Debut for a Spy (20 page)

“Who are you? Why are you here?”

“
My name doesn't matter.” There was a trace of cockney inflection. “I'm here to keep an appointment with Mr. David Baird.”

“
I don't know you. We haven't any appointment. What the hell are you playing at?”

“
I hope you 'aven't forgotten your meeting with a lady last Tuesday in the Charing Cross underground station. Her name was Daphne Boggs, or Jackie London, if you prefer.”

Marijke gasped. I looked at her, but she shook her head. I responded to the man.

“I haven't forgotten. It was a terrible accident. I didn't want anything like that to happen. I chased her when I caught her stealing my wallet. Who are you, anyway?”

“
Daphne was my old lady. You killed her, mate, no matter 'ow it 'appened. Now you're gonna pay for it.”

“
Then this is between you and me. Let my friend go. It's got nothing to do with her.”

“
Not a chance. She's 'ad a good look at me. Besides, she's a large part of your punishment, me old lad.”

He gave me a crooked grin. It sent a chill to my soul.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Bracklesham
Bay
,
England
–
seconds
later

“How can you do this?” I fumed. “I didn't try to hurt Daphne. She came after me to steal my wallet, for Christ's sake.”

“
I don't give a shit one way or the other. You caused it to 'appen. When I set out today I wasn't sure 'ow I was going to 'andle it, then when I saw you on the cliff by the ocean I knew exactly what to do. Comin' 'ere gave me the chaunce I needed.”

“
You watched us?”

“
Yeah, through binoculars. Fucks like a mink, don't she?”

“
You've been watching us all day, you snooping bastard. How did you get in here?”

“
Easy. Locks are my stock an' trade.” I stared at him, looking for a way to resolve this without anyone getting hurt. He was quite tall and heavy set, but I thought I could handle him. The gun changed the odds considerably. I hadn't counted on Marijke's intervention.

“
I think there are things you must know. You interfere with something very serious, and it will be very bad for you.”

“
You're trying to bluff me, lady, but it won't work. Shut up, or I'll cut you apart right now.”

“
You make a big mistake, Mr. Styles.”

“
What?” He recoiled, shaken. “'Ow do you know my naime?”

“
Roger Styles, I think. Jackie called you 'Rog', didn't she?”

“
What the bleedin' 'ell's goin' on?”

“
I heard all about you from Jackie. Mr. Styles. I think there are things about her you don't know. I work for the Soviet government in London. Do you know what is the KGB?”

“
Yeah, I know about them – spies an' all.”

“
Then perhaps you will be interested to hear that your Jackie was working for the KGB, and that she is a spy?”

“
Not on your bleedin' life!”

“
Oh yes, this is true, and I show you. I open this door over here.” She indicated one at the back. “You permit me?”

“
Go ahead. One wrong move and I kill Baird where he stands.”

“
I don't try anything, Mr. Styles.”

Marijke took the ring of keys out, selected one, and unlocked the door. Throwing several switches, she turned lights on, revealing a box room about ten feet square. It seemed to be full of equipment. She hesitated in the doorway.

“I must get something from a file cabinet, Mr. Styles. You can watch me from there.”

She stepped in, Styles watching with a growing bewilderment. A couple of minutes elapsed until she reappeared with papers.
“This is agreement which Jackie signs for working with us, Mr. Styles, and a copy of background information we have about her. You live at Richmond Green, I think. There is also a photograph of Jackie. Please, you look.”

She handed him the papers. He was completely distracted, and I was about to make an attempt at him, but Marijke caught my eye and warned me off. Styles threw the papers on the floor.

“I didn't know about this. I'm 'aving a hard time believing it. What would Jackie do this for?”

“
Money, Mr. Styles. And there is far worse I can show you about Jackie. Things that will disgust you.”

“
Fuck off! Why should this make any difference, anyway? You're both gonna pay for wot ‘appened.”

