A Spy's Life

by Henry Porter

  Harland smiled and thanked Robin, although he heartily wished him dead.

  Anne, who had been watching him, said, ‘You’re wondering why on earth your brilliant sister married him, aren’t you?’ She paused to take a drag on a thin cigarette. ‘The answer is that he isn’t threatened by her. Of course he’s completely ludicrous in every way, but he’s also very kind.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Harland.

  ‘You know she’s made an awful lot of money while looking after those kids, don’t you?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ He was genuinely interested.

  ‘She’s been trading on the stock market. Made her own little investment fund with various people’s savings, although I don’t think she actually took control of the money. That would be deeply on the wrong side of the law. Robin tells me she made two hundred thou’ last year. Clever ole sis, huh?’

  ‘Yes, clever ole sis,’ said Harland. He watched Harriet weave towards Davina Vigo – who was plainly unaware of any difficulty – and thought glumly how little he knew of his sister.

  Once or twice he could feel the weight of Vigo’s gaze but turned to find him looking away into the middle distance. His presence didn’t quite create a stir but everyone in the room was aware of him, even if most had not the slightest idea who or what he was.

  The party swelled so that it became difficult to move in Harriet’s sitting room and many guests spilled into a large conservatory area – the sort of sunroom that the English build without knowing what it should be used for. By now Harland and Anne had been joined by a lawyer with a blotchy skin named Deakin, who was clearly struck by Anne. Harland took a back seat in the conversation and wondered what precisely Vigo wanted. What was he afraid of? When he’d told Harriet the whole story she despaired of finding a unified theory of everything, as she put it. Sometimes, she said, you had to accept that things were simply unrelated.

  Suddenly Harland became aware of Vigo moving in the side of his vision. He turned to find him making his way through the crowd, his mouth wearing a friendly smile, although his eyes told a different story. Anne made a tactful withdrawal, steering Deakin away into what he took for promising intimacy.

  ‘Yes, Walter?’ said Harland with quiet hostility. ‘Have you come to apologise for that crap last night?’

  ‘No. I just wanted to explain that this was sprung on us when we got to the Hammicks. I really had no option but to come.’

  ‘But now you’re here, you’re quite happy to case the joint. I assume you already have this house watched.’

  ‘Believe what you like Bobby, but I can assure you that’s not true.’

  Harland was aware of someone calling his name above the noise of the party. He looked round to see one of the waiters heading towards him after being given directions from Mr Lambton. At the same moment he saw Harriet with an alert expression making her way from another point in the room. The waiter got to him first.

  ‘Mr Harland? There’s a gentleman to see you. He’s at the door. Says he won’t come in.’

  Vigo’s eyes settled with interest on the waiter. Harriet arrived.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’

  ‘No, madam, there’s a young gentleman to see Mr Harland. He’s at the front door.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Harriet, without looking at Harland. ‘That must be the Smithsons’ boy, Jim. He’s just left the LSE and I told them you might be able to get him something at the UN. Why don’t you go and ask him in for a drink, Bobby?’ She placed a hand on Vigo’s forearm. ‘Davina’s just been telling me how you took her for a surprise weekend in New York. I wish Robin would think of things like that.’

  Yes, Harland thought as he left them, a surprise visit arranged instantly Vigo heard about the crash. That meant that Vigo wasn’t on official business? He threw a glance in their direction as he reached the hall and saw that Harriet had shepherded three or four people into a group round Vigo, trapping him in the conservatory. She meanwhile had detached herself and by the look on her face was planning to follow him.

  Tomas was waiting for him in a recess by the front door which acted as a cloakroom. He was plainly overawed by the size of the house.

  ‘Jesus,’ said Harland, ‘you look terrible. Where have you been? Why didn’t you come before now?’

  ‘I stayed in a hotel. I had work to do.’

  ‘Work! Look, this friend of yours – Felicity MacKinlay. You know the police are looking for you?’

  ‘Mr Harland, I did not do this thing. You must believe me.’

  ‘Yes I do. But you must talk to them.’

  Tomas produced his crestfallen look.

