and getting them out to customers. And his employers were – well – they were insensitive to his needs,’ I add with a smile, ever aware of the importance of smooth relations between our two Services.
‘So it’s fair to say, taking your story as it stands, that the bond between the two of you depended on mutually false assumptions about each other’s identity?’ she goes on.
‘If you want to put it that way, Marion. Basically, it was a non-issue.’
‘Because each of you blindly accepted the other one’s cover story, you mean?’
‘Blindly is putting it too strongly. Both of us had sound reasons not to be inquisitive.’
‘We are hearing from our in-house investigators that you and Edward Shannon rent separate lockers in the men’s changing area at the Athleticus. Is that correct?’ she demands, without pause or apology.
‘Well, you don’t expect us to share one, do you?’ – no answer, and certainly not the laugh I was hoping for. ‘Ed has a locker, I have a locker. Correct,’ I continue, as I picture poor Alice being shaken out of bed and made to open up her books at this ungodly hour.
‘With keys?’ Marion demands. ‘I asked you whether the lockers have keys as opposed to combinations?’
‘Keys, Marion. All keys,’ I agree – recovering from a brief lapse in concentration. ‘Small, flat – about the size of a postage stamp.’
‘Keys that you keep in your pockets while you play?’
‘They come with ribbons,’ I reply, as the image of Ed in the changing room arming himself for our first-ever encounter comes rushing back to me. ‘Either take off the ribbon and put the key in your pocket, or keep the ribbon and wear the key around your neck. It’s a fashion choice. Ed and I took our ribbons off.’
‘And kept the keys in your trouser pockets?’
‘In my case, in the side pocket. My rear pocket was reserved for my credit card when we got to the bar, and a twenty pound note in case I felt like paying cash and collecting some parking money. Does that answer your question?’
Evidently it didn’t. ‘According to your operational record, you have in the past used your skills at badminton as a means of recruiting at least one Russian agent and covertly communicating with him by exchanging identical racquets. And you have received commendations for so doing. Am I correct?’
‘You are so correct, Marion.’
‘So it would not be an unreasonable hypothesis,’ she continues, ‘that, were you so minded, you would be ideally placed to provide Shannon with secret intelligence from your own Service by the same covert means.’
I take a slow look round the half-circle. Percy Price’s normally kindly features still in lockdown. Ditto Brammel, Lavender and Marion’s two spear-carriers. Gloria’s head tipped sideways as if she’s given up listening. Her two Unter-shrinks sitting tensely forward, hands locked on their laps in some kind of biological interaction. Ghita poker-backed, like a good little girl at the dinner table. Moira peering out of the window, except there isn’t one.
‘Anyone second that happy motion?’ I enquire, as the sweat of anger runs down my ribs. ‘I’m Ed’s sub-agent, according to Marion. I slip him secrets for onward transmission to Moscow. Have we all gone fucking mad, or is it just me?’
No takers. None expected. We’re paid to think outside the box, so that’s what we’re doing. Maybe Marion’s theory isn’t so way out after all. God knows, the Service has had its share of bad apples in its time. Maybe Nat’s another.
But Nat isn’t another. And Nat needs to tell them that in plain English.
‘All right, everyone. Tell me this if you can. Why does a dyed-in-the-wool pro-European civil servant make a free offer of British secrets to Russia of all places, a country that, in his judgement, is run by a fully developed anti-European despot named Vladimir Putin? And for as long as you can’t answer that question for yourselves, why the fuck do you pick on me as your punchball, merely because Shannon and I play decent badminton and talk political bullshit over a beer or two?’
And as an afterthought, albeit misjudged:
‘Oh, and by the way, can anyone here tell me what Jericho’s about? I know it’s password-protected and never to be discussed, and I haven’t been cleared for it. But neither was Maria, neither was Gamma and neither presumably is Moscow Centre. And certainly Shannon isn’t. So maybe we can make an exception in this particular case, since from all we heard it was Jericho that