He produced a pair of handcuffs. Marijke intervened again.

“There is something you had better know, Mr. Styles. Please look in that room. Look at the equipment in there, and see if it is turned on.”

“
What the 'ell for?”

“
Do it, Mr. Styles. Your life depends on it.”

He walked over, looked in for a moment, still keeping us covered with the gun.

“What the fuck is all this, then?”

“
The mirror on the wall is one-way glass, Mr. Styles. The cameras in there see everything in this room. You look inside now. What do you see?”

He jumped back as though struck.

“Bleedin' ‘ell! 'Ow's my face on that telly?”

“
The camera, Mr. Styles. It sends everything that happens here back to London. Even now agents of the KGB are coming. You are a marked man, Mr. Styles. If something happens to us, they hunt you down, they torture you, then they kill you, with much pain.”

“
I don't believe you,” he muttered unconvincingly.

“Then you make the biggest mistake of your life. You have one chance. Leave, and I tell them don't harm you. They watch you, and if you talk about this house or what you see today they come after you. You have not much time. We have agents close to here they contact by radio. You only get away if you go now.”

He weighed up the situation, becoming more agitated.

“Looks like you're in deep shit, old son,” I goaded.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, running for the door, then down to the gate, which was open, and disappearing. We heard a car start, then burn rubber as it tore away.

I let out a long breath as Marijke turned off switches and lights, then closed and locked everything.

“Let us go out of here, David.”

We went out the front way, locking the door and then the gate. We followed a path alongside the property which led to the water. We hadn't said much as we walked, but the fresh air and the waves seemed to change the atmosphere from the evil I felt in the house and our meeting with Roger Styles. I put my arm around Marijke as we scrunched on the pebbled beach.

“I don't think he bothers you again, David. He is afraid.”

“What about all the things you told him? The video link back to London, for instance. Is any of that true?”

“No, is not true. I switch on the equipment when I open the door. There is no possibility to have pictures sent to London. It would be necessary to use commercial equipment and lines for transmission, and it becomes not secure.”

“You bluffed him.”

“I play it by ear, yes?” she laughed.

“Benny Goodman couldn't have done better,” I chuckled. “But what about Daphne, or Jackie London, or whatever she called herself? That had to be true.”

“Yes, that much is true. She works as an agent, and she is used for sex traps.”

“Did you really have more to show him if he'd wanted proof?”

“Yes – photographs from the playroom – terrible pictures.”

“Did you know her well? What was she like?”

“I don't really get to know her. I must… well, work with her once, and I organize some things for her. She is person who looks after herself before anyone. She is very hard.”

“I didn't mean her to get hurt. It happened before I met you, and I said nothing because I was unaware you knew her.”

“And we don't hear who causes this at the tube station. I think this is a good thing, otherwise they suspect about you.”

She put her arm about my waist, her head on my shoulder. I kissed the top of her head, then we stopped and kissed properly for a few minutes. Slowly we started back toward the house.

Something caught my eye. Protruding from the roof of the house at the rear, there was a peculiar antenna array – a parabolic dish with an extended grid narrowing to a point about a yard from the dish.

“What's that antenna for, Marijke?”

“I don't know. They have some special radio communications equipment, but they don't tell me what it is for.”

I filed it in my memory and we continued walking. I knew I couldn't simply ignore what Marijke had deduced, but I hoped she would believe my explanation.

“I really am a singer and musician, Marijke. I spent some time in the army as a musician, like House and Archie Mowatt. Because of my background I was asked to help out the British intelligence people, but just for a short time and just for a specific reason. Reluctantly, I agreed. That business in Paris was really how I explained it, but I left out the part about the KGB. I was just doing someone a favor, and then I killed that man. I don't feel very good about it regardless of what he was.”

“He is a swine, David, and he deserves to die. Someday I tell you why I want to kill him myself if I can do it. But he is a Soviet agent, and I must tolerate him and co-operate with him when they give an order. I'm glad he is dead.” Her eyes spilled hatred.

