by T. M. Parris
“His wife?”
He couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice. Never in the years of talking about Sutherland and his legacy had anyone, ever, mentioned a wife.
“What was she like?” he asked. “You’d never met her before?”
The man’s face lightened a little. “Nice lady. Not Japanese. A westerner, like you. Beautiful. Afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Afraid to come here, I think, but she did.”
“What did she say?” asked Fairchild.
Now the old woman lifted her head and looked him full in the face. She spoke for the first and only time. “She said sorry.”
When they came out, the younger woman was hovering by the door, a dark cloud of disapproval.
“Why you dig up the past? It changes nothing. Just makes them unhappy. Better to forget.”
She hurried them out and pulled the door shut. Her shadow hovered on the inside of the screen until they walked away.
Chapter 43
Rose had asked Gardner for a restaurant recommendation. It was a good choice, an upscale place with a Mediterranean menu: quiet, linen tablecloths, heavy cutlery, an unrushed atmosphere. She got a table with a view over the central square of a shopping mall. Not very special-sounding, but at this time of year the tall spiral statue at the centre glowed with ever-changing rainbow colours, and every branch of every tree around the edge was outlined in delicate white fairy lights. It may only be a retail outlet but there was something magical about it. Or maybe Rose had been in Japan too long and it was all going to her head.
She was early, and so was Fairchild, although she got there first. Right from the start, she regretted the dinner invitation. They should have just met for coffee instead. Making small talk, looking at the menu, choosing wine, it was false, false, false. This was how things were now – they’d spent so much of their time in extraordinary situations that the ordinary felt unreal. Fairchild seemed nervous as well. This was all a mistake. The sooner they moved on from chit-chat, the better. Fairchild clearly felt the same, and once they’d ordered he got straight in.
“The man in the room with James’ family. Are you sure it was Grom?”
“I’m sure. He spoke on the live feed. It was his voice.”
“You didn’t see his face, though.”
“It was him. And the description they gave was spot-on.”
“But even Grom seems a little on the old side to be at the forefront of a global hacking enterprise.”
“He doesn’t have to be at the forefront, just connected in some way. Someone else was with him, remember, this Russian doing the technical stuff. He still has allies among his former FSB colleagues. The way they got Fiona and the children out of that hotel room required some skill. People in hotel uniform with ID badges went to the door. We don’t see their faces on the CCTV. Fiona said they had guns. They knew how to get them out quietly, no fuss. He’s using his secret intelligence expertise to help Fire Sappers. That’s what he can offer them.”
“Maybe Milo getting killed will bring this partnership to an end.”
“Let’s hope so. But it could be an opportunity, a power vacuum at the top. He could take advantage of it and step in as a leader. On the ship, Milo said that someone had persuaded him to come to Japan in person. Now I’m wondering who that might have been. Coming here certainly made him more vulnerable. Maybe Grom had an ulterior motive and wanted Milo to take a risk.”
“If Grom is being fed information from someone within MI6, and that information starts being used by Fire Sappers…”
“Exactly. It makes them a much greater threat, to security as well as economically. And do you think it’s a coincidence that Grom ends up in Japan at exactly the same time we are?”
“No, I don’t. He knew you were coming here, or that I was. It may be that he latched onto Fire Sappers because they were already looking at James. But you can’t get that kind of inside information trawling the dark web. Someone tipped him off.”
“The same person who told Grom I was in Nice.”
Fairchild hesitated. “Have you spoken to Walter about this?”
“I have. I really don’t think Walter is working with Grom, Fairchild. It was Walter who wanted to go after Grom in the first place. And he specifically gave me a team to do that. He had to persuade Marcus Salisbury to authorise it.”
“He could just be covering himself by doing that. The more I find out, the more I realise how much Walter has been holding back all this time.”
“You’ve found something out?”
“I tracked down an old colleague, someone who knew my parents, and Walter, and Sutherland, as he was then. Name of Penny Galloway.”
“Means nothing to me.”
“She’s been retired a while. Like all of them, she didn’t give much away, but I know something happened. Something they want to keep buried. Then there’s the prints.”
“Was Gardner any help there?”
“He happened to mention that Sutherland served in Japan in the late sixties, a fact that Walter has failed ever to mention despite me specifically asking him about the Japanese prints.”
That was one hell of an omission on Walter’s part. “Okay, I admit that’s unhelpful. I’ve asked him about those prints himself and he was cagey.”
“And there’s more. A lot more.”
Fairchild told her about the visit to the old house and Sutherland’s naïve young recruit from Yonemura’s store. “It makes sense,” he said. “The CIA was parachuting covert teams into North Korea right through the sixties. MI6 was probably helping find recruits. Most of them were Koreans living in Japan. Their job was to foment unrest and overturn the regime.”
“But a boy like that!” said Rose.
“Exactly. He was totally unsuitable. Grom was sending him to his death, and probably condemning the rest of the cell to the same fate. Yonemura was trying to tell me about Song-Ho. I thought when he said things were lost, he meant the places in the prints. But that had nothing to do with it. It was the person he associated with the prints he meant. His young employee who disappeared.”
