Paul Henry III had worked in the service of his country for over two decades and had risen to a position of some authority in the State Department. Not at the very top, but close enough to it so that when he said something, people tended to listen. Over his career, he had also cultivated people who were more than acquaintances but a little less than friends, people who worked in the embassies and consulates of dozens of other nations. He was a man, in short, with his finger on the pulse.
So when a senior Israeli diplomat, a man who used the name Josef Levy but whose birth certificate displayed a name that was nothing like that, received a call from Henry to meet for a drink – ‘somewhere quiet and away from the usual herd, Josef’ he had said – Levy was unsurprised but also intrigued. The request for a meeting probably meant that Henry had some useful or even scandalous piece of information he wanted passed on, and Levy knew from past experience that these unofficial meetings often bore fruit.
That same afternoon, because Henry had at least implied that the matter was somewhat urgent, the two men walked into the Indigo Landing restaurant only about five minutes apart. The eatery was at the Washington Sailing Marina at Dangerfield Island on what most people thought was the wrong side of the Potomac, and it was in almost every single way exactly the kind of place that diplomats would never normally visit. And that was the point, of course.
They took a table at the back away from the handful of other diners, most of whom were presumably sailing enthusiasts of some sort, judging by their dress. They ordered a light meal each and coffee and, for several minutes, Paul Henry III just shared some innocuous gossip about Foggy Bottom and some of the people he worked with or had encountered over the past month or so. It was even possible, Levy thought as he listened to the rather dull monologue, that some of what Henry was telling him might even be true. But it was, he guessed, only the appetiser, so to speak, and what he was really interested in was the main course.
And finally Henry worked his way round to it, though at first Levy thought it was just another diversion, because he started talking about water. That was pretty much the least likely subject he had expected the American to raise, and for a few minutes he listened in silence as Henry suggested that America was contemplating initiating a number of water reclamation schemes and even thinking about building some trial desalination plants to turn seawater into fresh. Then he wandered off down another conversational byway and talked about the problems caused to domestic equipment by water that was too hard because of various calcium compounds.
That was when Levy briefly thought Henry had lost it, but he immediately realised that wasn’t the case at all. The meal, as it were, had just been served. His problem was that he didn’t really recognise the main course. But clearly what Henry wanted to talk about, in his usual indirect and circuitous manner, was water. Or perhaps something to do with water. Specifically, hard water.
Which made no obvious sense. But Levy was a spy, a professional intelligence agent, so he picked up the thread and ran with it. And as he started speaking, he realised that his companion was probably not actually talking about America at all – as far as Levy knew, the States had no particularly pressing water problems – but Israel certainly had.
Henry, he guessed, was being even more obtuse than usual, but obviously he had something particularly pressing that he wanted to convey without actually coming out with it, because that wasn’t how the dance was done.
‘Hard water,’ Levy said. ‘We have a bit of a problem with that back in Israel, I think, though this is not a subject I know too much about.’
Henry nodded, as if pleased that he and Levy were finally on the same page.
‘We’ve looked at different types of water softening technologies over here,’ he said, ‘and how they work. Interestingly,’ he added, leaning forward slightly, a physical tic that he knew Levy would notice, ‘we did find out something we didn’t expect. You’ve probably never heard of Zeolite – I know I hadn’t until this week – but it’s a very common substance used in water softening plants. And we found it could quite easily be contaminated. Dangerously or even lethally contaminated. Might be worth your while looking to see what you use back at home, and maybe put some checking protocols in place. You know, set up a scanning system for the plants. Analyse the chemicals, that kind of thing, and maybe hike the physical security you have in place as well, just in case there’s any chance of local contamination.’
Levy nodded, recognising the message and the implications, and already mentally composing the report he’d be sending to Tel Aviv that evening.
‘You said this Zeolite substance could be contaminated,’ he said. ‘Do you know where the contaminant you encountered came from?’
That, the Israeli felt, was probably the crux of the matter.
