What to do about Katrina, Ep. I, Act I, sc. 3-4
Make no mistakes, this Underworld is not safe
If you’ve only just joined us, you may wish to start at the beginning. My intro is here, and the previous scene is here.
If you had been observant, paying close attention and studying the CCTV in realtime you would have clocked Katrina entering Camera 2 emerging from the waiting area in the departures section of the Gare de l’Est at 08.14:10 precisely.
She stops and scans the concourse, before her eyes fix firmly on a sharp-dressed man with a concerned and anxious expression. He is studying the departures board a little frantically. Perhaps he has an important business meeting, or a job interview. Perhaps a vital lovers’ tryst. Who knows?
He is a perfect mark.
Katrina smiles seriously and with determination, and is just about to stride towards him like a cheetah on the savannah.
“Wait.”
“You’re still with me?”
“Always.”
“This is a parallel world, isn’t it?”
“Why do you say that?”
“There’s no maglev terminal. And the air is dirty, polluted.”
“Yes. This world is not safe. You need to think ahead. Consequences.”
“The CCTV.”
Her internal communion. With beats between the softness.
A silent affirmation. “Let him go. Find another way.”
Katrina watches as the man breathes a visible sigh of relief and rushes to make his train. Someone she will never see again.
She would’ve picked his pocket, of course, stolen his wallet. Perhaps in a different world, without her, she would have done. In a different place, a different version. A different reality.
And this is not going to work out the way she would have hoped.
And that little mistake would’ve sealed her fate. She has no money. No ID. She has nothing except the clothes on her body and the little ankh necklace her beautiful Nicci gave her when she turned thirteen. So long ago now. A different place. She lifts it to her lips and kisses it, softly, then hides it beneath her top.
Death would scare these people.
She coughs at the pollution. Coughs again. Everyone is wearing masks. That doesn’t surprise her. But why don’t they force the government to do something about the air, instead of just tolerating it?
Perhaps this is a dystopia. All those people scurrying about. None of them look happy. And with those masks on, they can’t communicate with each other properly. Most of human communication is non-verbal, after all, it’s the glue that holds social communes together. Without it, there’s no communion. Everyone is isolated. Divided.
“Gendarmes.”
Katrina glances over to the right. Men-at-arms. They have guns. Dystopia.
Katrina thinks quickly. As always. She doesn’t wait for them to come to her, she strides over to them.
She speaks fluent French, although it’s been a while. “Bonjour Monsieur,” she does her best to appear polite. Not a problem for her, she’s well-schooled in diplomacy.
“Votre masque, mademoiselle.” His tone is harsh and accusing.
“Je m’excuse, j’ai perdu mon masque. Vous avez un autre pour moi?” She does her best to look sweet and innocent. “S’il vous plait?”
It works. He’s used to resistance, and she is offering none. He reaches into his back pocket and hands her a spare mask. She puts it on, although she hates the bloody things. But it’ll do until she finds some kind of sanctuary and besides, it’ll go some way towards fooling the CCTV facial recognition.
“Y a-t-il une église catholique à proximité?” It’s a strange question, for sure. And strangely worded at that. It creates a little cognitive dissonance in the man’s mind. But he’s supposed to be a professional, that’s how his brain has been trained to work. He’s supposed to be there to help. They tell them that even in a dystopia. It’s important they believe it, after all.
And so he gives her directions.
And she is grateful. She smiles sweetly again, then gets the hell out of the station, without looking back.
Tom from MI5 had never had much recourse to study CCTV footage during his short career in the Service so far.
But that would change soon enough.
“Seventeen years’ old? Immunity to coronaviruses? Parallel world?”
Tom shrugged. “She seems sincere to me.”
MI6’s chief resident leaned back in his chair on the other side of the desk and sighed deeply. For security reasons we’ll call him, I don’t know, Peter. Swiftly approaching his half-century and several bad years into a mid-life crisis, he has that kind of stern, osseous and weathered kind of face one associates with jaded spies whose conscience has been necessarily withered away by half a lifetime of concealment and dirty messy tricks. He suspected everyone and everything. The only times he ever looked kind or happy was after a bottle of Ballantine’s. But such appearances are exigently deceptive. The rest of the time a junior colleague would be forgiven for assuming he was about to order them back to Monckton for basic training.
