What to do about Katrina, Ep. I, Act I, sc. 20-22
The following takes place between 08:00 and 10:00 on 17 November 2021. Day Two starts...
Hello and welcome if you have just joined us in our misadventures of Katrina. If you have just joined us, then interestingly you have done so just at a turning point in the narrative. We are about to enter into day two of Katrina’s unceremonious advent into your dystopian horrorshow of a world. Today, certain screws are about to tighten.
If you would rather start at the beginning, however, rather than leap into all these spoilers, so to speak, then feel free to link here to my intro, or here to the very first instalment.
if you wish to recap here’s the previous instalment. Previously on Katrina, she was deposited in the hotel under the auspices of her two chaperones, whilst Tom from MI5 decided to take Malcolm’s advice and indulge in some wine, women, & probably a little song too, although that’s kind of none of your beeswax, reader dear. There is, naturally, always the morning after, however, and he’s about to realise that getting out of Katrina duty isn’t as easy he thought it’d be…
And as for Katrina herself, well, she should’ve well known that this wasn’t just a dream, and that certain sorts would be carefully drawing up their plans for what to do about Katrina…
Only a very small part of Katrina believed, or hoped, that she might wake up back home again. The rest of her was under no such illusions. She knew where she still was before she opened up her eyes and gazed around the room. It was still early. She closed her eyes again, turned over to the other side and thought of her family.
Now is not the time to notice all those patterns on the wall. Now is not the time to let this sadness take control. Everything has a purpose. Everything has quality. Life without quality, no meaning. The Goddess will decide. She will let you know.
In her own good time.
Once she decided against making herself even more sad than she already was, and perhaps instead to be at least a little grateful for not having been transformed into a bug-eyed monster overnight, she made herself get up, take a quick, invigorating shower with a burst of cold at the end of it, then go down to sample the hotel’s claimed decent breakfast.
It was that, too. And fresh, proper coffee, recently ground arabica in a cafetiere. She was thankful for the pick-me-up. Unlike at supper the night before, her chaperones joined her, partly out of relief that she hadn’t scarpered overnight, and partly to remind her that she was expected at the Embassy by nine at the latest.
Her response was simply to shrug, and tell them she’d like to go swimming today.
They both frowned sternly at her. She sighed, remembered her manners and apologised. She promised not to be such a handful today, but she really did want to go swimming.
Perhaps it was waking up in a strange hotel room, and the bathroom and the breakfast and the strangers sitting opposite, but the curious part of her decided to think of all this, at least for the moment, as some kind of unexpected holiday, or undercover mission. She smiled inwardly at the notion and reminded herself how far too old she was for that kind of hubris.
Still, in that case, try pretending you’re in a movie instead. Now that was an image she enjoyed the thought of.
Except that, as per her latest anxiety dreams, she suddenly realised she’d forgotten all her lines.
Audrey may have waltzed into work with a perky JFG but Tom arrived some fifteen minutes late, still groggy from the night before and hoping that the very small part of him that believed Katrina wouldn’t be there in the morning was correct. Whether having leapt back home or simply made a run for it, he didn’t mind. Katrina duty, he had decided, was beyond his pay grade.
Still, there was a little matter of professional responsibility. And how much of that was to please Audrey, well, there was another part of him that wasn’t entirely certain about that either.
He took a deep breath, and opened the door to the interview room.
Katrina looked up at Tom entering and presented her best diplomatically warm smile. She was somewhat well-practiced at that. Tom from MI5 was by no means the only one who’d ever found himself disarmed by it.
He sat down opposite her and tried to fight it. “Sleep well?” he enquired, with only the slightest touch of sarcasm. “Hotel acceptable to your high standards, Mademoiselle?”
Katrina wasn’t going to let herself be fooled by that kind of malarkey. “More acceptable than I had been led to expect, Sir. Thank you.”
One-nil Katrina, Tom silently conceded. He frowned.
“Clearly,” she followed up, “you didn’t. Sleep well, that is. Was it my fault?” She knew perfectly well it was, so she inserted some innocence into her tone.
“Is this a passive-aggressive thing?” Tom sighed.
She smiled gracefully and continued with her intended approach. “Not at all. I’m being genuine. You were absolutely correct about my lack of gratitude and diplomacy. I’m very sorry. The truth is that’s not the real me. Anyone who knows me would tell you that. Not that anyone does know me in this world. But regardless of whether you accept my parallel world story or not, I do believe it. And that’s why I’m in an extremely stressful situation.”
Tom conceded that one too. “That’s understandable,” he said sheepishly.
“Thank you,” she continued. “Obviously I’m not entirely happy with myself for reacting in such a panicky way. I’m not normally like that. But all I really need right now is to feel safe and secure. Which is the main reason I came to the Embassy. To throw myself on your mercy, like I said. The idea of living underground in this polluted, overcrowded Paris with no money and no identity and having to, I don’t know, turn to prostitution or something just wasn’t an option.”
Tom sniggered. “Prostitution obviously not being acceptable to the Catholic Church, I presume?”
If that was intended as a jibe, she ignored it. “Obviously.”
