One of them winked.
***
Maurice Northcot was feeling quite pleased with himself.
He had successfully completed his assignment in Jakarta, which had been more taxing than he would have wished, and was now back in London for a break. He needed a bit of a rest from service abroad – ‘travelling’ as it was known.
But it was not quite the break he had been hoping for.
He had wanted to spend some time at his cottage in Hampshire, doing a bit of work about the place, and getting to know the river a bit better. He had hardly spent any time there since he had bought it a year or so after his wife had died.
He had been too busy.
Travelling.
But his lords and masters in MI6 knew that he was beginning to feel the strain of almost constant work abroad. He absolutely loved the life, but was the first to admit that the strain was beginning to tell. Not that he wanted to retire or anything like that – heaven forbid. Neither did he want to give up working abroad. The challenges which that represented were huge, but at the same time invigorating, and he still yearned for the adventure of operations overseas, even though it gave him no real chance to settle, or enjoy his cottage and its trout stream.
Nevertheless, things had gone well this morning. Rather better than he had hoped, in fact, in spite of the fact that he and his colleagues had been working on this for the best part of three months. Just the same, he had no real idea how things would pan out, and could only hope for the best when he had set out earlier today.
He allowed himself a wry grin. In the end, a quite unexpected outcome.
He waved to a passing waiter as he watched the students disappear up the stairs, without a backward glance.
“Another pint of best, please.”
He thought he deserved it.
He had given each of the students one of his many different business cards to keep. Although different, each version had his name and one of his phone numbers on them. This one purported to show that he worked as a Junior Manager for a company called Aspect Management Consultants, with an office in Fitzrovia. He had chosen Aspect Management because that warranted the largest of his visiting cards. He wanted plenty of room for them to write on the reverse of the one which they had returned to him. He took the card from his pocket and read it carefully.
The first name was Lee Kwang-Sun.
Maurice remembered the order in which they had written their names on his card. Kwang-Sun was the rather earnest looking man in rimless spectacles. He took life seriously, it seemed, but was forever looking about him, as if eager to learn from this new experience.
The second was Choi Yong.
He was the one they were looking for.
He had tended to take the lead in the brief conversation that had taken place during lunch, and had more than once received a quite stern look from their ‘minder’, as if he was talking too much and showing too much enthusiasm. It was he who had appeared to be most keen to meet again. “It might be possible, if we are careful,” he had said.
And it was Yong who had winked on his way out.
Maurice looked again at the card. Yong had found the time to write a brief message beneath his name.
It was not in English, but in Chŏsongŭl script.
Northcot was puzzled. Why had he done that? Maurice had read it quite easily. He both read and spoke Korean, among several other languages. Apart from Betty Ogden and a couple others, nobody else in the section spoke Korean or knew that he did.
But Choi Yong could not possibly have known that Maurice was fluent.
Could he?
Did he know?
Or was he perhaps testing Northcot. To see whether Choi Yong’s recent fellow-diner would react, or simply believe it to be some form of Korean art, added for decoration?
So few people knew that Northcot had Korean as one of his languages that it was impossible to believe that this student, who he had only just met, could possibly have known unless he had been told. And there was only one person who could have done that.
The message read; “Here tomorrow.”
Northcot decided that he had to ring Betty Ogden as soon as possible. She had helped to arrange today’s ‘impromptu’ meeting.
They had actually been planning it for weeks.
***
When Maurice got back to his MI6 office in Lambeth, he tried to get hold of Betty on the secure phone.
She didn’t answer.
He wandered down the corridor to see James Piper, Section 7’s boss.
“I could do with a chat with Betty Ogden,” he said. “Any idea where she is?”
“Teaching foreigners English, so far as I know.”
“It’s one of her students I want to talk to her about.”
James scrolled through his computer.
“Hasn’t been in touch for days,” he announced.
“I’ve tried her Satcom phone a couple of times, but there’s never an answer,” said Maurice .
“Out and about somewhere, I expect.”
“Probably,” replied Maurice. “But I don’t want to go through the University switchboard and have her paged or anything.”
James knew Maurice well enough to know that this was not an ordinary social chat he wanted with his colleague Betty, and that he wouldn’t be there in James’s office if it wasn’t important. Maurice usually got on with things on his own, and only got hold of his Section head when he really needed to.
“One of her students, you say?”
“Right. The one from North Korea with an Uncle said to be working on their nuclear weapons programme.”
“He’s special.”
“There’s three of them, actually. But one’s a minder of some sort.”
“Have you met them?”
“Today. A chance meeting over lunch, which Betty arranged.”
“And?”
“One of them left me a note. Wants to meet again. Tomorrow.”
“So why don’t you?”
“The note was written in Korean script - Chŏsongŭl - not in English.”
“So?”
