Debut for a Spy (11 page)

“
And I'm not feeling very sociable. I hope you understand.”

Everyone did.

Kate was very quiet as we walked to the car, but after we had started driving she opened up.

“
What did you and Dwight talk about?”

“
A list of your father's they're looking for. He wondered if I had come across anything in the flat, but of course I hadn't.”

“
Did you talk about the accident?”

“
Very little.”

“
Do they know what happened?”

“
They don't seem to have much to go on. Nothing seems to have been found.” I hated to lie to Kate like this.

She sighed.
“Why do I get the impression that they're not telling me everything? Do they think I'm stupid? If a plane crashes in a normal way there's going to be something they can find. Bodies float, don't they? Are they trying to pretend that this plane is on the bottom of the Mediterranean with everyone still securely strapped in their seats? I can't believe it. And if I don't believe it, neither do they, and yet they're not talking to me – not even speculating. It really pisses me off.”

I felt I should pour oil on the troubled waters.

“What if there were a good reason not to tell you, Kate? What if it was highly classified, something that couldn't be revealed to the public? Your father worked for the U.S. government, and a very sensitive list is missing. You told me that he was involved in oil, but even you might not have known the extent of his responsibilities, and not because he didn't want to tell you, but maybe he couldn't because of the security connected to it.”

“
I know, I know,” she said, impatiently. Then she got angry. “But I'm frustrated because I can't do anything, and I can't blame anybody because I don't know what happened. I'll never see them again, and the horrible part is that I can't even bury them!”

She burst into tears, and I reached over to take her hand. I felt totally useless, and it didn't help that I knew the truth and couldn't tell her.

We continued home in silence. Kate had regained some of her composure by the time we arrived, and once in the flat I made some tea and a couple of sandwiches and insisted that she eat something, even just a few bites. She agreed reluctantly, and we sat at the old refectory table that I used in my dining room. This was the spot where we normally discussed things, and I hoped I could distract her for a while – the setting was right.

“
Did your grandparents always live in Colebrook?”

“
Yes, their parents both had farms near the town, and they met at school in Colebrook. My grandfather left school to work when he was in ninth grade, but they remained good friends and got married when they were only 18.”

“
Did your grandfather work on the farm?”

“
No, his father was killed in an accident, and they lost the farm. My grandfather got a job at a resort hotel nearby, and eventually became assistant manager before he retired.”

“
Was this resort called The Balsams?”

Now Kate was surprised.
“Yes. Do you know it?”

“
I know of it, but I've never been to it. Pretty rich for my blood. Did you spend much time in Colebrook?”

“
Quite a few of my summers, and occasional Christmases and Thanksgivings. I loved it there. When my grandfather died four years ago I spent the summer there with my grandmother on my own. It was the first time I had been there without Mom or Dad, and Gram and I got to know each other very well. That's why I have to go to her now.” She smiled in recollection. “I even had my first job that summer in Colebrook, working in a restaurant.”

“
Howard's?”

“
David, how did you know that? Are you psychic or something?”

I laughed.
“No, it's the only restaurant I know in Colebrook. I stop there for lunch every time I drive back and forth to the Maritime Provinces. They've got the greatest pies.”

“
This is incredible! I can't believe you know about Colebrook and The Balsams and Howard's, and we've never talked about it.”

Kate was actually bubbling for a few minutes, and then she realized that she had forgotten about her parents' deaths for a few moments, and I watched her face change as she returned to the present.

“I think I know what you were doing, David. You do get over it, don't you?”

“
In time, yes. You never forget, but you begin to accept, then you put it into perspective, and you go on with your life. You've already started, and I know your parents would want it.”

She reached over to take my hand.
“Thank you for that, and for last night, and for being here for me, and for caring.”

I made no comment, and we just sat quietly for several minutes. Then Kate seemed to make up her mind about something.

“David, a couple of days ago I tried to say something about us when the phone call interrupted me. I'd like to say it now.”

“
By 'us', do you mean you and me?”

She nodded.

I sighed. “Kate, I don't think this is the right time. You know how much I care for you, and you can count on me for anything, but to discuss a change in our relationship right now would be wrong. We've got to have the air clear around us for that to happen, and at this moment it's anything but clear. Let's leave things as they are for now. You don't need any more complications, and I have a bit of confusion of my own to handle, and I'm not faring very well.” I gave her a taut little smile.

