The Accidental Spy

by Jacqueline George

  “I didn’t realise,” he croaked. And then the obvious question - “What will you do to me?”

  “Ah.” Hobson sat back. He realised he had won the match and that The Virgin had no illusions left. “To you. Yes, well, I suspect ‘with you’ might be a better term. Let me tell you first what we have done already.

  “Karelia called us as soon as they got your fax - it’s their duty, you know, with anything that might fall into the wrong hands. That would have been Monday afternoon, yes, Elena?” She nodded in reply. “Monday afternoon. So the first thing we did was to call your Marketing Manager, a Mr Forbes from Scotland. We would have liked to speak to your Regional Manager but he is from America, and we preferred to keep things in the family, so to speak.

  “So; I spoke to Mr Forbes, and he agreed to bring you to London for an interview. That was the first step. Then we dictated a reply for Karelia to send - you got that, I presume? Which only left the business of getting you safely to London. That is where Miss Anthony came into the picture. She made sure of your bookings and arranged to sit with you on the aeroplane. She tells me you have been the complete gentleman. That you made no telephone calls and posted no letters; that you are very polite and did not get upset when we had to delay your bag at Heathrow while we had a quick look through it. I think that’s true, Miss Anthony?”

  Elena seemed ill at ease with Hobson’s pedantic manner, but took the chance to speak up for herself. “Oh, yes. And Greg, I still want to have dinner, only not tonight, you understand?” There was in her eyes an unprofessional appeal to be understood and liked, which The Virgin found comforting.

  Hobson started again. “Not tonight. Unfortunately, I’m sure. No. Miss Anthony has been detailed to baby-sit you, and she will continue to help us by doing just that until tomorrow morning when you will have to meet some very important people. What a pity you could not come earlier in the week. Now we will only have Friday in which to finish things off, and the Private Secretary wants to leave early tomorrow. He is riding in Norfolk.

  “Never mind. Now tell me; are you inclined to co-operate with us in this matter? I warn you that we can get very nasty if we have to.”

  Somehow the threat seemed more vicious when it was couched in such an off-hand manner. The Virgin thought for a moment. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Well, no. Not really. And it is all in a good cause, you know. Your country needs your help at the moment, so I think you can’t really refuse. Good. That’s that out of the way. Now, Mr Forbes insists that you call him. He said he would wait at the office until you did. I suggest you call and tell him you have met me, Hobson, and that everything is going well. We will bring you to the office for half an hour in the morning - eleven thirty would be best - and you and he can sort out your business then, if you have any. I will come with you and speak to him, as he seems to need some kind of re-assurance.

  “He was very upset when I spoke to him and insisted on going to his superiors. I think I discouraged him for the moment, and perhaps you could do the same, at least for another day? Oh, and he does not know what any of this is about, and it is probably better that he stays ignorant. You understand, I’m sure.” He gestured for Elena to pass the telephone over. “You dial nine first, and then your number.”

  The Virgin fetched his diary from his briefcase, and dialled Tom Forbes’s direct line. Tom must have been waiting. “Jesus, Greg. What the fuck have you been doing? I’ve had this guy Hobson telephoning me five times a day all week. What’s going on?”

  “Well, he’s here beside me. He doesn’t want me to say anything in detail, but it’s nothing to do with us, with MacAllans, I mean. He wants to visit with me tomorrow at eleven thirty - could we do that?”

  “Let me check. OK. There’s nothing that can’t be delayed a little. Eleven thirty. But you tell him from me that if he doesn’t come up with something pretty convincing, I’m going to have to go to Ron. I should have done that right at the beginning, and it’s already been three days. He’ll have my balls when he finds out, and quite right too. How are you, anyway?”

  “Fine, fine. And you?”

  “I’d be feeling a good deal better if you’d stayed in Tabriz, believe me. Anyway, what are we going to talk about tomorrow? We’ll have to give you something to show Harris.”

  “Christ, I don’t know. Do you have anything new coming up?”