He shot Tom another steely-eyed glare. “You,” he pointed accusingly, like a headmaster Tom once knew, “need to start thinking with your head, rather than whatever’s down there in your pants. She’s beautiful too, you say?”
Tom did his best to ignore the jibe and shrug it off like he used to at school to great effect. He just smiled with his eyes.
“You are aware of the concept of a honey trap, I take it?”
Tom couldn’t resist a smile. The idea of being a victim of a honey trap was not something he found unappealing. Especially if the honey was Katrina.
Peter continued. “And you are aware of the incident in reception, I take it?”
“Security just told me on the way up here. And Miriam said she checked Katrina’s name and it doesn’t match with anyone. At least no one fitting her description.”
“So she clearly has psychological issues, then, would you say?”
“Erm, well, sure. I mean I’m obviously as sceptical as you are about the parallel world bit, of course. But the proof would be in her blood sample, wouldn’t it? And I’ll keep an open mind until then.”
“Fair point. Granted.” Peter relaxed a little. “We’ll go along with her delusion for now. And whether it’s a delusion or a cover story it’ll break down at some point, the more details they’re forced to provide. So keep probing.”
“She does seem sincere, though.”
Peter chuckled. “Of course she seems sincere. People with delusions always do. Or method-actresses. Because they believe it, so there’s no tell-tale signs of lying. People who know they’re lying, well, they’re easy to spot. Meaning she’s an exceptional actress, of course. In which case, that’s a counter-espionage matter. Which is why I’m taking this seriously. She must be someone, and she must’ve come from somewhere.”
“Then again,” Tom countered, “she’s maybe a little paranoid, to put it mildly. She talked about the vaccines being bioweapons.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Bioweapons?”
“And then there’s the incident in reception.”
“Meaning she’s prone to violent outbursts.”
Tom thought about it before answering. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“Well, reading between the lines, she only threatened violence when she felt threatened herself. By Security, I mean. And she calmed down pretty quickly.”
“So, don’t make her feel threatened, is what you’re saying?”
“Something like that, yes. Although I’m not entirely sure what I think about her yet. She can get irritating, that’s true, but then she calms down again, apologises and starts playing the diplomat. Which is equally irritating.”
“Hmm. Seems like she’s playing with you. Which isn’t difficult, in your case.”
Tom tried his best to ignore that jibe.
“So, you are going to take her out to lunch.”
Tom sighed pointedly and rolled his eyes. “You know babysitting mad girls isn’t in my remit?”
“It is now. And I think she’s just pretending to be mad. It’s the big lie, remember. So ridiculous people wouldn’t expect you’d try it. So you are going to take her out to lunch and use those Wykehamist charms of yours on her. Just get her talking.”
Another sigh. No point arguing with Peter. Although Tom wished he’d spent the previous night on his own. Another girl problem was the last thing he needed. “Well,” he admitted reluctantly, “she’s good at talking I suppose. She has a tendency to get a little animated with the slightest provocation.”
“Even better. So provoke her.”
“I’m not going to be rude.”
“I didn’t mean rude. Just act curious.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. She’s a very curious person. But you know I don’t really have any experience with this kind of fieldwork?”
“Then it’s about time you did, don’t you think?”
Tom reluctantly accepted that point. Peter leaned back and smirked.
“Mind you I could say that about all you MI5 types.”
Tom ignored that jibe too. He’d heard Peter say it a dozen times already. He’d quickly learned it was typical MI6 patronising. They’d always thought of themselves as the seniors in the relationship.
“There’ll be watchers there, anyway, so it’s not exactly dangerous, is it?” Peter continued.
“I guess.”
“Besides, your father would certainly approve. Even if he did quit the field when you came along.”
Tom sighed yet again. But it was another point he had to reluctantly accept. “He didn’t want Mum to open the front door one day to a telegram.”
“Political espionage isn’t as dangerous as you might think, you know.”