  ‘You don’t understand. That’s impossible. This is too complicated, too dangerous.’

  ‘What’s too complicated, for Christ’s sake? You have to start talking, Tomas. Enough of this damned mystery. Why the hell did you leave that bar in New York?’ Harland could hear himself. He sounded very much like a father.

  Several people passed on their way out and threw rather puzzled looks in Tomas’s direction. Harriet came into the hall, closed the door behind her guests and turned towards Harland.

  ‘Look, you can’t stay there. Walter Vigo is about to come out any moment.’

  ‘Who is Walter Vigo?’ Tomas asked both of them.

  ‘He is a former colleague of Robert’s and I don’t want him to see you here, particularly with all that was in the papers this morning. You can go upstairs if you like and wait there until the party is over.’

  Tomas picked up his bag. Then something seemed to occur to him.

  ‘Mr Vigo is in the intelligence field, as you were?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Harland hastily. ‘My sister is right. Why don’t you go upstairs?’

  ‘I don’t think I should remain here with him in the house. I will come back. No, I will call your phone and tell you where to meet me.’

  ‘Give it an hour,’ said Harland. ‘Do you need any money?’

  ‘No,’ said Tomas with a brief, shy smile to Harriet, who simply shook her head. ‘I have money, Mr Harland.’

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ came a voice behind them. It was Davina Vigo and the Hammicks with Walter Vigo bringing up the rear. Harland saw him look over his wife’s shoulder with interest at Tomas disappearing through the front door. But his view was blocked by Harriet reaching up to kiss his wife and then each of the Hammicks.

  ‘What a lovely party,’ said Davina. ‘You must come to supper very soon in the New Year. I will get Walter to look at his diary.’

  Harland and Vigo exchanged looks. The Hammicks and Vigos made for a Mercedes which had pulled into the gravel crescent at the sign of Davina Vigo waving a small purse through the open door. There was no sign of Tomas.

  Harriet closed the door behind them, swivelled her eyes and blew out her cheeks.

  ‘Why does he call you Mr Harland? Aren’t you on better terms than that yet?’

  Harland exhaled. ‘He refuses to use any other name until I accept him totally. But I’ve only spent a couple of hours with him. How am I meant to react?’

  ‘Well, I think you had better get used to him calling you something else. Bobby, he couldn’t be anyone else’s child. He’s a dead ringer for you when you were that age – all gangly and intense. There’s no question about it. He’s yours.’

  13

  CLEOPATRA’S NEEDLE

  Harland’s phone rang at 9.45 p.m. but it wasn’t Tomas. Instead, he heard some paper being shuffled and then the voice of Agent Frank Ollins.

  ‘Ah, Mr Harland. I’m glad I’ve tracked you down. Is this a bad moment?’

  ‘Could be better,’ replied Harland.

  ‘It won’t take long, sir. There are just a few more questions I want to ask you about the period immediately before the crash.’

  Harland slapped his forehead with annoyance. The last thing he wanted to do was block up his line. He was sure this could wait.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘but I may have to interrupt you. I’m expecting an important call.
’

  ‘At this hour? It’s nearly Christmas Day with you, right?’ said Ollins sceptically. ‘Look, I want to take you through the last part of the flight. Can I remind you of the account you have given us so far?’ He paused. ‘Fifteen minutes out of La Guardia you get up out of your seat to go to the bathroom. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘At that moment the cabin lights are extinguished and you return to your seat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you notice that the heating in the cabin seems to be malfunctioning – it’s gotten damned cold.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Harland wearily.

  ‘The lights did not return before the crash?’

  ‘No, they didn’t. Look, is this relevant? I mean, does it have any bearing on the crash?’

  ‘Hold on there, Mr Harland. This is important. We need to take this slowly. To answer your question – no, the lighting and heating systems are not directly relevant. We can see at what point they failed on the flight data recorder and there appears to be nothing to connect those two failures with the eventual destruction of the airplane. Does that answer your question?’ He paused. ‘Now, as I recall it, you said that as you were coming in to land, Mr Griswald held up his laptop computer and used the light from the screen to see what he was doing. You mentioned you could see his face in the light of the computer. It’s here in the transcript of your first talk with me and Clark last week.’