“Well,” Tom replied, trying to insert a note of authority into his voice, “helping you to feel safe and secure really is the reason for your two chaperones. You do understand that, I hope?”
“Sure. And I did make a point of apologising to them too, this morning. And thanking them. They’ve been very patient with me, under the circumstances.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Katrina took a breath and hoped the civility would last. She could see Tom was a little short-tempered this morning. Hungover, perhaps. She decided it wasn’t all her fault, and wondered what the something else was.
“So,” she asked calmly, “what happens now? To me, I mean, this morning?” She gazed at him searchingly.
That was an easy question for him to answer in a clinical, professional way. “There’s no missing person’s report matching your description, but I will ask my colleague to keep checking regularly and also issue a new one using your picture. You don’t mind about that?”
“Not at all. Thank you.”
“Sure. I’ve asked my counterparts at the German and Irish Embassies to look up the names you gave me. I should hear back from them before lunchtime.”
“Ok.”
“We’ll have a legal document for you shortly, then we can do your blood sample. And I’ve been able to arrange for a psychologist to see you this afternoon. He should be here by then.”
“Thank you. That’s all very kind of you, Tom. And I apologise again for being difficult.”
Tom sighed. “Accepted. Anything else, before I get back to work?”
“Would it be possible to go swimming this morning?”
“Erm, I’ll look into it for you.”
“Thank you. It doesn’t have to be the Olympic Pool, by the way. I’m not that demanding. Short course would be fine.”
Tom looked a little quizzically at her.
“Twenty-five metres, that is.”
“Ah. Ok. Well, I’m sure there are plenty of those in Paris. And your pass sanitaire is still valid. For now.”
“Thanks.” Then she thought twice about what she wanted to ask next. He noticed and allowed her a questioning look.
“May I ask you another question?”
“Sure. Go on.”
“I was looking stuff up on your Willypedia last night.”
“Wikipedia.”
“Well, I’m going to call it Willypedia, because your name is just silly.”
Tom tried not to be insulted by that jibe against his own world. But she was being patronising again, he felt. Katrina took up her phone and hauled up the Wikipedia entry for the pandemic, scrolled down to the infection fatality rate information. She showed him the table.
“Is this IFR information true?”
Tom sighed audibly and made sure she sensed his impatience. “Is this another one of your conspiracy theories? If it is, I don’t have time for it.”
“No, it’s not. I just wanted to know.”
“Isn’t there a reference?”
“Yes, and from what I can see, my point is that this IFR doesn’t make any scientific sense.”
Tom abruptly stood up. “Ok. I am really not interested or in the mood for this, Katrina. End of conversation.” He turned to leave.
“I’m only trying to help, Tom.”
“Well, you’re not. I’ll get my colleagues to look after you from now on.” He strode towards the door.
“It wasn’t the same IFR in my world.” She stated it bluntly.
“I’m not interested. Goodbye.”
Katrina decided not to respond. Disengage. Instead she just glared at him and watched him leave. He closed the door sharply behind him.
She looked up and around the familiar room, then lowered her eyes sadly again for a while. Then her gaze went back to the phone.
She grabbed it. Then looked up Operation Barbarossa.
Peter obviously noticed Tom’s demeanour. “Late night with Exhibit A, was it?”
“Not now, Peter, I’m not in the mood.”
“So it’s what the Katrina dragged in, then?”
“That’s not funny either. True, but not funny. I’m excusing myself from Katrina duty from now on.”
“Oh no you’re not.”
“Oh yes, I am. Like I said, babysitting mad girls isn’t in my remit. She was kind of amusing yesterday, but now I’ve slept on it I find her intolerable.”
Peter sighed. “I was going to ask you to go down to the station and look at the CCTV.”
“Technically, Peter, you’re not my superior and you can’t order me around. Last time I looked, I work for MI5, and you’re in the Circus.”
“That may be true, from an official point of view, which is why I’m asking rather than telling. Plus, I thought you’d be curious.”
“Maybe,” Tom reluctantly admitted. “But can’t you get another dogsbody to do that? Let me know the result rather than force me to watch the game?”
“This is the bread and butter of investigation, Thomas. And regardless of how irritated she makes you – which is suspicious in and of itself – you cannot, surely, deny that she’s a sinister mystery?”
Tom sighed. “Sure. And I do find it disturbing that she knew all about our surveillance, probably right from the start. She recognised her chaperones from the restaurant, she knew about the watch, which also means she’s almost certainly aware why we gave her the phone. Meaning we can’t trust anything she was looking up. Basically, this is somewhat beyond my pay grade, and I’m not just talking about babysitting her. You’re the counterespionage man, not me.”
Peter leaned back and just looked at Tom for a few moments before replying. “As I suggested yesterday, I think it’s about time you got some experience at this kind of thing. You do want your career to progress, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“Well, then. This isn’t just me being suspicious again, let alone paranoid. I smelled something not because of paranoia, but because of experience. Which is precisely why I told you to just go along with her for the time being.”
Tom glared suspiciously at Peter. “What you’re saying is you used me. Didn’t you?”
If Tom thought Peter was going to look guilty and embarrassed by that he couldn’t have been more wrong. Peter just smiled. “Obviously I couldn’t tell you that.”
