question about my two heads, ‘was that Shannon must be suffering some sort of mental breakdown in place. Schizophrenia, big-time bipolarity, whatever the shrinks come up with. In which case, we amateurs are wasting our time trying to ascribe rational motives to him. And then of course there was the trigger, the final straw’ – why am I overreaching? – ‘his epiphany, for Christ’s sake. The one he denied having. The thing that actually made Sammy run, as we used to say.’
Bryn is still smiling but the smile is rock-hard, daring me to venture further.
‘Shall we cut to the chase?’ he enquires blandly, as if I haven’t spoken. ‘As of early this morning, Moscow Centre has requested a second meeting with Shannon one week hence and Shannon has consented to it. Centre’s haste may seem indecent, but to me it spells sound professional judgement. They fear for their source in the long term – who wouldn’t? – which means of course that we must be equally fast on our feet.’
A wave of spontaneous resentment comes to my aid.
‘You keep saying we as if it was a done thing, Bryn,’ I complain with our usual determined joviality. ‘What I find a bit hard to swallow is that all this stuff is happening over my head. I’m the author of Stardust, in case you’ve forgotten, so why am I not being kept informed of the progress of my own operation?’
‘You are being kept informed, dear boy. By me. To the rest of the Service you are history, and rightly so. If I’d had my way you’d never have got the Haven. Times are a-changing. You’re at the dangerous age. You always were, but it’s showing. Prue well?’
Sends her best, thank you, Bryn.
‘Is she conscious? To the Shannon thing?’
No, Bryn.
‘Keep it that way.’
Yes, Bryn.
Keep it that way? Meaning keep Prue in the dark about Ed? Prue, who only this morning pledged her unconditional loyalty, even if I should feel moved to tell the Office to shove it up their arses? Prue, as good a soldier-spouse as the Office could wish for, who never once by word or whisper betrayed the trust that the Office had invested in her? And now Bryn, of all people, is telling me she is not to be trusted? Fuck him.
‘Our sister Service is of course baying loudly for Shannon’s blood, which won’t come as any surprise to you,’ Bryn is saying. ‘Arrest him, shake him out, make an example of him, everybody gets a medal. Result: a national scandal that achieves bugger all and makes us look bloody fools bang in the middle of Brexit. So we take that option straight off the table, as far as I’m concerned.’
The ‘we’ again. He offers me the plate of cashews. I take a handful to satisfy him.
‘Olives?’
No thanks, Bryn.
‘You used to love them. Kalamata.’
Really not, thanks, Bryn.
‘Next option. We haul him into Head Office and make the classic pass at him. Okay, Shannon, you’re a fully identified agent of Moscow Centre and henceforth you’re under our control or you’re for the high jump. Think it would play? You know him. We don’t. Neither does his department. They think he’s got a girl but they’re not even sure about that. Could be a fellow. Could be his interior decorator. He’s fixing his flat, they say. Taken out a mortgage on his salary and bought the one upstairs. Did he tell you that?’
No, Bryn. He didn’t.
‘Did he tell you he’s got a girl?’
No, Bryn.
‘Then maybe he hasn’t. Some chaps can manage without, don’t ask me how. Maybe he’s one of the few.’
Maybe he is, Bryn.
‘So what’s your best guess if we make the classic pass at him?’
I give the question the consideration it deserves.
‘My best guess is, Bryn, that Shannon would tell you to go fuck yourselves.’
‘Why so?’
‘Try playing badminton with him. He’d rather go down with all guns blazing.’
‘We are not playing badminton, however.’
‘Ed doesn’t bend, Bryn. He’s not up for flattery or compromise or saving his own skin if he thinks the cause is greater than he is.’
‘Then he’s out for martyrdom,’ Bryn observes with satisfaction, as if recognizing a well-trodden path. ‘Meanwhile, we are of course engaged in the usual tug-of-war about who owns his body. We found him, ergo, for as long as we play him he’s ours. Once we’ve no more use for him, it’s game over and our sister Service has its wicked way. Now let me ask you this. Do you still love him? Not