  “No. Not for you primitives in Tabriz, anyway. It’s all North Sea up here, and if it’s not expensive and off-shore, we don’t want to talk about it.”

  “How about a transfer? You could always transfer me out of Tabriz, and we could talk about that.”

  “Possible. How long have you been there? It must be long enough by now. Right. Yes. We’ll do that. I’ll think of something smart. OK. I’m off home. Right. See you tomorrow.”

  “See you, Tom,” said The Virgin, feeling that Tom was already half way out of the door on the way to his Hampstead retreat. He put the telephone down gently.

  Hobson was looking at him with surprise on his face. “Is that how you talk to each other in the oil industry? I am surprised. It wouldn’t do for us, I’m sure. We’re much more old fashioned. How strange.

  “Very well. Now, there are a couple of things we just have to get sorted out. Firstly, you are now in the realm of the Security Services, and we do things in our own way. And part of our way of thinking is that you are to be treated with the greatest suspicion until we have good reason to think otherwise.” Again, he nodded at The Virgin to encourage his assent. “The first thing we shall do is a short polygraph test. You may also know the polygraph as the lie-detector. We have a technician waiting just outside. I would like to get the results to my office before the meetings tomorrow.

  “Another part of the way we operate is that you will be kept under close surveillance until we are sure about you. Hence no romantic dinner with Miss Anthony.” He looked round at Elena who coloured and whispered “Hobson!” in protest.

  “Never mind. As she says, it may be possible on another occasion. This evening, the three of us and the technician, whose name is Mostyn, will dine comfortably on room service. You may then sleep as innocently as a babe while one of us watches over you, turn by turn through the night to see that the bogey-man does not come for you. You see, we do take some things very seriously.

  “But firstly, let us call Mostyn in and get to work.”

  “Hobson, can we call for some coffee?” asked Elena.

  “Why not, indeed? How do you like your coffee, Mr Cartwright?”

  The Virgin was beginning to find Hobson irritating. The little man in the grey suit was rather too cocksure, rather too pompous.

  “I’ll have an Irish one, I think.”

  “Oh, no. Not before the polygraph. It would upset things, I’m sure. Would cappuccino do as a substitute? Good. I must call Mostyn in from the corridor and find out what he would like. And Elena is black, no sugar, I know. Could you please call room service, Miss Anthony?” Perhaps Hobson was getting to Elena too, because she ordered cappuccino as a protest vote.

  Mostyn was a young man with untidy blonde hair. He too wore a tie and grey suit but managed to make the uniform look like a workman’s clothes. He came forward shyly to shake hands, and then went to retrieve a deep aluminium suitcase from the wardrobe. He set it on the floor near the window and opened the lid. The lower half of the case contained an instrument panel. On the right hand side was a chart recorder with a glass window covering its roll of lined paper. In the centre of the panel was what appeared to be a cassette tape player, with various extra switches and potentiometer knobs below. The left hand side of the case was a deep slot for storing cables. ‘Instructions for Use’ were pasted inside the lid. Incised deeply into the panel surface was the legend ‘Security Equipment Ltd, Sunbury, Surrey UK’.

  “Have you ever seen one of these, Mr Cartwright?” Mostyn was not just any untidy young man. His accent was from one of the very best schools, which made him a well-educated, untidy youn
g man. As he spoke he started to retrieve the cables from their storage and lay them out on the bed. “Well, they’re quite simple really. All it does is to take readings of your pulse and blood pressure, and a couple of other things, while I ask you some questions that Hobson has prepared.”

  He seemed to have lost something and was emptying the storage compartment completely. “This is not really my job, you know, so you must forgive me if I seem all fingers and thumbs. I got roped into going to a course at the manufacturers, and now I can’t get away from it. Every time something comes up, they seem to call for me. Never mind.

