A Spy by Nature (2001)

by Charles Cumming

  ‘What do you guys think? You reckon our President will be re-elected in November?’

  Katharine looked at Saul rather than me as she asked this, but it is the Hobbit who answers:

  ‘I think he’ll be re-elected, if only because Dole is too old.’

  ‘Mind what you’re saying there, son,’ Douglas says to him, his voice low and sly. ‘Old Dole’s only got a few years on me.’

  ‘I didn’t mean…’

  ‘No apology necessary.’

  ‘So do the Brits like him, then?’

  This comes from Audrey. She must have used up a can of hairspray tonight: her beehive hasn’t budged an inch in the wind.

  ‘I think he has the most impressive grasp of insincerity that I’ve ever seen,’ I tell her, though that isn’t the first time that I’ve used that phrase. It just sounds good coming out now. ‘I think the British people like him. We tend to admire your politicians more than our own. But it’s a hypocritical approval. We wouldn’t want any of them running our country.’

  ‘Why in hell not?’ Fortner asks, and for a moment I am concerned that I may have annoyed him. Saul drops his half-finished cigarette on the ground and steps on the butt. He may be bored.

  ‘Your political system is seen as being more corrupt than ours,’ I reply. ‘Unfairly, I think.’

  ‘Too right unfairly,’ he says. ‘What about Matrix-Churchill? What about Westland? What about arms to Iraq?’

  The way he says ‘Iraq’ it rhymes with ‘I smack’.

  ‘The Scott Inquiry will clear everyone,’ Saul announces solemnly. ‘The old boy network will see to that.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ says Douglas wistfully. ‘The old boy network.’

  ‘You wish you were a part of that, Doug?’ Fortner says, nudging him. ‘An old Etonian? An Oxford man?’

  ‘Princeton’ll do me fine.’

  ‘So how long have you been with Abnex?’ Katharine asks, changing the subject.

  ‘About nine months.’

  ‘You enjoying it?’

  ‘Yes and no. I’ve had to learn a lot in a short space of time. It’s been a real eye-opener.’

  ‘An eye-opener,’ she says, as if she has enjoyed this expression. ‘So your background was in…?’

  ‘Russian and business studies.’

  ‘You just out of college?’

  ‘No. I worked in marketing for a bit.’

  ‘Right.’

  Saul asks:

  ‘How long have you and your husband been living here?’

  ‘Oh a long time now. Four years.’

  The Hobbit has cleverly started up a separate conversation with Bishop and Audrey, one that I cannot hear.

  ‘And you enjoy it?’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ Fortner says, and the heavy, interjectory way that he comes forward, answering the question on Katharine’s behalf, seems to reveal something about the dynamic of their relationship. ‘We love it here. Spending time with the allies. What do you do for a living, Saul?’

  ‘I’m in advertising. Commercials. I’m an assistant director.’

  ‘And, what? That will lead into television, into movies?’

  ‘Something like that,’ he replies. ‘I’m working on a script at the moment, trying to get some development money.’

  ‘What’s it about?’ Katharine asks.

  ‘It’s a kind of spoof thriller. A comedy about a serial killer.’

  ‘No shit,’ Fortner says, laughing. ‘A comedy about a serial killer?’ He clearly thinks the idea is ludicrous. ‘I gotta say I prefer different kinds of movies myself. Old Bogarts and Cagneys. Westerns mainly.’

  ‘Really?’ Saul replies enthusiastically. He is, albeit unwittingly, playing his role to perfection. ‘You like westerns? Because the National Film Theatre is doing a John Wayne season at the moment.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Fortner looks genuinely interested. ‘I didn’t know that. I’d love to catch one or two. The Searchers, Liberty Valance…’

  ‘Me too.’ I sensed immediately that I can use this as a way of establishing a bond between us. ‘I love westerns. I think John Wayne is great.’

  ‘You do?’ Saul asks, screwing his face up in surprise.

  I have to be careful that he doesn’t undermine me.

  ‘Yeah. It’s a little fetish of mine. I used to watch them with Dad when I was growing up. Henry Fonda. Jimmy Stewart. But especially John Wayne.’