“And those poor people got nothing by way of explanation? Sounds about right.”
“They did get a visit, though. Not from Sutherland. From his wife.”
“What? His wife? Sutherland was married? Did you know that?”
“Nope. Another small fact that Walter failed to mention.”
“My God. Did they say anything about her?”
“She was a western woman. It sounds like she went there to apologise on behalf of her husband. And they thought she was afraid of him. But that’s it. That’s all.”
There was anger in his voice. Rose had thought his edginess was down to the awkward dinner date, but it was probably more about this.
“So what now?” she asked.
“Keep digging. Go back to the beginning and ask everyone about his wife.”
He sunk into himself, as if defeated by the scale of the job. But there was no way he was going to step away from it. She didn’t blame him. And she didn’t want him to, either, for her own reasons.
There was something else she wanted to discuss with Fairchild, she’d realised. Why she’d invited him to dinner in particular. This was more than a coffee conversation.
“Walter’s pulled me out of the field,” she said. “He’s given me an analyst role in London. Says it’s temporary.”
“Why?”
“He says I’m losing my humanity.” Rose outlined what happened in Paris and the counselling report they argued about.
“Nonsense,” said Fairchild. “Sounds like misdirection to me. He has another reason for wanting you out of the field.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Fairchild. It was Walter who sent me after Grom in the first place. I’m starting to wonder if he’s right.”
“What makes you say that?”
“In the cave, James was ready to give Milo what he wanted. When they had Fiona and the kids, he agreed t
o help Fire Sappers in exchange for everyone’s release.”
“You think he was right to do that?”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t have done it?”
“No. But now I’m starting to wonder if that’s just because nothing’s mattered to me as much as the family matters to James.”
Fairchild swilled his wineglass. “Love trumps everything? A very Romantic idea. By that I mean it came in with the Victorians. But what is unconditional love? If you fell in love with someone, committed to them for life, then found out they were a paedophile, would you still love them?”
“That’s different. I’d have found something out about them I didn’t know before. But what if this love of mine was put in danger and to save him I had to condemn other people?”
“Would you do it?”
“It would depend. Not necessarily. I wouldn’t think that he particularly deserves to live because I happen to like him. But a lot of people would, wouldn’t they?”
“A lot of people would. But you’re not a lot of people. These considerations are part of your job.”
“Would you?”
A pause. “It would depend.”
Rose filled up their glasses. “James and Fiona were both angry with me. They think I don’t care and that I look down on them. That I see them as boring because they’re ordinary. But I’m supposed to be doing this job for ordinary people. What’s better about having secrets or knowing how to use a gun? Or using a gun? They’ve made me wonder if I’ve passed into some kind of closed-off world where people don’t behave like people any more.”
“You could make it up to them. See them more often. While you’re in London, certainly.”
“I suppose.” Though maybe she didn’t want to because she felt awkward around them, a sole entity witnessing a family unit, reminding her of her solitude. But she didn’t say this.
“If you’d lost your humanity we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” said Fairchild. “You care and you still want to do the job. It would be easier to walk away and leave it to other people to screw up, but you don’t want that. You do a job that might crush the care in you if you let it, but you’re not letting it. You’re afraid the decisions you make will rob you of the ability to care, and that fear is a good thing. That fear is keeping you human.”
He was more sympathetic to her situation than she was expecting. Afterwards, she couldn’t remember what she said back to him, but she did remember feeling lighter, and another bottle of wine was involved. They drifted somehow into conversation about other things. Fairchild suggested going on somewhere else. Rose was tired; she’d barely slept after the kidnapping. But she didn’t want to be on her own just yet. Talking felt good.
They ended up in a piano bar on a top floor somewhere in Ginza, all padded black leather sofas and dramatic views. They settled back with gin and tonic and a bowl of nuts and listened to the music, and talked about people they both knew: Zack, Zoe, Pippin, Jinpa, Roman Morozov, Alice Rapp. In the lulls Rose got sleepy but she didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Not back to hotel rooms and packing and an analyst desk in London.
It was late, it was late. She shifted in the sofa to get more comfortable, a little closer to Fairchild. He didn’t pull back, didn’t move forward. It felt okay. They were cut from the same cloth, after all. She was only just starting to realise that. She’d be okay with him.
They listened to the piano. Her eyelids became heavier and heavier.
“Madam! Sumimasen, Madam! So sorry!”
She opened her eyes. A waiter was leaning over her.
“Madam! Your taxi is here, Madam.”
“Taxi?”
She looked around. Fairchild was gone.
Chapter 44
Fairchild walked fast. It was only the forward momentum that stopped him turning round and going back. Sitting on that sofa with the music, the gin, the view, and Rose, Rose relaxed, beautiful, comfortable in his presence, able to be with him – wanting to be with him – shifted the nucleus of every cell in his body. He belonged there with her, watching her sleep, enjoying the luxury of looking at her face, tracing every shape and light there. Being the company she needed, at a distance if that was what she wanted. Whatever she wanted. But he couldn’t. Watching her sleep was when it all fell into place, what he had to do, and it was partly because of what she herself had told him. She would hate him for it, but he had to go. He had to go because of a promise he’d made to another woman. And when that woman was Darcy Tang, it was a promise you had to keep.