  “Now; let me explain how we go about things. First of all, I have to attach the sensors to you. All the time you’re wearing them, I must ask you to relax and sit very still. Oh look – you’re feeling cold. Hobson, why doesn’t he put some clothes on?”

  “Why not indeed? Mr Cartwright, please get dressed. Something casual will do. And leave the door open. Miss Anthony will sit out of sight.”

  The Virgin returned to his room. Out of curiosity he looked for his room key on the bedside table. It was missing. The security chain on the door had also been put in place. He turned and found Hobson had followed him into the room.

  “Excuse me. It’s just until we are sure of you, that’s all. Don’t mind me.” The Virgin changed quickly into jeans and shirt.

  Back in Hobson’s room, the coffee had arrived and they took a break before settling The Virgin back in his chair. As he had promised, Mostyn was all fingers and thumbs. He had three sensors. A rubber suction cup that fitted inside The Virgin’s shirt just over his heart. This had to be stuck on with a dollop of silicon jelly. There was a sort of double sheath for the two middle fingers of his right hand as it lay on the table. And finally there was a blood pressure cuff over his upper arm. Mostyn tested the battery and the chart recorder, and settled himself in the chair opposite with a sheet of notes in his hand.

  “Mr Cartwright, if we are to get this job done quickly and effectively, we shall need your complete co-operation. You must avoid confusing the machine, so sit very still and relax. I’ll ask questions and you must reply with yes or no - only yes or no. Anything else is confusing. And above all, you must relax so that we can get good clear readings. Can you do that? I’ll start off by asking some simple questions just to establish some background levels, and then I’ll go on to the ones Hobson has given me. Oh, and we have to stop now and again to let the pressure out of your arm-band - otherwise the readings get erratic.” He placed a microphone on the table between them and tapped it, watching for a response from the polygraph. A small red light on the panel blinked.

  The Virgin found that he felt nervous. He had been wired up like a laboratory animal and he was about to be tested for what? Was he really suspected as some kind of terrorist agent? A spy for the Tabrizis? He felt the same sense of alienation from reality that he had felt when Dov Nagel was staying in his house. Now there was a thought; could Dov have anything to do with this? He thought for a moment and decided that he could not. He was in the business of destroying chemical weapons, not ordering them.

  Mostyn was ready to start. He picked up a push-button on a cable that led to the suit-case, and pressed a switch on the polygraph. The chart recorder started to turn and four uncertain ink traces appeared on the paper. He leant towards the microphone. “Cartwright interview, tape number one, time nineteen twenty-three hours, seventh of December.” He looked up at The Virgin and grinned. “Remember please; yes or no only. Your name is Gregory Cartwright?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your parents live at Tollands Farm, Morwenstow?”

  “Yes.”

  “You work for MacAllans International?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your date of birth is 27th of October 1958?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are married?”

  “No.”

  “You were married?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are single?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were born in Farnham?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were born in London?”

  “No.”

  “Your ex-wife’s name was Joan?”

  “No.”

  “Your ex-wife’s name was Maria?”

  “Yes.”

  Mostyn was examining the chart recorder. “Good. That’s enough background I think. I’ll just loosen your arm band for a moment. You can talk normally now, but stay relaxed.”

  The Virgin moved in his seat, more for something to do than anything else, but there seemed to be nothing to say. He felt a little like a contestant on one of the more gruelling television quiz games, but if this was how it was going to be, he felt he would manage. Mostyn allowed him a few moments, and then pumped up the arm band again. He started on a new leaf of questions.

  “I know Mohammed Gamal Azziz?”

  “No.”

  “I know Samir Ajouda?”

  “No.”

  “I know Mohammed Sakran?”

  “No.”

  “I know Ali Mehmet Majubi?”

  “No.”

  The list was long, may be thirty different names, all Arabic. The only one that raised any response was Major Jamal Breki; he asked if that was the Major Jamal he knew and was sharply told to stick to either yes or no. They paused again to loosen the arm-band, and went on to more general questions.

  “I am working for Tabrizi Intelligence?”

