D-Zero Meson Oscillation, 4/10
Part IV, The Nash Equilibrium, & A Grandfather Paradox
“KGB? Section P6? Seventeen years old? Parallel world?”
Tom shrugged. “The Sarah Bishop info checked out.”
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. Well into his mid-life crisis, he had that kind of stern, osseous and weathered face one associates with jaded spies whose conscience has been necessarily withered away by half a lifetime of concealment and dirty messy tricks. The only times he ever looked kind or happy was after a bottle of single malt. 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. “Sarah Bishop was before my time. But I have heard of her and she did send a few people into my section. And that’s the only reason I’m going to take this seriously. But you need to start thinking with your head instead of whatever’s down there in your pants. You have heard of the concept of a honey trap, I assume?”
Tom tried not to smirk. Having been at the Embassy for the best part of a year and had many dealings with Peter from MI6 he’d long ceased to be unnerved by any bluster.
Still, the idea of being the victim of a honey trap was not something he found unappealing. Especially if the honey was Katrina.
“I seriously doubt she’s a honey trap. I think she’s just lost, wants a place to call home.”
“That’s what they all say. But the question must have occurred to you as to where this apparently lovely lost English rose obtained some top-secret KGB information? Or were you too distracted by her charm to think of that?”
Tom’s inner smile left him. “You’re saying she could be some kind of plant?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time the other side have tried something like that. You know From Russia with Love isn’t entirely unrealistic?”
“Really? They still do that kind of thing?”
“I wouldn’t put it past them. The Russians are as arrogant and outrageous as they ever were.”
“How about hypnotism? Meaning she really is innocent?”
That clearly provoked Peter’s curiosity. His expression turned from annoyance to happy intrigue in an instant. He leaned forward and waggled his finger at Tom.
“Now that, as it happens, is an extremely interesting suggestion. MK-Ultra and all that.”
Tom smiled. “I just get the feeling she’s being completely honest. Unless she’s an Oscar-winning actress, of course. But, well, it’s just an instinct, is what I’m saying.”
Peter rolled his tongue and let out a deep breath. “Ok. Granted. Here’s what we’ll do. You keep looking after her in that charming Wiccamist manner of yours and see what you can get out of her. Take her out to dinner. Find out what her codename was. That kind of thing. I’ll speak to one of my CI colleagues back in London and get him digging. Even if it turns out she’s got amnesia and a family who’ve registered her missing that still leaves the Sarah Bishop angle, right?”
“Don’t you mean Wykehamist?”
“Possibly. Possibly.”
Tom chortled in a distinctly pagan manner, but then narrowed his eyes. He never trusted this man. “You really think I have a charming manner?”
“Winchester and Oxford? Of course you’re bloody charming. Then there’s that cute little thing from the Consulate, Audrey isn’t it? Exhibit A.”
Tom chuckled. “You know I really don’t have any experience with this kind of fieldwork?”
“Then it’s about time you did. And give her a smartphone so we can track her and see what she gets up to. Now get the hell out of my office! I’ve got French diplomats to annoy.”
But he was grinning. For the first time in months.
#
Tom had advanced Katrina 100 Euros for essential supplies. Nightwear, underwear, change of clothes, toiletries. The hotel was nicer than she expected. Halfway down a quiet backstreet, nestled within a terrace of mid-nineteenth century tenements. The room was simple but comfortable and had its own bathroom which was fresh and clean. No Netflix though. But it did a good breakfast and even had a little bar, where Katrina decided to park herself for the evening, keep an eye on the rolling news on the television there and play with the phone Tom gave her. She glanced around nonchalantly at the half dozen other clients and was somewhat surprised that none of them had the slightest air of watchers about them. Perhaps they’d just have someone watching the exits in case she decided to go walkabout. Perhaps they didn’t want to spook her, but rather lull her into a false sense of liberty.
Katrina was perfectly aware they’d given her the phone so they could track her movements and analyse her Internet behaviour. She was, as it happens, quite pleased with this. When you know you’re being monitored then you’re in control of the flow of information. You can know and control what they know, and therefore what they’re thinking and what kind of decisions they make. So Katrina chuckled to herself and typed in ‘Nash equilibrium’. Hopefully that would tell them something about her sense of humour.
She still needed to know for certain if Anna existed, and if they knew anything about her. The best way to do this is not to conceal information from the enemy but to bombard them with it. Hide important needles within large haystacks, so to speak. So she went through a mental list of people she knew, making it appear as if she was looking up the most important people first. Anna would be quite some way down that list, nestled amongst the numerous journalists she knew in the other world. That should be an adequate disguise.