“
Are you involved with someone? Damn… I'm sorry… I didn't realize. I've been making a fool of myself.”

“
No you haven't. It's something that's just happened, and you and I haven't had the opportunity to talk. But as for being involved – I'm so perplexed I don't think I can answer honestly.”

Kate was about to reply when my phone rang. She grimaced.

“Saved by the bell again. How do you do it?”

I smiled as I went to the phone, then I remembered that this was a 3-way conversation, and the smile froze as I picked up the receiver. It was the secretary of Giles Mortimer, who was BBC Radio's Head of Light Entertainment.

“Would you be able to pop in to see Mr. Mortimer sometime this afternoon? He would consider it a great favor.”

Nothing wrong with being owed a favor by Broadcasting House.

“How about right now? I could leave in a few minutes.”

“
That would work nicely, Mr. Baird. We'll see you shortly.”

I rang off and walked back to the dining room. Kate was clearing the dishes.

“You go on, David. I'll clean up, then I should pack my suitcase, and I think I'll have a nap.” She gave me a quick kiss. “We'll get to it someday – provided I cut the phone wire.”

*

Paris
,
France
–
the
same
day

He stood before the black double doors on Rue St. Laurent, package in hand. The number 7 stared back at him. Pushing the button beside the name Cantero, he waited expectantly. There was a crackle as a thin, disembodied voice spoke from a tiny speaker.

“
Who is it?”

“
I have a package for Cantero.”

“
I don't expect any package. Go away.”

“
Wait,
m'sieu
. It is from the Louvre, and I have been told to place it in your hands alone.”

That should do it, he thought. There was a hesitation, and the speaker crackled again.

“Very well. Bring it up.”

The latch opened with a click, and he walked up the two flights to the third floor. Tapping on the door of the apartment at the front of the building, he held the package up to be visible in the spy-hole. The door clicked and opened.

“Will you sign for it, please?”

He handed the phony receipt and a pen to the small man for a scrawled signature. Shoving the door hard with his shoulder, he bulldozed his way in, knocking the smaller man to the floor. The gun in his hand emerged from under the package, pointing at the prostrate figure.

“Now,
m'sieu
, we will get to know each other better. It may take us some time, but I'm in no hurry.”

The eyes glinted with anticipation.

He closed the door.

CHAPTER EIGHT

London
,
England
–
the
same
day

I decided to drive to the BBC. It wasn't far to Portland Place, and not really into city traffic. Through Regent's Park it took me 20 minutes from leaving my flat. Not bad for London.

Giles Mortimer's office was on the third floor. Cramped and cluttered, it overflowed with files, papers, audio tapes and LP's. A florid face betrayed Giles' losing battle with weight, and the trace of Yorkshire in his voice was never hidden for long, as hard as he tried. But he was a genuine soul.

“Thanks for coming by, David. You're not stuck into rehearsals for your show yet, are you?”

“
No, I still have a couple of weeks before we start, and even then it'll be mainly chorus and dancers for the first few days.”

We continued talking about my show, Curtain Call. It was a new concept, especially in the finale, when I would actually perform in front of the curtain with material which could change whenever we wished, even from one day to the next. This and the plot gave the show its title. Giles was very interested.

“It sounds like a winner. The press are already touting it as a 'must see'. Now, we've had a lot of good comments on that Playhouse show you did for us which aired last week and some decisions have been made. I would have waited to set up a meeting with you, but something spurred me on which you'll hear about in due course.”

“
Now I'm curious, Giles. What have you got up your sleeve?”

To my amazement he offered me a radio series, each program to be based on one of the great songwriters. I could hire the best bands and groups available for backing and have musical control. I'd M.C. each show, and share the singing with international stars. I was overwhelmed.

“This is a terrific idea, Giles! When are we going to start?”

“
October, most likely. Will Curtain Call be running smoothly by then?”

“
I should think so. We open the last week of August, so we should have all the bugs out by October.”

His phone buzzed. Giles picked it up, listened for a moment, then said,
“Send him in, Sybil.” He looked at me and went on. “I mentioned before that this meeting had a dual purpose, David. I've done my part, and now someone else you know will carry on.”

The door opened, and in walked Colonel Hammond.

“Good afternoon, David.” He smiled at my surprised look.

“
Is there anyone you don't know, colonel?”

“
Giles was one of us during the war. We stay in close touch. It also provides us a useful cover on occasion.”