‘Not exactly, no. Our research suggests it possibly originated in one of the drier and hotter regions of the world. But also, strangely,’ he added with a slight smile, ‘from a place that’s something of a contradiction, a very dry country with an unmistakable connection to the most obvious possible source of water. You might even say it’s all in the name.’ Henry gave a brief laugh, then instantly changed the subject. ‘So how are Elisbeth and the children, Josef?’
Levy answered mechanically, switching to conversational autopilot while he tried to make sense of Henry’s enigmatic remarks.
A very dry country with an unmistakable connection to the most obvious possible source of water. That was what the American had said. And it was all in the name. The source of water could be anything: the oceans, lakes, rivers, ponds, reservoirs, even the polar ice caps, or just plain old rain. And as his mind formed that last word, he suddenly put it together. Of course it was all in the name. It was an anagram.
And as Levy batted back yet another remark about what his eldest daughter was doing, he began mentally composing another, and much more specific, final paragraph that he would add to the report.
When Henry lapsed into silence, Levy leaned forward, consciously mirroring what Henry had done earlier.
‘Thank you, my friend,’ he said. ‘I will ensure that your advice reaches the appropriate people in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. And thank you for whatever action you felt it necessary to take to identify this contaminant.’
Henry smiled, reached across the table and shook Levy’s hand.
‘I’m glad we understand each other, my friend. Now, let me get the check. I’m sure we both have important work that we should be doing.’
What they definitely didn’t want was a slow news day. They needed an enticing celebrity scandal, hopefully involving a failed super-injunction and lots of pictures of an embarrassed man, preferably looking remarkably stupid with his mouth hanging open, who hadn’t seen anything wrong with inserting his penis where it really wasn’t wanted or shouldn’t have been, with perhaps a sidebar featuring his even more embarrassed wife and her heroic statement that she would, of course, forgive her husband and stand by him. Or, better, a statement from her telling the world that if somebody would only hand her a sharp knife and give her five minutes alone with him, she’d be able to solve the problem of his wandering member on a permanent basis. The usual fare of the tabloids, in fact.
The Friday editions didn’t feature anything quite as helpful as that, but because the government was lurching from one political crisis to another somewhat in the manner of a tennis ball being batted around at Wimbledon, they did have whole crop of astoundingly fatuous and self-serving statements emanating from the House of Commons to pick apart. And, as usual, the comments and soundbites made by MPs and various government spokesmen all proved beyond any doubt how utterly out of touch they were with the people of the country they were supposed to be governing. Voters, they called them. And things that week hadn’t been helped by a poll that suggested most people in Britain thought the two most common adjectives used to precede the word ‘politician’ were either ‘corrupt’ or ‘stupid.’
So the three items made the news, but tucked away in the relatively safe obscurity of the pages in the middle of the newspapers. The first, and the biggest, was still only a brief story headed ‘Government U-turn on GWS – at last.’ The other two stories were just short paragraphs, one about a new government appointment and the other covering the death of a scientist.
For years, Gulf War Syndrome had been treated almost as a kind of excuse for anti-social behaviour, as a condition that some people didn’t believe was real. Not like a proper illness. But in the future, the first news item stated, it would be recognised as a genuine condition, and the sufferers would receive all possible medical assistance and treatment. The definition of GWS was also being expanded to include soldiers who had no neurological conditions but who had suffered any physical ill-effects after combat tours, even if they had not been wounded by enemy action. Families of men who had already succumbed to the ailment or to conditions related to it would receive substantial compensation payments.
It was also announced that because black soldiers with African ancestry appeared to be especially susceptible to the condition, separate and much more generous compensation arrangements were being made for them and their families. No explanation was provided as to how or why they were particularly affected.
In an apparently unrelated story, the Ministry of Defence announced the appointment of a new Chief Executive at the Dstl, the Defence Science and Technology Laboratory at Porton Down in Wiltshire following the death of the previous incumbent, William Poulson, in what was described as a freak industrial accident.
And the last news item was a short description of the suicide of a distinguished scientist formerly employed at Porton Down, a Professor Gregory Quine, and gave brief details of the funeral arrangements.