  Katharine clears her throat.

  ‘So you like him too, Saul?’ she asks, as if it were a test of character.

  ‘Not as much as Clint,’ he replies. ‘But Wayne’s great. One of the best.’

  ‘The best,’ says Fortner with emphasis. ‘Eastwood’s just a pretty boy.’

  ‘Maybe it’s a generational thing, honey,’ Katharine suggests. ‘Sorry, guys. My husband has a weakness for draft dodgers.’

  I don’t know what she’s referring to and Fortner says:

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘John Wayne didn’t fight in World War Two,’ Saul informs him. ‘He did everything he could to avoid conscription.’

  ‘Right,’ says Katharine triumphantly.

  ‘So what?’ Fortner replies. Although his tone is aggressive, he may be enjoying the argument. ‘Wayne did more for the war effort as an actor than he ever coulda done getting shot at on Omaha Beach. He was a patriot, an anti-Communist…’

  ‘… Who hated riding horses, hated wearing his cowboy outfits, and actively encouraged American participation in the Vietnam War,’ Katharine says, interrupting him in full flow. She has a brazen, mischievous intelligence, a self-confidence not dissimilar to Kate’s.

  ‘But he made some great films,’ Saul says, perhaps as a way of defusing what he thinks is tension.

  And then the idea comes to me. As simple as it is shrewd. A way of guaranteeing a second encounter.

  ‘I have an idea,’ I suggest. ‘We should solve this by going to see one of these films at the NFT. I was going anyway. Why don’t you join me?’

  And without any hesitation, Fortner says:

  ‘Great,’ shrugging his shoulders. ‘You wanna go too, Saul?’

  ‘Sure,’ he replies.

  Katharine looks less enthused, a reaction which may be more instinctive than premeditated.

  ‘Count me out,’ she says. ‘I can’t stand westerns. You fellas go right ahead and I’ll stay home with Tom Hanks.’

  The Hobbit, Bishop and Audrey have by now been pulled away into a larger group of six or seven people, two of whom are employees of Abnex. And, across the garden, David Caccia is coming down a short flight of stone steps, joining the party late. He catches my eye, but when he sees that I am with the Americans a mild look of concern passes across his face. In his right hand he is balancing a little pastry parcel oozing feta cheese.

  ‘Is that David Caccia?’ Fortner asks. ‘That guy looking at ya?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘He and I had a couple of meetings back in the New Year. Tough negotiator. We were discussing the joint venture. You know about that?’

  ‘A little. Fell through, I hear.’

  ‘That’s right,’ he replies, breathing out with heavy exasperation. ‘Not a smart move if you ask me.’

  ‘I have to say - off the record - agree with you.’

  My voice is quiet here, collaborative.

  ‘You do?’ Katharine asks. She seems surprised by my candour. This may be a good time to leave.

  ‘Look, I have to have a word with him about something. Will you excuse us?’

  Saul takes an instinctive step backwards and Fortner says:

  ‘Sure, no problem. It sure was nice to meet you fellas.’

  He takes my hand and the shake is firmer than it was before. But I am worried that the plan to visit the NFT will be forgotten as a casual passing remark: I cannot mention it again at the risk of appearing pushy. The invitation will have to come from them.

  Fortner now turns to Saul and Katharine takes me to one
side.

  ‘Do you have a card?’ she asks, holding a slim piece of embossed white plastic in her hand. ‘So Fort can get in touch about the movie.’

  Luck is on my side.

  ‘Of course.’

  We exchange cards. Katharine studies mine carefully.

  ‘Milius, huh? Like the name.’

  ‘Me too,’ says Fortner, breaking in from behind and slapping me hard on the back. ‘So we’re set for John Wayne? Leave the womenfolk at home?’

  Katharine adopts an expression of good-humoured exasperation.

  ‘Looking forward to it,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll give you a call.’ An hour later the Hobbit weaves towards me carrying a glass of sparkling mineral water. Saul is inside the club, talking to the waitress.

  ‘Hi, Matt.’