  ‘Yes, I remember that well.’

  ‘In what way did he hold the computer up?’

  Harland tried to remember.

  ‘I think he held it up several times but I don’t know what you mean by what way.’

  ‘I mean, how did he hold it to maximise the light coming from the screen?’

  ‘Well, at least once he held it up to see his seat belt and then I think he held it up several times to see how the table was folded away and to gather his possessions together. Are you suggesting that the computer being on might have interfered with the aircraft’s systems?’

  ‘I’d rather you let me ask the questions. But no, I’m not. Let me go over this again. First, did he hold the computer up as though he had simply raised it from the table, i.e. with the keyboard still horizontal?’

  ‘I’m not sure, it was dark. It wasn’t easy to see.’

  ‘Is it possible that Mr Griswald turned the computer and held it like a book so that the hinge was vertical, that is to say that the screen and keyboard were also in the vertical plane? It would make more sense if you were using the light from the screen to see what you were doing, would it not, Mr Harland?’

  ‘Yes, it’s entirely possible that he held it that way. I guess he must have done so at some stage.’

  Harland saw Griswald holding the computer, a cumbersome affair which he realised was protected by a special cladding.

  ‘And he was holding it out in front of him, not to the side of his body or above his head?’

  Harland sensed that he was on a speakerphone. There was the noise of someone moving beyond Ollins’s voice. ‘Yes, I’d say he held it out in front of him for a time although he must have moved it around a little to see what he was doing.’

  ‘And you’re sure about that?’

  ‘As sure as I can be.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Can I ask what this is about?’

  ‘We’re just looking into every aspect of the crash – testing a few theories, that’s all. Happy holidays, Mr Harland.’

  ‘Wait a moment! I thought we had an agreement to share information through Kennedy at the UN. Can you tell me a little more?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re referring to. But if there was such an arrangement, that would surely take in your visit to the South of France yesterday. I don’t remember you calling me about that, although what you learned may have a direct bearing on this crash.’

  ‘Okay, what about a trade?’

  ‘I’ll think about that while I’m eating my Christmas cake.’

  Harland tried another tack. ‘Did you find the computer?’

  There was silence while Ollins mulled this over. ‘Well, I’ll give you this one for free. Yes, we found the computer on the other side of the runway.’

  ‘Was it burned?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you’ve learned what’s on it.’

  ‘No, the hard drive’s all knocked to shit.’

  This stumped Harland. What was the point of all these questions about the computer if it neither represented a threat to the plane’s electronic systems nor provided any useful information about Griswald’s activities?

  ‘But you still think the computer is important?’

  ‘Could be. We’re just going over everything here, winding down for a day’s R and R.’ He paused. ‘Oh, there was one other thing. Can you confirm that you removed the cellphone from Mr Griswald’s breast pocket? You imply this in the transcript but do not actually state it.’

  ‘Yes, it was in his inside pocket.’

  ‘Would that be the right or the left breast pocket?’

  ‘His right.’

  ‘That makes sense. Mr Griswald was a left-hander. I guess he’d tend to favour the right-hand inside pocket.’

  Just then Harland was alerted to an incoming call on his line by a series of beeps. ‘Look, I’ve got to go.’

  ‘That’s okay. I still got plenty to do here. We’ll talk after Christmas.’ With that he hung up and Tomas’s call came through automatically.

  ‘Mr Harland?’

  ‘Yes. Tomas,’ he said, ‘would you just accept that I accept that everything you’ve told me about your birth is true – okay? So call me something else. Right, where are you now? I’ll come and meet you.’

  ‘Be careful not to be followed. It was foolish of me to come to your sister’s house. I was worried they were watching it.’

  ‘Well, don’t worry. The party was exceptionally good cover – a lot of people coming and going.’ Then Harland thought about what the boy had just said. He couldn’t possibly know about Vigo’s people following him. ‘Tomas, who do you think could be watching you?’