Tom tried not to be annoyed and failed miserably. “Why not? You know I don’t appreciate playing your bloody games.”
“Well, there’s your answer.”
“What are you talking about?”
“See how easy it is to wind you up? You’re a very emotional person. Your moods turn tighter than a London cab. So, you had to be natural about it. If you’d have known, you would’ve acted differently. And therefore so would she.”
“You mean because I’m a rubbish actor, don’t you?”
“Yep. No experience at this kind of thing. You said it yourself. An experienced spy would’ve seen you coming a mile off, and we needed her to play through her script. So well done, is all I can say.”
“Well, that’s the last time you do that, ok?”
Peter’s smile was a little too sly for Tom’s liking. “But you must admit,” Peter suggested with an added little waggle of his finger, “it has paid off?”
“How so?”
“Because you allowed her to play her hand, Thomas. So well done there. She has essentially told us that she’s a spy. For example, she’s revealed the fact that she understands counter-surveillance. So the question is, where did she learn that? Certainly not from our side.”
“And certainly not from the Bond movies either, that’s for sure.”
Peter looked confused.
“She says she was in all the Bond movies since Goldeneye.”
“Hah!” Peter bellowed with laughter. “Ridiculous! Highly amusing, certainly. But ridiculous nevertheless. I hope you didn’t believe her?”
“Of course I didn’t believe her.”
“Good. Because she’s clearly not delusional.”
“I beg your pardon?” Tom was somewhat surprised by that remark. “Are you saying you believe her parallel world story?”
“Of course not. But that’s the point. She’s too rational to be delusional. A delusional person would not go and suggest some well thought out business proposal. She doesn’t have the specific kind of anxiety or neurosis you would expect a delusional to have. The aspect is all wrong. And I don’t even need to be Malcolm to know that. It’s not even basic psychology. It’s insight and intuition.”
“He suggested she might have PTSD?”
“Hmm. Not sure about that one. Still, he’s the expert, so we’ll see what he has to say.”
“Well,” Tom sounded resigned, “for what it’s worth I think you’re right, and if so, this is way out of my league. She knows just how to push the right buttons. So that’s dangerous, wouldn’t you say?”
Peter took a breath and considered it for a moment. He had to admit Tom wasn’t wrong. “Ok. Granted. In that case, once Malcolm gets here we’ll sign her over to him, and see if we can’t get her installed in a safehouse. Safe for us, mind, but not for her.”
Tom sighed with relief. “That was exactly what I was hoping you’d say. Thank you.”
But then Peter threw him another sly smile.
“What?”
“There is, however, one last thing I’d like you to do. We’ll call it a provocation.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“It’ll be fine. I just need you to go back and see her and ask her one last question.”
“No way.”
“Yes, way, Thomas. Or don’t you want to know her Internet search history?”
Now Tom was curious. “Go on.”
“First of all she looked up some of those conspiracy theories. The Covid pandemic, 9/11, that kind of thing.”
“Very predictable.”
“Quite. But then, later in the evening, she made a point of looking up various, specifically-named people. Some of whom didn’t show up in any results. Meaning?”
Tom didn’t need too long to work that one out. “People she knows in her parallel world. Seeing if they exist in this one.”
“Exactly. Just going through the motions, for show.”
“What kind of people?”
“Hmm. From what I can gather, people from the worlds of sports, movies, journalism, indie music, and so on.”
“Which fits with her persona, of course.”
“Cover story persona, that is. But,” he continued excitedly, “then she looked up The New Statesman, then immediately afterwards Girton College, Cambridge. But no name. So?”
“I don’t know. Except she said she went to Trinity, Cambridge, not Girton.”
“Precisely. And she did look up Trinity immediately afterwards, as if it was a believable connection. Followed by the Apostles.”
“The Cambridge Apostles?”
“The Soviet Spy Ring Apostles, yes. Personally I think that’s just her idea of a juicy misdirection. And a postmodern joke, no doubt. But the real connection is between the Statesman and Girton. In the form of a person, whose name she doesn’t want us to know.”
“That’s what you want me to ask her?”
“Yes.”
“But then she’ll know we’re suspicious about it. Isn’t that called giving away too much information?”
Peter smiled again, “You would think so, yes. And hopefully so would she. So she was provoking us. I don’t like being provoked, and so I say, we provoke her back.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Nor will she. With any luck, it will make her very nervous. Followed, naturally, by the safehouse, which you will not mention.”
Then Tom decided to laugh. “I suppose that’s one way of getting my own back.”
“Exactly, Thomas. Exactly. So you agree, then?”
“Yeah, ok.”
“Good. But don’t let her wind you up. Just be clinical about it.”
“I will do my best.”
“I’m sure you will. Once you’ve done that, I’ll get Exhibit A to take her bloods.”
“What?”
“I have her legal document.” He picked it out from his in-tray and waved it around in the manner of a Chamberlain. “Exhibit A.”
“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” Tom had thought of his riposte. His raised his eyebrows sarcastically when he said it.
“Hah!”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
But Tom closed the door behind him with a smile on his face. All of a sudden, he felt a hell of a lot better…
Click here for what happens next…