Agent Running in the Field

by John le Carré

When the bill comes she takes possession of it, calculates her half to the last penny, adds ten per cent for service and pays me in cash from her handbag. I tell her in simulated outrage that I have never before encountered such barefaced integrity, and she nearly falls off her chair for laughter.

High quality wit in courtship :)

‘Well, who wouldn’t have, for Christ’s sake?’ I reply, stung by the suggestion that I’ve somehow failed to notice that the country’s in free fall. ‘A minority Tory cabinet of tenth-raters. A pig-ignorant foreign secretary who I’m supposed to be serving. Labour no better. The sheer bloody lunacy of Brexit’ – I break off. I have feelings too. Let my indignant silence say the rest.

Horrors: now pig-ignorant PM :/

I dial the Hampstead number, get the machine and say I am Peter from Customer Security and we have reason to believe her account has been hacked, so for her own protection please to call this number soonest. I drink a lot of whisky and try to sleep.

Heh, decent chance of a false positive with this signal, no? ;)

It seemed to happen overnight. Suddenly he was playing a faster, freer, happier game, and the age gap between us was yawning at me.

But he had notes that Ed would play brilliantly then suddenly play absent-mindedly, like someone trying to throw a match ;)

they pointed out in a footnote that all three ‘districts under advisement’ were linked by the same bicycle route, which ran from Hoxton to Central London. For convenience they attached a large-scale map with the cycle route painted pink. I have it before me as I write.

Right. Ed’s a cyclist?

The great freedom-loving President Donald Trump is going to save your economic arses, I hear. You know what Trump is?’ ‘Tell me.’ ‘He’s Putin’s shithouse cleaner. He does everything for little Vladi that little Vladi can’t do for himself: pisses on European unity, pisses on human rights, pisses on NATO. Assures us that Crimea and Ukraine belong to the Holy Russian Empire, the Middle East belongs to the Jews and the Saudis, and to hell with the world order.

You take our black money and wash it for us. You welcome us if we’re big enough crooks. You sell us half London. You wring your hands when we poison our traitors and you say please, please, dear Russian friends, trade with us. Is this what I risked my life for? I don’t believe so. I believe you Brits sold me a cartload of hypocritical

tell her that success is not a shame, it is an absolution, it is the proof of God’s love. But she has no God. Neither have I.’

‘Ever take Shannon home at all, Nat?’ Joe enquires casually. ‘Why on earth should I?’ ‘Why shouldn’t you? Didn’t you want to introduce him to your wife? A nice radical lady like her, I’d have thought he was just up her street.’ ‘My wife is a busy lawyer of some distinction and she hasn’t the time or interest to be introduced to everyone I play badminton with,’ I retort hotly. ‘She’s not radical in your terms, and she plays no part in this story, so once again: kindly leave her alone.’

He did want to bring Ed over, though, and she said not to. She is in on this?

I ask after the family. The girls are achieving marvellously, he confirms, Annie at the Courtauld, Eliza at the London Philharmonic – yes, cello indeed, how good of me to remember – squads of grandchildren born or expected. All utterly delightful, squeeze of the eyes.

Eliza?!

You told Bryn no, I trust.’ ‘I told him I’d do it.’ ‘Because?’ ‘I think Ed pressed the wrong bell.’

Wait, he thinks he’s leaking to the Germans?

Operationally, about as sweet an exfiltration as you could wish for. I’d done a few in my time, just never from my own country.

Heehee

I had wanted to tell him I was a decent man, but it was too late.

That’s it? What happens to Prue and Nat? They sail off too, or just go to prison?