The thought didn’t enter my head.’
‘I’ll put it slightly differently if you permit. Then perhaps I’ll get a sensible answer out of you. Was it or was it not, yes or no, a conscious decision on your part not to register Edward Shannon as a regular acquaintance and playmate?’
‘Opponent, if you don’t mind. No, it was not a conscious decision not to register him.’
‘Turns out, you see, that you have been consorting over a period of months with an identified Russian spy whom you failed to register. Didn’t-enter-my-head doesn’t quite cover it.’
‘I didn’t know he was a bloody Russian spy, Joe. Right? And neither presumably did you. And neither did his employing Service. Or am I wrong about that, Marion? Maybe your Service knew all along he was a Russian spy and didn’t think to tell us,’ I suggest.
My riposte goes unheard. Seated in their half-circle round me, my chers collègues are peering at their laptops or into space.
‘Ever take Shannon home at all, Nat?’ Joe enquires casually.
‘Why on earth should I?’
‘Why shouldn’t you? Didn’t you want to introduce him to your wife? A nice radical lady like her, I’d have thought he was just up her street.’
‘My wife is a busy lawyer of some distinction and she hasn’t the time or interest to be introduced to everyone I play badminton with,’ I retort hotly. ‘She’s not radical in your terms, and she plays no part in this story, so once again: kindly leave her alone.’
‘Did Shannon ever take you home?’
I’d had enough.
‘Between you and me, Joe, we contented ourselves with blow-jobs in the park. Is that what you want to hear?’ I turn to Brammel. ‘Guy, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Yes, old boy?’
‘If Shannon is a Russian spy – which, all right, on the face of it he appears to be – tell me what we’re all doing sitting on our backsides in this room talking about me? Let’s assume he fooled me. He did, right? To hell and back. Just as he fooled his Service and everybody else. Why aren’t we asking ourselves questions like who talent-spotted him, who recruited him, here or in Germany or wherever? And who’s Maria who kept popping up? Maria who only pretended to give him the bum’s rush?’
With no more than a perfunctory nod, Guy Brammel resumes his own line of enquiry.
‘Surly sort of bugger, is he, your fellow?’ he remarks.
‘My fellow?’
‘Shannon.’
‘He can be surly now and then, like most of us. He soon perks up.’
‘But why so surly with the Gamma woman, of all people?’ he complains. ‘He’d gone to no end of trouble to make contact with the Russians. Moscow Centre’s first thought – only my guess – was that he was a dangle. Nobody can fault them for that. Then they had a second think about him and decided he was a gold mine. Tadzio flags him down in the street, gives him the good news and in no time enter Gamma, apologizing for Maria’s behaviour and busting to do business with him. So why the long face? He should be over the moon. Pretending he didn’t know what epiphany meant. What’s that about? Everybody has an epiphany these days. You can’t cross the bloody road without hearing about somebody’s epiphany.’
‘Maybe he doesn’t like what he’s doing,’ I suggest. ‘From everything he said to me, maybe he still has ethical expectations of the West.’
‘Hell’s that got to do with anything?’
‘It merely crossed my mind that the puritanical side of him might think the West needs punishing. That’s all.’
‘Let me get this right. You’re telling me the West pisses him off for not coming up to his ethical expectations?’
‘I said maybe.’
‘So off he hops to Putin who wouldn’t know an ethic if it bit him in the arse. Am I reading you correctly? Funny sort of puritanism, if you ask me. Not that I’m an expert.’
‘It was a passing thought. I don’t believe that’s what he’s doing.’
‘Then what the fuck do you believe?’
‘All I can tell you is, that’s not the man I know. Knew.’
‘He never is the man we know, for Christ’s sake!’ Brammel explodes in outrage. ‘If a traitor doesn’t surprise the shit out of us, he’s no bloody good at his job. Well, is he? You should know that if anyone does. You’ve run a few traitors in your day. They didn’t go round advertising their subversive opinions to every Tom, Dick and Harry. Or if they did, they didn’t bloody well last. Well, did they?’
It was at this