  He looks slightly sheepish.

  ‘How did you get on?’

  ‘Very well. I think we’re going to see each other again. I just bumped into them as they were leaving and we chatted for another ten minutes.’

  ‘Good,’ he says, picking a piece of lemon out of his drink and dropping it on to the ground.

  ‘Manners, Matthew.’

  ‘Nobody saw,’ he says, looking quickly left and right. ‘Nobody saw.’

  13

  The Searchers

  ‘So how did it go?’

  Hawkes is leaning back in a moulded plastic chair on the second floor of the Abnex building. The blinds are drawn in the small grey conference room, the door closed. His feet are up on the table, hands clasped behind his neck.

  ‘Fine. Really well.’

  He arches his eyebrows, pressing me.

  ‘And? Anything else? What happened?’

  I lean forward, putting my arms on the table.

  ‘I met Saul at seven for a drink in the bar. You know, where they have all those bookstalls under Waterloo Bridge.’

  Hawkes nods. The soles of his shoes are scuffed to the colour of slate.

  ‘Fortner was on time. Seven fifteen. We had another round of drinks, bought our tickets and went in.’

  ‘Who paid?’

  ‘For the drinks or the tickets?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Everybody went Dutch. Don’t worry. There was no largesse.’

  Somebody walks past outside at a fast clip.

  ‘Go on,’ he says.

  As it always is when we are talking business, Hawkes’s manner is abrupt to the point of being rude. Increasingly he has become a withdrawn figure, an enigma at the back of the room.

  ‘Saul sat between us. There was no planning to it. It just worked out that way. We saw The Searchers and afterwards I told him we had to go to a party. Which we did.’

  ‘Did you invite him along?’

  ‘I thought that would be pushing things.’

  ‘Yes,’ he says after a moment’s contemplation. ‘But in your view Grice wasn’t offended by that?’

  I light a cigarette.

  ‘Not at all. Look, I’ve obviously been thinking about what I was going to tell you this afternoon. And it’s a measure of how well things went that I feel as if I have nothing of any significance to reveal. It was all very straightforward, very normal. It went exceptionally well. Fortner has a youthful side to his personality, like someone much younger. Just as you said he did. He fitted in, and if I’d invited him to the party, he would have fitted in there, too. He was making an effort, of course, but he’s one of those middle-aged men who are hanging on to something youthful in their nature.’

  Hawkes folds his arms.

  ‘So it wasn’t at all awkward,’ I tell him. ‘When we were having the drink beforehand, we talked like we were old friends. It was a boys’ night out.’

  ‘And how do you want to play it now?’

  ‘My instinct is that they’ll call.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘Because he likes me. Isn’t that what you wanted?’

  No reaction. Hawkes is assessing whether or not I have read the situation correctly.

  I continue:

  ‘He left saying that Katharine wanted to have dinner sometime. He also wants to introduce Saul to a friend of his in advertising who used to be an actor. He’s interested, believe me.’

  ‘But in Saul or in you?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘That’s what I’m asking,’ he says, not impatiently.

  ‘Look. Saul has a lot of friends. Far more than I do. He likes Fortner, they laugh at each other’s jokes. But there’s no connection between them. Saul will fall by the wayside and resume his day-to-day life without even realizing he has brought the Americans to me. And then it’ll just be the three of us.’

  14

  The Call

  Exactly two weeks later, at around three o’clock in the afternoon, JT walks over to my desk and presses a single sheet of Abnex-headed paper into my hand.

  ‘You seen this?’ he says.

  ‘What is it?’

  I save the file on my computer and turn to him.

  ‘New staff memo. Unbelievable.’

  I begin to read.

  While Abnex Oil fully respects the privacy of employees’ personal affairs it expects them to discharge fully their obligations of service to the company. It also requires them to be law-abiding, both inside and outside working hours. Remember that any indiscreet and/or anti-social behaviour could not only affect an employee’s performance and position, but also reflect badly on Abnex Oil.

  ‘Jesus,’ I mutter.

  ‘Too right, Jesus. Fucking nanny state.’

