sense that his British colleagues were better suited for the game than Americans were. They weren’t any better at keeping secrets, but they were better at telling lies.
Winkler was waiting for him when he arrived at Vauxhall Cross. He had set up a secure video conference link with the embassy in Tehran so that Harry could talk directly with the station commander there. The SIS officer’s face was on the screen, staring into the video camera, his blond hair neatly combed and his tie knotted up to the top of the collar. He looked very young, but that was the way the British did it, in and out early. Winkler said his real name was Robin Austen-Smith, but not to use that during the conversation.
“Hello, Tehran,” said Adrian.
“Hello, London. Sorry I can’t see you on this hookup, but I hear you fine.”
“We won’t keep you long. Tell our American friend a bit about what we’ve learned on the Bullfinch matter,” said Adrian. Apparently that was the code they were using for the operation they had mounted over the past month.
“We believe the target works at an establishment called Tohid Electrical Company. It’s part of the Iranian nuclear establishment. We think it took over some of the functions of the Shahid Electric Company, when the Iranians closed down its covert activities in 2003. Tohid is probably owned by the Revolutionary Guard, and we think the personnel there are on a restricted, no-travel basis. But we don’t know that. We’ve never gotten inside.”