It wasn’t far. Ginza was the traditional heart of Tokyo night life, the streets stuffed with glitzy new arrivals, but many of these bars had been here since the post war years, quietly providing female company, often innocent – just places to socialise and network for serious hardworking corporate leaders and politicians. After walking three or four streets he entered a building and went up in the lift to the fourth floor. There were six other bars on other floors in the same building, and this was one door of many, on one street of many.
As he stepped into the bar the Irrashaimase! was in no means diminished by his being a westerner, or a stranger, or on his own, although all of those things would have made him unusual to the slim ever-busy Shin-Mama running the place. It wasn’t large inside; sofa seats lined both sides and a karaoke machine took pride of place in front of the window at the end. The hostesses were sitting chatting to the clients, a bottle of whisky on each table.
“I’m here to meet with Mr Hamilton,” said Fairchild to the Shin-Mama. “I understand he comes here regularly.”
Shin-Mama’s movements ground to a halt. She stared at him. “One moment.” A tiny bow and she glided off. She was gone for several minutes, then returned. “Your name?”
“John Fairchild.”
“Please, have a seat.”
Another long wait, during which Fairchild was honoured by a visit from the Mama-San, who emerged in full kimono expressing the highest intricacies of respect, and expecting something similar back. She was shorter, rounder and friendlier than Shin-Mama. She asked very little of Fairchild but her curiosity shone through. She withdrew to bestow similar favours at all the other tables before vanishing again.
Fairchild continued to wait. He asked for whisky, an extravagance, as he’d have to buy the whole bottle, but they’d keep it for him if he ever came back. It was at least half an hour before Shin-Mama returned.
“Please, a car is outside.”
Downstairs, the car was waiting for him at the kerb. The rear door opened automatically. Fairchild glimpsed a beige leather seat. He hesitated, then got in. The door closed and the car moved off.
“Mr Hamilton, is it?” he said. “How many different names do you have?”
“Good evening to you, too,” said Grom. “Or morning, I should say. It’s half past bloody two.”
“I was busy earlier.”
“Oh, the woman! Of course. You want it all. Why not? You deserve it. How did you know I was in Tokyo?” Fairchild was hoping he wouldn’t ask. Grom watched him hesitate. “Ah! The woman again. I like your style. And how did you find out about the hostess bar?”
“Tim Gardner gave me your file.”
“The whole thing? Timothy!”
“There wasn’t much to it.”
“I was always bad at paperwork.”
“You weren’t here long.”
“Yes, well, that too. You’re not one to stick around in one place either, it seems.”
It was the first time they’d met in person since Lake Baikal. Grom was thinner, hungrier, older of course like they all were, but his energy was still there, his life force. He was looking distinguished today though tired, an ageing corporate man enjoying the benefits of retirement, you’d have thought.
“Don’t think I’m like you,” said Fairchild. “I’m not. I have my reasons for this.”
“Well, exactly. You can be as contemptuous as you like, but it was you who reached out to me, remember.”
&nbs
p; “To talk.”
“Of course. Always to talk. Talking makes the world go round, does it not. And what is it you’d like to talk about?”
“You had a wife.”
“I’ve never been married. Check my records.”
“Your records are meaningless. A woman claimed to be your wife.”
“She may have said it.”
“So there was a ‘she’.”
“Yes, there was a ‘she’. A long time ago. Plenty more before and since. Don’t get hung up on any of them, Fairchild. They’re not worth the trouble.”
Fairchild looked out of the window. The streets of Ginza slid past in the light of dozens – hundreds – of neon signs. Even at this hour, men in suits and women in kimonos passed by. Taxis dropped off and picked up. There was more he needed to ask. Always more.
“You sent a vulnerable boy to his death.”
“Is that what they said? Don’t believe everything they tell you, Fairchild. Haven’t you learned that yet? I’m not a monster.”
“So you like to say. But I didn’t hear it from some spook.”
“Really? Oh, the parents. They’re still alive, are they? Well, lucky for you the Japanese populace enjoys such great longevity. In most other places that story would have died a long time ago. And I say story, Fairchild. They’re all stories, these tales of the past.”
“It’s what ‘she’ thought. She apologised for you.”
“She betrayed me.”
“Is that why you kept the prints?”
“I keep lots of things. Kept. They’re all gone now. Fire, the Kremlin, light-fingered public servants. Don’t hold on to stuff, Fairchild. Hoarding isn’t healthy. The world of physical things is over anyway. All value is in the virtual world now. A life in bytes, ones and zeros. Money, identity, power, that’s where it is. It’s accessible anywhere and you can be whoever you want to be. It’s the future. The present, actually.”
Fairchild wouldn’t be distracted. “You only had two of the prints. One at your Monaco apartment and one at the villa. My parents ended up with the third. How come?”