Giles took my hand.
“We'll be talking soon, David, and I'll organize a meeting with the producer so we can do some advance planning. Cheerio!”

Hammond sat down in Giles' chair. I was a bit bewildered by the change in management and the apparent shift of topic, but Hammond went right ahead.

“I don't have much time, so listen carefully. Your information about the P1127 has us worried. We've increased security, and I've warned the project leaders to watch where they leave documents. I've alerted their personnel department to double check everyone who has been hired in the last year and to refer any new people directly to us. But I've got to have someone who knows that aircraft thoroughly from first-hand experience.

“
I hope you're game for this. On Monday I want you to report to the chief test pilot at Dunsfold. You're to be given some conversion instruction on the P1127, and I want you to study the aircraft and its technology so you know exactly what we're dealing with. Only then will you be equipped to listen and observe when you are with the Soviets.”

“
Won't it look peculiar for a civilian to be in Dunsfold doing a conversion into a top-secret prototype of a military VTOL, sir?”

“
It would, but I've covered that.” He produced a small card, sliding it over to me across the desk. It was a military “I” card with my picture on it – the same one which had been on my Canadian Army “I” card. Someone had been busy.

“
You are now Major David Baird, Royal Corps of Transport, in the Territorial Army, which is about the same as the Canadian Army's Reserve Force, or Militia, I think you call it now. You are on temporary duty, attached to the War Office, and more particularly to the Ground Support (Air) Section. You are being sent to Dunsfold to evaluate the P1127 for the army in both ground support and communications.”

I studied the card for a few moments, not sure what to say.

“Is this the real thing or a phony?”

“
It's genuine. You're really what it says you are. But when you cease your connection to us all records will completely disappear. This never happened. Now I need your signature on a couple of documents, one of which is to say you understand that you are bound by the Official Secrets Act, and then all of this becomes legal.”

He pushed the papers at me, indicated where I had to sign, and I scrawled my name like an automaton, feeling the frustration building inside me like a well about to overflow. And then I blew.

“Jesus Christ, colonel! I'm still in my diapers when it comes to flying. I can only get a slow, fixed-wing trainer with a piston engine up and down. What the hell am I going to do in a vertical take-off jet, for God's sake? I'm either going to look like a complete asshole or I'm going to kill myself, or maybe both in random order.”

The colonel waited patiently through my outburst, allowing a few seconds space before interjecting.

“I rather expected something like this. Now let me explain. You're the closest person we have to the center of this thing. You know how to fly, which, however basic your skills, puts you streets ahead of anyone else in our organization. You're involved with Ivan for the next week or so in a completely innocent situation – they won't suspect a thing where you're concerned, and yet you'll be practically sitting in the hip pocket of the very man who's trying to make off with the technology of this aircraft.

“
I've already spoken to Bill Bedford, the chief test pilot, who'll be the only one who knows the real reason you're there. Bedford won't let you loose in the kite if he thinks you're going to prang it – you'll have to prove yourself to him. You may end up just sitting in the cockpit to get the feel of it and watching others do the actual flying while you watch from the ground.

“
Remember, army pilots only fly Austers and other light aircraft, so there will be no expectation for you to have fighter or jet experience. Can you honestly say that you wouldn't enjoy getting your hands on something that is at the leading edge of the aerospace industry?”

He sat back smugly. I considered his explanations and calmed with each passing thought.

“Okay. That's a little different. I thought I was being shoved into the lion's den without a chair or whip. Of course I'll enjoy the experience, and if Bill Bedford is patient I might even get it right. What time on Monday, and how shall I dress? The only thing I kept was my old flight suit.”

“
Take that along. You should report in at 0700. Bedford is expecting you, and he'll give you a briefing before you go near the aircraft. I've taken the liberty of accessing your file in Ottawa, and we have your measurements. For Monday you'll have a battledress with the correct badges, and I've ordered a forage cap, shirt, tie and socks from Herbert Johnson's, Cole's of Knightsbridge, et cetera. I have a batman spiffing up a web belt for you, but I wasn't sure what to do about footwear. Do you still have a pair of military-style dark brown shoes?”

“
I have a pair of brown Lotus Veldtschoens which I wore in uniform. They're virtually indestructible.”

“
Splendid. I'll have a civilian messenger deliver all this to your flat over the weekend. Is there always a porter on duty?”