  ‘Next they’ll be telling us what to eat.’

  Cohen’s desk faces mine: we work staring into one another’s eyes. He looks up from his computer terminal and says:

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘New memo. Just came up from personnel,’ JT tells him. ‘Call it up on your e-mail. They’ve labelled it urgent. Some big-brother piece of shit instructing employees on how to conduct their private lives. Fucking disgrace.’

  ‘Did you manage to get those figures I asked you for at lunch?’ Cohen asks him, ignoring the complaint entirely. He will not tolerate any hint of dissent on the team.

  ‘No. I can’t seem to get hold of the guy in Ankara.’

  ‘Well will you keep trying, please? They’ll be closing up and going home now.’

  ‘Sure.’

  JT, suitably rebuked and sheepish, slopes back to his desk and picks up the phone. He leaves the memo beside my computer and I slide it into a drawer.

  All seven members of the team, including Murray and Cohen, share a secretary. Tanya is an anglophone Canadian from Montreal with strong views on Quebec separatism and a boyfriend called Dan. She is big-boned, thick-set and straightforward, and has been with the company since it started. Tanya wears a lot of make-up and piles her hair up high in a thick ebony bunch which she never lets down.

  ‘Only Dan gets to see my hair,’ she says.

  No one has ever met Dan.

  At half past three the telephone rings on my desk.

  ‘Who is it, Tanya?’ I call out.

  ‘Someone from Andromeda.’

  I think that it may be the Hobbit, but then she says:

  ‘Name’s Katharine Lanchester. You want me to take a message?’

  Cohen looks up, just a half-glance, registering the name.

  ‘No. I’ll take it.’

  I was a day away, no more, from calling them myself.

  From his desk near by, Ben mutters: ‘Play hard to get, Alec. Birds love that.’

  ‘I’m putting her through.’

  ‘OK.’

  Adrenalin now, my hand in my hair, pushing it out of my face.

  ‘Alec Milius.’

  ‘Hello, Alec? It’s Katharine Lanchester at Andromeda. Fortner’s wife.’

  ‘Oh, hello. What can I do for you?’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. It’s good to hear from you.’

  ‘Well, Fort so enjoyed going to the movies
with you. Said he had a great time.’

  Her voice is quick and enthused.

  ‘Yes. You missed a good film.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t stand westerns. Guys in leather standing in the middle of the street twirling six-shooters and seeing who blinks first. I prefer something more contemporary.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Still, I had a nice dinner with Fortner afterwards and he told me all about it. Matter of fact, that’s why I was calling. I was wondering if you and maybe Saul would like to have dinner sometime?’

  ‘Sure, I -‘

  ‘I mean I don’t know if you’re free, but…’

  ‘No, no, not at all, I’d like that very much. I’ll ask him and I’m sure he’d like to.’

  ‘Good. Shall we set a date?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘When are you not taken up?’

  ‘Uh, anytime next week except - just let me check my diary.’

  I know that I’m free every night. I just don’t want it to appear that way.

  ‘How about Wednesday?’

  ‘Terrific. Wednesday it is. So long as Saul can make it.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be able to.’

  Cohen’s eyes are fixed on the far wall. He is listening in.

  ‘How is Fortner?’

  ‘Oh, he’s good. He’s in Washington right now. I’m just hoping that he’ll be back in time. He’s got a lot of work to get through out there.’

  ‘So where shall we meet?’

  ‘Why don’t we just say the In and Out again? Just at the gate there, eight o’clock?’

  She had that planned.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘See you there, then.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  I hang up and there is a rush of blood in my head.

  ‘What was all that?’ Cohen asks, chewing the end of a pencil.

  ‘Personal call.’

  15

  Tiramisu

  The only spy who can provide a decent case for ideology is George Blake. Young, idealistic, impressionable, he was posted by SIS to Korea and kidnapped by the Communists shortly after the 1950 invasion. Given Das Kapital to read in his prison cell, Blake became a disciple of Marxism, and the KGB turned him after he offered to betray SIS. ‘I’d come to the conclusion that I was no longer fighting on the right side,’ he later explained.