“So how does he know I speak and read Korean, or is he just guessing, or checking me out in some way? And if he is, why?”
“Betty told him,” suggested James Piper.
“That’s why I need to speak to her. The guy doesn’t know he was set up. He has no way of connecting me with Betty. I just fetched up at his table in a pub, looking for somewhere to sit for lunch.”
“We need to speak to Betty,” said James, reaching for his secure phone.
She did not answer.
“Leave it to me, then,” said Northcot, as he made to leave the office.
“Before you go,” James called after him, “how’s life back at the blunt end?”
“Not the same.”
“But you thought you’d probably had enough, if I remember.”
“You didn’t agree.”
“I still don’t. But if you’d rather not serve overseas again, the offer of a desk here is still open.”
“I’ve got one, thanks to you.”
“And time to relax a bit? Visit Hampshire, fishing and all that?”
“Peter’s still in Hong Kong.”
“Still trout in the river, though.”
“I’m fishing for men at the moment.”
“Better than just sitting in an office, don’t you think?”
“The RAF always used to say that mahogany bombers aren’t the same.”
“Safer than being up-side-down in a ditch, with a native pumping bullets into your driver.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Find Betty,” commanded James. “We need that Korean nuclear scientist.”
“Leave it to me, then,” said Northcot again, as he finally left the office.
***
Betty Ogden seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth. Maurice had tried a dozen times to get hold of her, and she was simply not
replying to her phone. He left no messages, in case it had been nicked. It was supposed to be secure, but you couldn’t be too careful.
He turned up at the Fitzroy Tavern anyway, and hoped for the best, not knowing whether or not he had been set up or whether this was a genuine attempt to keep in contact.
It was not too crowded for a change. Just to be sure, he put his newspaper and phone on the place setting next to him, and his coat over the chair.
He hadn’t been there long when Choi Yong turned up, looking about him nervously. He appeared to be on his own, but Maurice pretended not to have spotted him.
Yong hurried over to the table.
“Ah! You got my message then?”
“Message? What message? Nice to see you again, though. Have a seat, or are your friends with you?”
Maurice cleared away his paper and coat.
“I am alone, but can’t stay long.”
Yong sat down, looking round the bar.
“You understood my message?” he asked.
“What message?” repeated Maurice.
“I wrote on the card you gave me,” replied Yong.
“I didn’t notice, but I have the card here.”
He fished it out of his pocket.
“There’s no message here,” he said, looking at it closely.
“There.” Yong pointed to the Chŏsongŭl script he had added to his name. “That is a message.”
“Really,” said Maurice. “How interesting. I thought it was some form of decoration you had added.”
“No. A message.”
“What does it say, then?”
“In my language, it says ‘here tomorrow’.”
“Well I never!” exclaimed Maurice.
“If you could not read it, why are you here?” demanded Yong.
“I often lunch here,” replied Maurice. “You will see from my card that I work nearby. I often lunch here. I live nearby, too. This is my pub.”
“Aha!” said Yong.
“What a bit of luck,” said Maurice. “But what made you think I would understand your message anyway?”
“You said you were interested in my country, so I thought you might understand.”
“No way!” replied Maurice. “Lucky I came here for lunch again today, then.”
“Very lucky.”
The girl came over to take their order.
“I must not stay long,” said an agitated Yong.
“How about a sandwich and glass of wine then? That’ll be quick.”
“Good. You order please.”
“Why did you want to meet up again, anyway?” asked Maurice after he had ordered.
“I need your help.”
“In what way?”
Yong looked about him anxiously.
“I shall be killed if I cannot trust you, and so will all my family.”
“You’d better trust me, then.”
Choi Yong was obviously very agitated.
“Your card says you are a management consultant.”
“True.”
“So you must know many people.”
“Also true.”
“One of them may be able to help me if you cannot.”
“What help do you need? Is it money you want? I can arrange a loan is that’s it.”
“No, no. More than that.”
“Are you in trouble with the law, then? I know a chap in the police who I could talk to. And we have a lawyer working for us in my consultancy.”
“No, no. Much more difficult than that, especially for me.”
“You’d better tell me then.”
Yong leant forward, and almost whispered.
“I trust you with my life, and the lives on all my family.”
“Tell me what you want.”
One more fearful glance around him.
“I do not want to return to my home. I do not want to go home to North Korea. I want to stay here, in your country.” he whispered.
It was loud enough for the hidden receiver in Northcot’s micro-digital recorder to pick up his every word.
Maurice looked about him cautiously, to instil a little confidence in his companion.
“That would be very dangerous for you,” he said.
“Can you help?
“Are you quite sure you want this?”
“Absolutely – no question.”
Maurice thought for a moment.
“It is possible I could help in some way perhaps.”
“Please help me,” Yong implored. “And my friend Kwang-Sun. He also wishes to stay here.”
“Both of you?”