“
Both night and day, and he'll accept and hold anything for me until I collect it.”

“
Then that seems to take care of that. Now, one other detail. I saw House Paynter at lunch today, and he tells me you're going to Paris tomorrow by car. Is this true?”

“
God, yes, I'd almost forgotten. So much has happened in the last few days I almost feel as though I'm leading two lives, or is it three? I think I've lost track. Anyway, the answer is yes, I am driving to Paris tomorrow. It's about my car.

“
When I bought the Jag a year ago I didn't pay purchase tax. The condition was that I export it within one year, and that year is up on Saturday. I've discovered a loop-hole. If I take the car out of Britain and bring it back in, then I'm eligible for another tax exemption. House is coming along for the ride, and Kate was going to come and bring another friend from RADA, but that'll be off now. Why, sir?”

“
We have to make a pick-up in Paris, and our regular courier is down with a bad case of Asian flu. When I heard you were going to Paris I thought it might save us a lot of trouble if you could attend the rendezvous and bring the material back with you.”

There was a long hesitation. I didn't want to do anything like this, and yet I didn't want to appear timid – I'd already balked at the idea of flying the P1127. I probably decided to say yes because of that refusal.

“How do I do it?”

“
Good lad. That helps us out enormously. Near
Gare
de
l'Est
in Paris there is a sidewalk cafe. If you come out of the station you would turn immediately right, and it is on the very first corner. At 1600 tomorrow, Paris time, you must sit there sipping coffee, with a copy of the Financial Times and a Fodor's guide to France sitting on top of it. A man will sit at your table, also with coffee, and ask to see your guide. He will examine it, return it to you in a few minutes, and then you will give him a little Union Jack pin as a souvenir. That's it. Any questions?”

“
What does this man look like?”

“
The usual fellow is small and dapper, with a very thin moustache, but it is not always the same man, so I can't be precise. We've never had a bit of problem with this exchange, so you have nothing to worry about.”

“
I'll do it, sir, but it's against my better judgment.” I paused. “Do you know any more about Marijke Templaars?”

“
Not yet, but as soon as I have something I'll let you know. Have a good trip tomorrow, by the way, and let me know when you're back so I can arrange to get the guide from you. Incidentally, here is your newspaper, your guide, the pin, and a bit of information from Dunsfold which should give you some advance preparation for Monday.”

He passed me a briefcase, gave me a cheery wave and was gone. Before I could change my mind, I guessed. I looked in the briefcase to find the salmon colored Financial Times, the Fodor's guide, an envelope containing the pin, and a tied folder which contained a sheaf of pilot's notes, obviously of the test flights of the P1127. I immediately felt uncomfortable about having them, and wondered where I'd keep them safely, especially since the flat had been visited by the KGB. Under the spare tire in the boot?

I wondered if Marijke had any knowledge of this, indeed, if she worked for the KGB as well. Or was she simply what she said she was, working for the cultural attaché's office? In that instant I knew that whatever she was it didn't matter. I was in love with her, and I wanted to be with her. Impulsively, I reached for Giles' phone and looked up the number of the Soviet embassy. My hands perspired as I dialed, and when the call was answered I could hardly keep the tremor from my voice as I asked for her. When she came on her voice was soft on the line.

“
Marijke Templaars.”

“
Hello, Marijke. How are you?”

“
Oh, David, what a nice surprise. I am very fine, I think. How are you?”

We chatted about things in general, ever mindful that the call was probably monitored, but I reasoned that, if what she had told me was true, they would think that she was simply leading me on, and they would approve. I told her about my BBC offer, and she was very excited at the news. I mentioned that I was driving a friend to the airport, but that I would be free from 8:30pm, and that perhaps we could see each other later in the evening.

“Not this evening, David. It would not be convenient for me.”

There was a strain in her voice when she said this, and I didn't like the word 'convenient'. After an awkward silence, she spoke, rather hesitantly.

“Tomorrow is my free day. I do not work at all. Is it possible that we can be together sometime tomorrow?”

I explained about the car and Paris, and that I wouldn't be back until later on Saturday. I almost felt a door closing between us. In an instant she changed all that.

“Is it possible that I come with you tomorrow?”

“
To Paris? With me? In the car? Really?”

“
Yes, of course,” she laughed, “I would like that very much.”

“
I must pick you up very early, around 4:00am. I want to be on the 6 o'clock crossing from Dover. Is that all right?”