my answer – much as I do, but none immediately occurs to me.
‘Well, Bryn. Maybe you go first, for a change,’ I suggest, playing his own game at him, which he enjoys.
‘For my money, he was embassy trawling,’ he replies with satisfaction. ‘Sniffing out extra morsels of intelligence to feed his Russian addiction. He may have played the ingénu with Gamma but in my view he’s in for the long haul, if he doesn’t make a horse’s arse of himself in the meantime. Back to you. As many questions as you like.’
There is only one question I want to ask, but instinct tells me to kick off with a soft one. I select Dom Trench.
‘Dom!’ he exclaims. ‘Oh my dear Lord! Dom! Outer darkness. Indefinite gardening leave without the option.’
‘Why? What’s his sin?’
‘Being recruited by us in the first place. That’s our sin. Sometimes our dear Office loves larceny too well. Marrying above his weight is his sin. And being caught with his pants down by a bunch of muckrakers on the dark web. They got a couple of details wrong, but too many right. Are you bonking that girl who walked out on us by the way? Florence?’ – with the most diffident of smiles.
‘I’m not bonking Florence, Bryn.’
‘Never did?’
‘Never did.’
‘Then why call her from a public phone box and take her out to dinner?’
‘She walked out on the Haven and left her agents in the lurch. She’s a mixed-up girl and I felt I should stay in touch with her.’ Too many excuses, but never mind.
‘Well, be bloody careful from now on. She’s out of bounds and so are you. Any more questions? Take your time.’
I take my time. And more time.
‘Bryn.’
‘Dear boy?’
‘What the hell’s Operation Jericho?’ I ask.
*
To non-believers the sanctity of codeword material is hard to convey. The codewords themselves, regularly altered in midstream to confuse the enemy, are treated with the same secrecy as their content. For a member of the indoctrinated few to utter a codeword within the hearing of those outside the tent would qualify in Bryn’s lexicon as mortal sin. Yet here am I, of all people, demanding of the iconic head of Russia department: what the hell’s Jericho?
‘I mean, Christ, Bryn,’ I insist, undaunted by his rigid smile, ‘Shannon took one glance at the stuff as it went through the copier and that was it. Whatever he saw, or thinks he saw, that did it. What do I say if he calls me on it? Tell him I’ve no idea what he’s talking about? That’s not showing him the error of his ways. That’s not putting a halter round his neck and leading him gently in.’ And more forcefully: ‘Shannon knows what Jericho is all about—’
‘Thinks he does.’
‘—and Moscow knows. Gamma is apparently so excited by Jericho that she takes on the job herself, with Moscow providing a full supporting cast.’
The smile widens in seeming assent but the lips remain tight shut as if resolved that no word shall pass them.
‘A dialogue,’ he says at last. ‘A dialogue between adults.’
‘Which adults?’
He ignores the question.
‘We are a divided nation, Nat, as you will have noticed. The divisions between us across the country are neatly reflected in the divisions between our masters. No two ministers think the same way on the same day. It would not therefore be surprising if the intelligence requirements they hand down to us fluctuate with the moment, even to the point of contradicting each other. After all, part of our remit is to think the unthinkable. How many times have we old Russian hands done just that, sitting here in this very room, thinking the unthinkable?’
He is reaching for an aphorism. As usual, he finds one: ‘Signposts don’t walk in the direction they point, Nat. It is we humble mortals who must choose which way to go. The signpost is not responsible for our decision. Well, is it?’
No, Bryn, it isn’t. Or it is. Either way, you’re pulling a lot of wool across my eyes.
‘But I am allowed to assume that you are KIM/1?’ I suggest. ‘As head of our mission to Washington. Or is that an assumption too far?’
‘My dear boy. Assume what you will.’
‘But that’s all you’re proposing to tell me?’
‘What more can you possibly need to know? Here’s a snippet for you, and it’s all you get. The top-secret dialogue in question is taking place between our American cousins and ourselves. Its purpose is exploratory, a feeling-out. It is being conducted at the highest level.