  ‘The same people who tortured and killed Flick. The people who will kill me, if they find me.’

  ‘Who are they? Why in heaven’s name would anyone want to kill you?’

  ‘It’s a long story. I will tell you everything later. I will be at Cleopatra’s Needle in half an hour. You haven’t forgotten where it is?’ he asked, and hung up after Harland said he knew precisely where it was.

  He put the phone in his pocket and thought back twenty-five years and wondered whether he was on the point of understanding everything.

  He went and found Harriet who was looking after a few stragglers at the party. He took her aside and whispered. Harriet smiled and briskly announced to the group that she was going to take her brother to midnight mass and would therefore be happy to drop off anyone who needed a ride home. Even the most determined couldn’t fail to shift after her unambiguous hint.

  It was Harland’s particular request that Harriet should not bring her RV round to the front of the house, so they all had to file through the kitchen to the garage. He took the middle of one of the rear seats, having insisted that the love-struck Deakin sit in the front. As the garage door opened and the car moved out into the drive, he slid right down into his seat so there was no chance of him being spotted leaving the house.

  After four stops they were left alone in the car. Harriet said she was sure she hadn’t been followed, but to be on the safe side he told her to turn into the entrance of a large mansion block which was obscured from the road by a hedge. Harland opened the door and hopped out while the car was still moving. He waited a little time after Harriet had disappeared and then headed in the direction of Baker Street tube station.

  He arrived at Victoria Embankment just before eleven o’clock and left the tube station by the north exit. Some way off he could hear the rumble of music from one of the clubs in the bowels
of Charing Cross station. He walked quickly to a run of short railings on the right of the street and, placing his hand on the top, vaulted over into Embankment Gardens. Nothing much had changed in the twenty-five years since he’d last been there – the layout of the gardens was more or less the same and the gates which led onto the embankment had not been changed. He knew they were easily scaled. He moved quickly to the south side where he waited for a while. He could just make out Cleopatra’s Needle from where he stood behind the gates, but he would have to get closer to see if Tomas had arrived.

  He questioned why he was being so careful – after all, no one could possibly know where they intended to meet. Maybe, he thought, this tension was prompted by memories of when he’d come as a young man with a mixture of hope and dread to meet Eva. He’d taken ridiculous precautions not to be followed that day, applying the skills recently acquired during training at the Fort and, no doubt, looking rather foolish. All the business of doubling back on himself and popping in and out of pubs had caused him to be late. And when he got there Eva was nowhere to be seen. He’d waited and waited, then circled the area until nightfall. She never came. He obsessed about being late, although it had only been a matter of fifteen minutes – twenty at the most – and he imagined that she thought she’d been stood up. He expected her to call him later. But not a word came.

  Grasping the spikes at the top of the gate, he climbed up the railing until he could place both feet on the top bar, and let himself down the other side. The gates stood back from the main boundary of Embankment Gardens so he could drop down without being seen. He glanced towards the obelisk and then back down the embankment to Hungerford Bridge, where two policemen stood drinking coffee by their car. The traffic was very light and there was almost no one about. He waited while his eyes ran over the scene. Then he made his move across the road and walked sharply along the river wall, noticing that the tide was low. The wind carried a faint smell of mud to his nostrils and his mind flipped back to the East River.

  As he approached the first of the pair of huge bronze sphinxes that guard Cleopatra’s Needle, he realised he’d forgotten nothing about the place. He found himself recalling its history – the hazardous journey across the Bay of Biscay when six men lost their lives; how the scars and pockmarks around one of the sphinxes had been left to commemorate the very first air raid by German aeroplanes on London in 1917; and the fact that the granite obelisk had been carved nearly one and a half thousand years before Cleopatra was born. Myth attributed the obelisk to Cleopatra although it was doubtful whether she had even laid eyes on it, unless she had happened to see it raised at Alexandria, a few years before Christ’s birth and her own death. But Harland dwelled on that myth and as his search for Eva went on he had gradually merged Eva and Cleopatra into a single, mythic nemesis.