would now give me the details I needed. I could hear the newspaper being unfolded. She was probably checking which of her horses were running tomorrow. I tried to keep my breathing under control. I felt angry and helpless, my two least favourite emotions.
Lynn was unloading the bag and handing me the items. My cover documentation, driver’s licence, passport and even an advert for books from a local paper, showed that, as from now, I lived in Derbyshire. There were three credit cards. These would have been serviced every month, and used so that I ended up with a normal bill like everyone else. The family who covered for me made sure of that; years ago we used to keep all this stuff with us all the time, but there were too many fuck-ups, with people getting corrupt and using the credit cards to pay for new cars and silk underwear for their mistresses. An audit a few years earlier had unearthed two K operators who had never even existed, and somebody somewhere was drawing off the money.
Lynn said, ‘There’s the photography kit to Mac anything down to us.’
I had a quick look inside. From the way that Lynn said it, I knew he’d just got the briefing on this kit, and it sounded all exciting and sexy. I nodded. ‘Great, thanks.’
‘Here are your flight details and here are your tickets.’ As he got them out of the bag he checked the details and said, ‘Oh, so you’re Nick Snell now?’
‘Yep, that’s me.’ It had been for quite a while now, ever since I became operational again after… well, after what I’d thought I’d got away with.
Then he produced two flash cards from envelopes and handed them to me. ‘Your codes. Do you want to check them?’
‘Of course.’ He passed the bag to me. I took out the Psion 3C personal organizer and turned it on. I’d been trying to get the new 5 Series out of the service, but unless the funds were for building squash courts, it was like trying to get blood from a stone. All the Ks would have to put up with the 3Cs they’d bought two years ago – and the thing I had was one of the early ones, which didn’t even have the backlit display. Their attitude to kit was the same as that of a thrifty mother who buys you a school uniform several sizes too big, only in reverse.
I put the cards into both of the ports. It would be no good getting on the ground and finding that these things didn’t work. I opened up each one in turn and checked the screen. One just had a series of five number sequences; I closed that down and took it out. The other had rows of words with groups of numbers next to each word. All was in order.
‘The contact number is…’ Lynn started to reel off a London number. The Psion held the names and addresses of everyone from the bank manager to the local pizza shop, as you would have as part of your cover. I hit the data icon, and tapped the telephone number straight in, adding, as I always did, the address ‘Kay’s sweet shop’. I could sense Elizabeth’s eyes burning into the back of my head and I turned round. She was looking disapprovingly at me over the top of her paper, clearly put out that I was entering her contact number in the 3C. But there was no way I’d remember it that quickly; I’d need to go away and look at it, and once I had it in my head I’d wipe it off. I’d never been clever enough to remember strings of telephone numbers or map co-ordinates as they were given to me.
Lynn carried on with the details. ‘Once in DC, make contact with Michael Warner.’ He gave me a contact number, which I also tapped in. ‘He’s a good man, used to work in communications, but had a car accident and needed to have steel plates in his head.’
I closed down the Psion. ‘What’s he do now?’
Elizabeth had finished with the racing section and turned to the share prices. The driver still hadn’t turned a page. Either he was learning the recipe of the day by heart or he’d gone into a trance.
Lynn said, ‘He’s Sarah’s PA. He’ll
Lynn was unloading the bag and handing me the items. My cover documentation, driver’s licence, passport and even an advert for books from a local paper, showed that, as from now, I lived in Derbyshire. There were three credit cards. These would have been serviced every month, and used so that I ended up with a normal bill like everyone else. The family who covered for me made sure of that; years ago we used to keep all this stuff with us all the time, but there were too many fuck-ups, with people getting corrupt and using the credit cards to pay for new cars and silk underwear for their mistresses. An audit a few years earlier had unearthed two K operators who had never even existed, and somebody somewhere was drawing off the money.
Lynn said, ‘There’s the photography kit to Mac anything down to us.’
I had a quick look inside. From the way that Lynn said it, I knew he’d just got the briefing on this kit, and it sounded all exciting and sexy. I nodded. ‘Great, thanks.’
‘Here are your flight details and here are your tickets.’ As he got them out of the bag he checked the details and said, ‘Oh, so you’re Nick Snell now?’
‘Yep, that’s me.’ It had been for quite a while now, ever since I became operational again after… well, after what I’d thought I’d got away with.
Then he produced two flash cards from envelopes and handed them to me. ‘Your codes. Do you want to check them?’
‘Of course.’ He passed the bag to me. I took out the Psion 3C personal organizer and turned it on. I’d been trying to get the new 5 Series out of the service, but unless the funds were for building squash courts, it was like trying to get blood from a stone. All the Ks would have to put up with the 3Cs they’d bought two years ago – and the thing I had was one of the early ones, which didn’t even have the backlit display. Their attitude to kit was the same as that of a thrifty mother who buys you a school uniform several sizes too big, only in reverse.
I put the cards into both of the ports. It would be no good getting on the ground and finding that these things didn’t work. I opened up each one in turn and checked the screen. One just had a series of five number sequences; I closed that down and took it out. The other had rows of words with groups of numbers next to each word. All was in order.
‘The contact number is…’ Lynn started to reel off a London number. The Psion held the names and addresses of everyone from the bank manager to the local pizza shop, as you would have as part of your cover. I hit the data icon, and tapped the telephone number straight in, adding, as I always did, the address ‘Kay’s sweet shop’. I could sense Elizabeth’s eyes burning into the back of my head and I turned round. She was looking disapprovingly at me over the top of her paper, clearly put out that I was entering her contact number in the 3C. But there was no way I’d remember it that quickly; I’d need to go away and look at it, and once I had it in my head I’d wipe it off. I’d never been clever enough to remember strings of telephone numbers or map co-ordinates as they were given to me.
Lynn carried on with the details. ‘Once in DC, make contact with Michael Warner.’ He gave me a contact number, which I also tapped in. ‘He’s a good man, used to work in communications, but had a car accident and needed to have steel plates in his head.’
I closed down the Psion. ‘What’s he do now?’
Elizabeth had finished with the racing section and turned to the share prices. The driver still hadn’t turned a page. Either he was learning the recipe of the day by heart or he’d gone into a trance.
Lynn said, ‘He’s Sarah’s PA. He’ll
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