“Both of us.”
Maurice frowned, for effect.
“This could be very difficult to arrange.”
“Please.”
“For two of you?”
Maurice pondered.
“Why is Kwang-Sun not here?”
“He and our other fellow student, Cheong Sung, are with our tutor and others on a cultural visit. To Stratford-upon-Avon.”
“Cheong Sung is the one who keeps an eye you, right?”
“Right. He must know nothing of this.”
‘Well done Betty,’ thought Maurice.
“OK.” said Maurice eventually. “I will do what I can to help you. I know people who can be of assistance, and who I trust.”
Yong sat back, with a sigh of relief.
“You are very kind to help a stranger,” he said. “But my country is not good, like this one. I know it, and my Uncle has told me.”
“There will be much to discuss,” said Maurice, stating the obvious. “We shall need to meet again, often, and must agree how to arrange our meetings.”
“That will be difficult. You cannot just phone me like anyone else.”
“I’ll think of something,” promised Northcot. “Can we meet again here this evening, when I will have had time to think and perhaps contact a couple of my friends?”
“We can. My tutor and her party are staying away tonight. They are to watch a play this evening, and return tomorrow.”
“Good,” said Maurice. “I shall have many questions to ask you before I do anything positive. I need to know more about you.”
“I will tell you everything you want to know. Anything at all.”
They arranged a time, and Yong left.
***
Working for the Special Intelligence Service, or MI6 as it is known by most people, sounds very glamorous. But it isn’t, so most of those who are involved keep quiet about it, while those who boast about working for them probably do not; a true case of empty vessels making the most noise.
Modern spies work at high risk. They face very real dangers, and their work can have deadly consequences. Most who are involved in that field are lonely characters. Only their immediate families can know what their true role is in life, and then probably not all of them can be let into the secret. For the rest, it is a case of living a lie. Maintaining one’s cover is one of the most difficult parts of the job, not least when dealing with contacts and sources of valuable information. Once established, a source is a priceless asset and cannot be put at risk.
Recruiting foreign sources is especially difficult.
Take Choi Yong, for example. He and his colleague Lee Kwang-Sun seemed, on the face of it, keen to collaborate. One had to ask, however, whether they may not have been set up by their Government to infiltrate the UK to work on behalf of their Great Leader, or whether they were genuinely acting on their own behalf, of their own free will. Free will is not a common attribute of the people of North Korea.
And what about Uncle Dr. Choi Shin? He was a nuclear scientist and working on the North Korean weapons project. He had actually paid a visit to the UK not long ago, so people already knew quite a lot about him. He appeared to be a potential defector, or at least ready to talk, but would he really be prepared to help the UK and its allies, perhaps through his nephew? MI6 was about to target a seemingly valuable source within a largely impenetrable count
ry, knowing full well the dangers of recruiting abroad. They needed to know more about Yong’s connections; more about his motivation, and in particular, more about his possible access to valuable information.
There was more to it than meeting Yong for a beer.
***
When Northcot returned to Lambeth, he went straight to James Piper’s office.
“I know where Betty is,” he announced.
“Oh?”
“Skiving off with a party of students in Stratford, on a cultural visit.”
“I hope they like Shakespeare better than I do,” said James.
“Who cares. She’s taken two of the Korean students with her, including the ‘minder’.”
“Clever.”
“Very. I’ve met our man again, and am seeing him again later tonight.”
“Getting on all right, then are you?”
Maurice handed over the tiny recorder.
“Listen to this. He wants to come over.”
James grinned broadly.
“Got him, then.”
“If we’re careful.”
“It’s his uncle we really need. He is actually working on their nuclear programme as you know. We’ve established that beyond a doubt. He’s been over here.”
“A fellow student friend of his also wants to defect.”
“Two of them?”
“I hope we’re not being set up.”
“Does he have an uncle as well?”
“One at a time!” said Maurice.
He frowned.
“But I need to see the Ogden lady more urgently than ever now.”
“Why?”
“There are questions I need to ask.”
“Share them,” demanded James.
“Just niggles, really.
“You may already know the answers, I suppose, since you’re in charge.”
“Try me.”
“Well – for a start, why did one of the students think I spoke and could read Korean?”
“Go on.”
“For a second thing, how did she know I was going to meet him again, tonight?”
“What makes you think she did?”
“The visit to Stratford can’t have been a coincidence, surely. She got the other two out of the way for me specially.”
“So you not only think we could be on the end of a sting, being set up by our Korean friends, but also don’t trust Ogden anymore.”
“I don’t know what to think.”
Head of Section 7 sat back in his chair and looked at Maurice carefully.
“I wish you wouldn’t do things like this to me,” he sighed.
Maurice shrugged.
“I agree, though. It makes you think,” said James, now equally puzzled. “But I don’t have any answers for you.”