  “No.”

  “I am working for Israeli Intelligence?”

  “No.”

  “I have supplied the Tabrizi Government with chemicals before the current order?”

  “No.”

  “I support the Tabrizi People’s Revolution?”

  “No.”

  “I have received money from the Tabrizi Government?”

  “No.”

  “I support the Israeli people in their struggle for survival?”

  “No.”

  “I support the Palestinian people in their struggle for survival?”

  “No.”

  “I support Palestinian independence?”

  “Yes.”

  “I knew of the death of Dr Hamed Ashrawi?”

  “No. Yes. Who was he?”

  “Let’s stop a minute there, Mostyn,” said Hobson, holding up his hand. “Mr Cartwright, it would be most helpful if you could give us just yes or no. We don’t have many more questions to go. All of these questions are most important and you have just confused the machine by your last answer.”

  “How can I give you an intelligent answer if I don’t know who he is? I know a Palestinian doctor involved with chemical weapons was assassinated last month. I was told that, anyway. But I don’t know his name or any details.”

  “Ah, yes. I see your problem. Don’t worry, we will return to that later, without the machine.”

  The Virgin stretched and Mostyn held a whispered conversation with Hobson. Then he pumped the arm-band up again. “My job with MacAllans is a front for intelligence activities?”

  “No.”

  “I have a problem with debts?”

  “No.”

  “I am being blackmailed?”

  “No.”

  “The Tabrizi Government is forcing me to work for them?”

  “No.”

  The Tabrizi Government has compromising information about me?”

  “No.”

  “I have been in Tabrizi Government custody?”

  “Yes.”

  “At the time I faxed Karelia I knew what tetra-ethylene disulphide was?”

  “No.”

  “The Tabrizi Government are paying me personally to supply tetra-ethylene disulphide?”

  “No.”

  “I expect to receive money for supplying tetra-ethylene disulphide?”

  “No.”

  Suddenly, Mostyn had reached the end of his questions and he started to untangle The Virgin from the sensors. Elena passed a tissue to wipe the slimy jel
ly from his chest. Hobson was standing over the suit-case and peering at the chart. “Hey - wait a minute, Hobson,” protested Mostyn. “Let me annotate it first and then you can have it. Or we’ll get the time sequence all wrong. Let’s get Mr Cartwright out of the way first.”

  Hobson stood back. “Miss Anthony, why don’t you take Mr Cartwright next door and watch the television for a while? Mostyn and I will translate this, and then we can have dinner. And perhaps Mr Cartwright can talk while we eat. In fact, let’s order now so that we’ll be ready to eat once we have translated this tape.”

  “Hobson, do you think Greg - Mr Cartwright and I should order from his room? Then he will have the right sort of hotel bill in his brief-case when he goes home?” Elena seemed to be prompting Hobson.

  “Oh yes. Very good idea - thank you, Miss Anthony. Mr Cartwright; what Miss Anthony is leading up to is that, when you return to Tabriz, certain people might wish to check on exactly how you spent your time in London. Now I don’t believe you were followed here, but one can never be sure. In that case, we’d better not try to conceal your smuggling of Miss Anthony into your room for an evening of illicit pleasure. In fact it makes an ideal cover story for whatever happens during your stay. To that end you should collect receipts, tickets, all those sorts of things that confirm what you are supposed to have been doing. Are you with me? So off you go next door and order dinner for two. With champagne, if you can afford it. Is that the sort of thing you do on these occasions?”

  “Er - I don’t know. I mean, I never...”

  “Come on, Greg, let’s go and order. He’s only trying to embarrass us.” Elena led him next door.

  “Do keep the door open, children,” came Hobson’s voice from behind them. “I’d like to know just what you’re getting up to.”

  “I bet he does,” muttered Elena. “Dirty old man. And he’d like to be doing it himself even more!”

  “Doing what, Elena?” The Virgin asked, innocently. He had begun to come back to life as the shock wore off.