“I think you’re just trying to make me feel better. Besides, that wasn’t all he was doing, was it?”
“Couldn’t possibly say, you know how it is. Anyway. So, what does she want, in exchange for these antibodies of hers?”
“I didn’t get that far. She got a bit side-tracked.”
“Oh?”
“She thinks we must be a dystopia if Boris Johnson’s Prime Minister.”
“Hah!” Peter threw back his head and bellowed with laughter. “Maybe I like the sound of this girl. She’s clearly got a sense of humour.”
“She’s definitely got that, sure,” Tom frowned.
“And she’s damn right if she’s suggesting the man’s a liability. We’re a laughingstock. The United Kingdom, the country that left the largest free market in the world, crashed its economy and elected a clown for a leader. That’s the joke doing the rounds in all the other Embassies, you know, according to my listening devices.”
“Tom smirked. “I’ve read the transcripts. Embarrassing.”
“Quite. The sooner they replace him the better. Anyway, find out how much she wants for her blood, then we can start negotiating.”
“Negotiating?”
“Everything has a price, Thomas. You should know that by now.”
“I get the impression she’s quite the socialist, you know?”
“Even better. She’ll accept a lower offer.”
Tom laughed. “Well, I’ll ask.”
“So we’ll go along with her cover story for now. The important thing is to get her to give us a sample, agreed?”
“Obviously. But she seems quite intelligent, so she’ll know as soon as she gives us that sample she’s relinquished control, if you see what I mean? We’d be able to clone her antibodies.”
“True. If they even exist. But even if she’s delusional that doesn’t mean the immunity bit isn’t true. Even if it isn’t we’ll have her DNA. And if it is true, then that’s some kind of advanced tech, isn’t it? The kind that’s not commercially available?”
Tom narrowed his eyes. “Hmm. I think I see where you’re going with that.”
Peter shot him a knowing, conspiratorial smile. “Precisely, Thomas. So for now, just sound her out. Don’t alarm her in any way. Try not to let her annoy you. I know what you’re like, remember. Then bring her back here after lunch and get as many details from her as possible. Who her parents are, for example. Fingerprints, photograph for facial recognition. DNA. Check missing persons. Maybe she banged her head or something. When you’ve got that, check all the records. Then we’ll find out what her real name is and where she’s come from. Get that girlfriend of yours to help. Exhibit A.”
Tom smiled. “If you mean Audrey you know she’s not really my girlfriend?”
“That’s not what I’m told.”
“Have you been spying on me?”
“Of course. That’s my job, remember? And I’m damn good at it, too.”
“Please tell me you haven’t been bugging my flat?”
“Of course not that,” he lied. “I’m teasing.”
Tom allowed himself a chuckle. “Then what? I mean what’s Katrina supposed to do while we check her details?”
Peter considered it for a moment, then said, “We’ll treat her according to regular Consulate protocol.”
“Meaning?”
“Like a British citizen who’s lost their passport and money and so on. Put her up in one of our bugged hotels. I’ll keep the watchers on her to make sure she doesn’t run away or anything.”
“I don’t believe she’d do that. Even if she’s delusional she clearly feels alone. And a little desperate too, I think.”
“Maybe. But better safe than sorry. She might remember who she really is. Or her parents might claim her. Whoever they might be. Also, give her a phone so we can track her and see what she gets up to on the Internet.”
Another sigh. “It also strikes me she doesn’t have a pass sanitaire.”
“Ah. Good point. You can’t take her out to lunch without one, now, can you? Well, I’ll get agent support to deal with that. In the meantime, take her to Florentin and pull rank. Tell them she’s an important source or something. I’ll deal with the watchers.”
“I’ll have to say that’s your doing? That you sent me?”
“Fine. I’ll phone ahead. Just make sure she drinks most of the carafe rather than you. Then she’ll talk.”
Tom chuckled again. Then narrowed his eyes. “You really think I have a charming manner, then?”
“What? Winchester and Oxford? Of course you’re bloody charming! Now get out of my office! I’ve got French diplomats to annoy.”
But he was smiling. And he was happy in his intrigue. For maybe the first time in months…
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