his instructions? Better to ask how Russia department would construe them,’ I reply, with a loftiness to match his.
‘Which is how?’
Lofty, but also firm. I am an old Russia hand pouring cold water on an inexperienced brother officer’s ardour.
‘Pitchfork is a sleeper agent, Dom. You seem to forget that. He’s here for the long haul. He’s been sleeping for precisely a year. Time for Moscow Centre to wake him up, blow the dust off him, give him a dummy run and make sure he’s still there for them. Once he’s proved that he is, it’s back to sleep in York.’
He appears about to argue, thinks better of it.
‘So our tactic, on the assumption that your premise is correct, which I don’t necessarily accept, is what exactly?’ he demands truculently.
‘Watch and wait.’
‘And do we, while watching and waiting, alert Russia department that we are so doing?’
‘If you want them to take over the case and airbrush London General out of it, now’s as good a time as any,’ I retort.
He pouts, looks away from me as if to consult a higher authority.
‘Very well, Nat’ – humouring me – ‘we watch and wait as you suggest. I expect you to keep me fully informed of all future developments, however trivial, the moment they occur. And thank you for calling by,’ he adds, returning to the papers on his desk.
‘However,’ I say, not moving from my chair.
‘However what?’
‘There is a subtext to Pitchfork’s instructions that suggests to me that we could be looking at rather more than just a standard dummy run to keep a sleeper on his toes.’
‘You just said the precise opposite.’
‘That’s because there’s an element to Pitchfork’s story for which you are in no way cleared.’
‘Nonsense. What element?’
‘And this is no time to be trying to add your name to the indoctrination list, or Russia department will need to know the reason why. Which I assume you wouldn’t want any more than I would.’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Because if my hunch is right, what we could be looking at – subject to confirmation – is a golden opportunity for the Haven and London General to mount an operation with our two names attached to it and no Treasury sub-committee to spike it. Do I have your ear or shall I come back when it’s more convenient?’
He sighs and pushes aside his papers.
‘Maybe you’re broadly familiar with the case of my former agent Woodpecker? Or are you too young?’ I enquire.
‘Of course I’m familiar with the Woodpecker case. I’ve read it up. Who hasn’t? Trieste. Their rezident, former KGB, an old hand, consular cover. You recruited him over badminton, as I recall. He later reverted to type and rejoined the opposition, if he ever left it in the first place. Hardly a feather in your cap, I’d have thought. Why are we talking about Woodpecker suddenly?’
For a latecomer, Dom has done his homework pretty thoroughly.
‘Woodpecker was a reliable and valued source until his last year of working for us,’ I inform him.
‘If you say so. Others might take a different view. May we come to the point, please?’
‘I’d like to discuss Moscow Centre’s instructions to Pitchfork with him.’
‘With whom?’
‘With Woodpecker. Get his take on them. An insider’s view.’
‘You’re mad.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Stark staring off-your-head mad. Woodpecker is officially graded toxic. That means nobody from this Service goes there without the written personal consent of the head of Russia department, who happens to be in purdah in Washington DC. Woodpecker is untrustworthy, totally two-faced and an embedded Russian criminal.’
‘Is that a no?’
‘It’s an over-my-dead-body no. As of here and now. I shall put it in writing instantly, copy to the disciplinary committee.’
‘Meantime, with your permission I’d like to take a week’s golfing leave.’
‘You don’t play fucking golf.’
‘And in the event that Woodpecker agrees to see me, and it turns out that he has an interesting take on Pitchfork’s instructions from Moscow Centre, you may just decide that you ordered me to pay a call on him after all. And meanwhile I suggest you think twice before you write that rude letter to the disciplinary committee.’
I am at the door when he calls me back. I turn my head but stay at the door.
‘Nat?’
‘Yes?’
‘What do you think you’re going to get out of him, anyway?’
‘With luck, nothing I don’t already know.’
‘Then why go?’
‘Because nobody calls out Operations Directorate on the strength of a hunch, Dom. Ops Directorate like actionable intelligence, cooked two ways and preferably three. It’s called evidence-based in case the term is new to you. Which