Wimbledon, London
IF ANGELA SCOTT had been thinking straight that afternoon she would have done the sensible thing: bolted out of her flat in a flash and called the police, the Service, or a neighbour, or just about anyone in fact. What, under normal circumstances, she would never have considered doing was something so rash as venturing inside her flat, alone and unprotected, knowing that an intruder might still be in there, biding their time, waiting for her. The Service had a protocol for this kind of situation, one more intended for officers posted overseas in hostile countries but, still, a global system designed to keep its personnel out of harm’s way. But Angela’s world had been turned upside down the moment those men from Security Section had come marching into her office that morning. Now, despite all her years of training and experience, something was urging her to confront whoever had dared to invade the sanctity of her home.
‘Hello? Who’s there?’ Her words echoed back to her down the silent hallway, her voice sounding higher-pitched and more uncertain than she would have liked. No answer. She picked up an umbrella from its place beneath the clock, not exactly a lethal weapon but it gave her some comfort to hold it out in front of her. She turned the corner into the living room and stopped.
There were three of them sitting on her sofa. Her sofa. That already felt like a violation. All men, all appeared to be Chinese.
‘Is it raining?’ one asked, nodding at the umbrella, a faint smile playing around the corners of his mouth.
‘What?’ Angela had so many things going through her mind right now that the question threw her off-balance.
‘Your umbrella. Is it raining outside?’ he repeated. The two men sitting on either side of him stared at her impassively.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, without any trace of apology, her anger having quickly overtaken her surprise, ‘but who the hell are you and what are you doing in my flat? I’ve called the police, you know. They’ll be here at any moment.’
‘No, you haven’t,’ the man replied, his voice flat. He seemed very sure of himself. It was then that she noticed the laptop open on the low table in front of them. Her table, not theirs; they had no right to be placing anything there. He gestured for her to sit down. In her own damned living room. Angela felt as if she were attending an interview for a bank loan, not facing down three unknown intruders. And yet here she was, taking a seat, waiting to hear what the three strangers had to say. Admittedly they didn’t look very threatening. There was no duct tape or plasticuffs that she could see, only the laptop, which remained facing away from her.
‘I hope you will forgive this unorthodox approach,’ the man continued. His English was perfect, she noted. He had clearly spent some time living in Britain and she wondered if he might even be a UK citizen. But whoever these people were, a voice in her head was shouting: Chinese Ministry of State Security.
‘Well, not really, no,’ she cut in. ‘You still haven’t told me who you are and why you’ve broken into my home like this.’
‘Of course. We had no wish to alarm you but my associates and I …’ He gestured to his two silent accomplices. ‘… we needed to speak to you in private and, I think it’s fair to say, we have your attention, yes?’
Angela folded her arms and said nothing. She was starting to regret not calling this in the moment she’d walked into the hallway. But it was a little late for that now.
‘So,’ said the man on the sofa, his tone almost convivial, ‘we represent a company based in Hong Kong: Wing Oh Terminals. Perhaps you have heard of them? No? Well, you can google them after we leave.’
Good. That last phrase was a relief to hear.
‘But, please,’ he held up a hand, ‘first, hear me out. Look …’ He was leaning forward now, speaking in a low, confiding tone as if about to impart some great secret. ‘… we understand you are having some difficulties at work and we’d like to help. My principals at Wing Oh would like to make you an offer. There is great demand for someone of your skills and—’
‘My skills? Sorry, but what are you talking about? I work at the Foreign Office. I’m a diplomat. What possible use could a Hong Kong company – what was it, Wing Ho Enterprises? – have for that? If this is a recruiting pitch, it’s a pretty transparent one!’
The expression on his face didn’t change as she said this but he exchanged a knowing glance with the man on his left, who nodded. Angela had the distinct impression they had already talked through in advance exactly how they thought she would react and she was about to hear a Plan B. She wasn’t wrong.
‘So. As you wish,’ he said, but the smile had disappeared. ‘We can play it that way, if you prefer.’ He now turned the laptop so that, if she leant forward, she could read what was on the screen. ‘On here, on this laptop – oh, and don’t worry, we have it backed up – is every message you have sent and received from your phone, going back quite some time, I think.’ Angela looked down at the screen and found it hard to disguise her horror. It was true. They had hacked into her phone and got everything.
‘Awkward, isn’t it?’ he said, sounding almost sympathetic.
Angela shrugged, feigning nonchalance. ‘Not really. My employers know my phone was hacked. There are no surprises there. So, is this your best shot?’
The man sighed as if all his attempts to be reasonable were being met with stubborn pig-headedness on her part.
‘Angela, if I may call you that,’ he resumed, ‘for now, none of what is on this laptop is in the public domain. But it could be. Very quickly. And meanwhile I think we must accept that your career as an intelligence officer at SIS is now over. They’ll be investigating you as we speak. You’ll be facing a commission of inquiry. You’ll have to face a lot of questions and it won’t be pleasant. And even if you are “forgiven”, shall we say, you will never get your strap-level security clearance back. You are finished working for your government.’
He turned the laptop away from her and closed it with a snap.
‘But it doesn’t have to be all doom and gloom. There is a light at the end of this tunnel. We can offer you a very generous package. You will be living in a nice apartment in Hong Kong. In the mid-levels on the Peak. One with a proper view.’ He cast a meaningful glance at the living-room window of Angela’s flat. It looked out onto the grime-blackened wall of a local school. His eyes returned to Angela as he reached into his breast pocket and fished out a business card. With a flourish, he laid it on the table between them. ‘You don’t have to decide now. Take your time and call this number when you’re ready. It might be the smartest decision you ever make.’
With that he got up, gave a slight bow and left, clutching the laptop, followed by his two silent accomplices.