Likewise, she understood the utility of a juicy misdirection. So she began by typing in the names of friends she used to have at her Cambridge college, Trinity, specifically her fellow members of the Cambridge Apostles, that notorious secret society boasting a number of infamous communist spies amongst its alumni. Kim Philby being the most noteworthy. That, if anything, would give Tom and his MI5 colleagues something to get their teeth into, not to mention a severe headache.
Next she looked up some of her friends from the movie industry, then from the British swim team from the 1990s. A thought occurred to her then, so she checked to see where the 2022 Commonwealth Games were due to be held. Birmingham, apparently. She sat back and smiled to herself. She was nearly eighteen again, same age as when she first made the team. Sure, the standard would be a lot higher now, but she so loved to swim. It took her to a different place, just focussing on the water and herself and shutting out the whole world around her. Maybe if she got her new passport and ticket to England she could try out for the team. Aside from anything else, she realised, it would give her a salary.
She worked her way round to Anna via some sports journalists to political journalists, creating a believably innocent sequence. It didn’t take her long. She looked down sadly, tried not to cry.
Anna didn’t exist in this world.
She ordered another drink and sighed again. Well, she thought, at least I can tell them all about her. No harm there.
And maybe, just maybe it could mean she would be free. A kind of emotional liberation.
A new start. A new chance, in a new world.
In a different place.
#
Tom was relieved to find Katrina did not disappear or run away overnight. She turned up at the Embassy in the morning just as requested.
“I did some more digging and it turns out the family details you gave me don’t exist. The person you call your grandfather, Kristophe Meyer, was killed on the Eastern Front in 1943.”
“By a ricocheted bullet?”
“The Wehrmacht record doesn’t mention details.”
“Maybe in this world he didn’t pray before the firefight,” Katrina mused sadly to herself.
“So no Richard or Ursula Meyer here. No Meyer Electronics Company making computers and solar panels.”
“I kind of expected as much,” Katrina said. “Although you don’t need to disguise the fact that you know what I was looking up on the phone you gave me, so I already know they don’t exist. Same as a load of my friends.”
“I’m sorry. But it means that if you are actually from our world and this is a kind of memory loss thing, then your family is, well, someone else.”
“Did you check missing persons?”
Tom nodded. “Yes. No matches. But that could mean they haven’t filed a report yet, of course.”
“Sure. But like I said, I’m not going anywhere in the meantime.”
Then Tom chuckled. “You really don’t mind us checking up on your Internet search history?”
“I have nothing to hide now, Tom. My wife, Anna, who also happened to be my comrade, doesn’t exist in this world. So I can’t betray her by telling you all about her, can I?”
Tom looked a little confused. “Your wife? I, erm, didn’t you say you were married, I mean you had a husband?”
“I did, yes. Sasha. Sasha Voronin. He was our Section 3 controller to begin with. And he was killed at the Russian Embassy in London in 2003.”
“So you’re bisexual, then?”
“Obviously. Does that bother you?”
Tom shook his head. “Nope. In fact it makes you even more interesting.”
Katrina burst out laughing. Tom smiled. “I’m glad you’re feeling a bit better.”
She nodded. “Yes. I know I seem sad -”
“That’s understandable.”
“True. But I also decided, last night, that I’m kind of liberated too. I have a chance to start over. Even if from what I’ve learned of your world it’s a, well, it’s a dystopia, quite frankly. But there are still opportunities. I want a new passport and ticket to England and then, well, I will rely on my not inconsiderable talents to make my way in your world.”
“Ok. We may be able to help. The DNA analysis will be back beginning of next week. That will confirm whether you’re really British. I’ve also arranged for a psychologist to interview you here tomorrow, if that’s still ok?”
Katrina smiled at him. “Definitely. Thank you.”
“And I have a sneaky feeling he may just diagnose some weird form of amnesia, even if we can’t trace your relatives. If that’s the case, and the DNA says you’re British, and I’ve already checked and there is no record of you in any foreign database, then we have a legal duty not to leave you stateless. Even if we have to, erm, bend the rules a little.”
She laughed. “Spoken like a true British intelligence officer. I approve.”
Tom chortled. “Speaking of dodgy characters, I have a request for a little interview from my MI6 colleague. If you’re ok with that too?”
“I was expecting that,” she replied. “Whenever he’s ready for me. On one condition.”
“Erm, what might that be?”
“Lend me some more money for a swimsuit and an all-day pass for the Olympic Pool.”
Tom laughed. “Done. But I have a condition of my own.”
“Oh yeah? And what might that be?” she mimicked.
“Dinner. This evening.”
Katrina bit her lip slightly, glanced down coyly and did her best to send him a shy smile. “Deal.”
#
I’m kind of glad she is taking this all so well. I’d be a mess.