Anastasia at sleeper school personally wrote this letter to you?’
‘I am convinced.’
‘Only the under-text, or the surface letter too?’
‘Both. Anastasia has become Anette. This is a recognition signal to me. Anastasia our wise instructor from Moscow Centre has become Anette my passionate mistress in Copenhagen who does not exist. Also I am familiar with her handwriting. When Anastasia was lecturing us at sleeper school she advised us on European manners of handwriting without the influence of Cyrillic. Everything she taught us was for one purpose only: to assimilate with the Western enemy: “Over time you will become them. You will think like them. You will talk like them. You will feel like them and you will write like them. Only in your secret hearts will you remain one of us.” Like me, she too was from old Chekist family. Her father, also her grandfather. Of this she was very proud. After her last lecture to us she took me aside and told me: you will never know my name but you and I are of one blood, we are pure, we are old Cheka, we are Russia, I congratulate you with my soul on your great calling. She embraced me.’
Was this where the first faint echoes from my operational past began to ring in my memory’s ear? Probably it was, for my immediate instinct was to redirect the conversation:
‘What typewriter did you use?’
‘Only manual, Peter. I use nothing electronic. This is how we were instructed. Electronic is too dangerous. Anastasia, Anette, she is not electronic. She is traditional and wishes her students to be traditional also.’
Exercising well-honed skills of self-control, I affect to ignore Sergei’s obsession with the woman Anette or Anastasia and resume my reading of his decoded and translated under-text.
‘You are to rent a room or apartment for July and August in one of three selected districts around North London – yes? – which your controller – you say this former woman lecturer – then proceeds to itemize for you. Do these instructions suggest anything to you?’
‘It was how she taught us. In order to prepare a conspiratorial meeting it is essential to have alternative locations. Only in this way can logistical changes be accommodated and security observed. This is also her operational maxim.’
‘Have you ever been to any of these North London districts?’
‘No, Peter, I have not.’
‘When did you last visit London?’
‘For one weekend only in May.’
‘With whom?’
‘It is immaterial, Peter.’
‘No, it isn’t.’
‘A friend.’
‘Male or female?’
‘It is immaterial.’
‘So male. Has the friend got a name?’
No answer. I continue my reading:
‘While in London for the months of July and August you will assume the name of Markus Schweizer, a German-speaking Swiss freelance journalist, for which you will be provided with additional documentation. Do you know a Markus Schweizer?’
‘Peter, I know no such person.’
‘Have you ever used such an alias before?’
‘No, Peter.’
‘Never heard of one?’
‘No, Peter.’
‘Was Markus Schweizer the name of the friend you took to London?’
‘No, Peter. Also I did not take him. He accompanied me.’
‘But you speak German.’
‘I am adequate.’
‘Your debriefers said more than adequate. They said you were fluent. I’m more interested to know whether you have any explanation for Moscow’s instructions?’
I have lost him again. He has lapsed into an Ed-like contemplation, his gaze fixed on the teeming windscreen. Suddenly he has an announcement to make:
‘Peter, I regret that I am not able to be this Swiss person. I shall not go to London. It is a provocation. I resign.’
‘I’m asking you why Moscow should wish you to be the independent German-speaking freelance journalist Markus Schweizer for two months of summer in one of three selected districts of North-east London,’ I persist, ignoring this outburst.
‘It is in order to facilitate my murder. Such a deduction is clear to any mind familiar with Moscow Centre practice. Maybe not you. By providing Centre with an address in London I shall be sending them instructions regarding where and how to liquidate me. That is normal practice in the case of suspected traitors. It will be Moscow’s pleasure to select a most painful death for me. I shall not go.’
‘Bit of an elaborate way of going about it, isn’t it?’ I suggest, unmoved. ‘Dragging you to London just to kill you. Why not bring you to a deserted place like this, dig a hole, shoot you and put you in it? Then leak it to your friends in York that you’re safely home in Moscow and job done? Why aren’t you answering me? Is your change of heart in