I took it all in, but some things didn't add up.

“I still don't understand why you brought me here.”

“I want to tell you I know about Paris, but I think that if I tell you in London, you will be afraid I tell Nalishkin about you. I want to give you something so you know you can trust me. You know about this house, you know about an operation coming soon. Perhaps this will help your people. You must not say how you hear about this. There is a Soviet agent inside MI6, and if they find out I pass information, then I am tortured and killed. My life is in your hands, David. This is what I want. I am KGB, but I love you, and I want that you believe me more than anything else.”

I had to ask the next question, but I felt that in so doing I was becoming more and more like 'them'.

“Can you tell me who the Soviet mole is inside MI6?”

“No. I know nothing except his code name.”

“What is that?”

A pause.

“You will tell them?”

“Yes, but not the source. I won't compromise you. Not ever.”

“He is called 'Amethyst', and that is all I know.”

“You've taken a terrible risk in bringing me here. What if someone should find out? Is there any chance that some of the equipment there could record or transmit without your knowledge?”

“No, we are safe. There is no danger – not from the KGB.”

“Then let's get out of here before we stretch our luck.”

*

Five minutes later we headed away from Bracklesham Bay and the most bizarre house I had ever been in.

We drove aimlessly and without speaking for some time. Marijke seemed depressed.
“David, I am sorry I tell you all this. I am afraid it changes your feeling for me. This is true, yes?”

“No, that's not true. Nothing can change my feeling for you. I'm just having a hard time with the ruthlessness of governments trying to discredit each other, and the degradation they sink to just so they can find out what the other guy is up to.”

We were entering Chiddingfold, and the large green centering this secluded village of old houses seemed just right for a stop, especially when I spotted a pub called the Crown Inn.

“What we are doing, David?”

“We need something to help us get into a better mood, and this looks like the right place to find it. Come on.”

It was a delightful place, parts of it 14th century, said the publican, and we found a corner that seemed just right. Marijke had a sherry and I settled for a large Drambuie. There were a number of regulars there, yet we felt quite private in our niche by the window.

“I want to tell you about me, David, but it is impossible. Other people are involved, and I can say nothing.”

“It doesn't matter. I don't think I should know, anyway. I don't even want to know about what you do in the KGB. As far as I am concerned, you work for the cultural attaché. That's enough for me. If I don't know anything, then I can't hurt you. I wouldn't say anything intentionally, but there is always the chance that something might slip, and that could be disastrous. So,” I raised my glass, “here's to culture. It brought us together.”

We drank, and Marijke smiled warmly.

“I want to be with you tonight. Is it possible, David?”

“I have a complication tomorrow. I have an appointment at 7:00am which I must keep. By coincidence it's quite near here. But what time do you have to be at work?”

“Not until noon. Is there a place we can stay so I get a train to London in the morning? This way you don't drive me back, and you are closer for your appointment.”

“You wouldn't mind?”

“To be with you? You are crazy! Of course I don't mind.”

I asked the publican where he could recommend, and 'The An
gel' in Guildford seemed to fit the bill. There was a regular service to London by train, and I was only minutes to Dunsfold. We elected to go straight there, as I had telephoned from Chiddingfold and they were holding a room for us.

It only took 15 minutes through Godalming, and the hotel was right on the High Street. There was no parking area at the hotel, but I found a space on the street very near the door.

The Angel was a surprise. Another 14th century inn, besides the beams it had open fireplaces and a gallery. The menu looked good, too, so we decided to clean up and have dinner in the hotel.

We had been given a very large room with a private bath, and it felt as though we had
been transported back in time, it was so elegant and tasteful. Marijke decided to lie down for a few minutes while I had a bath, and soon I was soaking in an immense tub. I must have dozed off, for I heard the door creak and opened my eyes to find Marijke there, naked.