De Payns keyed in through a security door to the Bunker’s basement level, housing both the Y Division car park and the Y-9 group, which provided cyber and technology support for operations. De Payns walked past the mechanics’ bay to where the tall, shaven-headed figure of Lolo Suquet stood beside a silver Renault Megane.
‘This is us?’ asked de Payns as he approached the car and slipped off his pack.
‘Sure is, boss,’ said Lolo. He was dressed in a brown biker’s jacket, black shirt and black jeans. In his late twenties, Lolo had been recruited out of the Université Paris Nanterre where he was a junior lecturer in electrical engineering. He was smart but he’d had limited time in the field—certainly nothing approaching de Payns’ experience.
‘Everything ready?’ asked de Payns, placing his pack on the back seat.
‘Whisky and cigarettes,’ said Lolo with a smile. ‘Condoms, too.’
‘Think with the big head, Lolo,’ said de Payns. ‘We got our matos?’
The Y-9 group usually worked on cyber operations in the bowels of the Bunker, or in operations vans—‘subs’—supporting missions with high-powered listening posts and data hacks. The chance to travel with a field operative to Monaco and Genoa might sound like shaken martinis for the tech people, but de Payns treated the trip as routine, and his priority was to ensure he had his materials—matos—in the car.
‘The plates and papers are in the spare tyre well,’ said Lolo, referring to the change of numberplates and registration papers carried by OTs travelling out of Paris. ‘The spinning laptop and camera are loaded and fully charged, plus we’ve got backup batteries and a stack of clean SD cards.’
‘Tracker?’ asked de Payns.
‘Two of them, also fully charged,’ said Lolo, giving the thumbs-up.
‘ID?’ asked de Payns, meaning did Lolo have the basics to pass as someone else while in Italy.
‘Yep, did some gardening on the weekend,’ said Lolo, referring to the small actions in and around an OT’s false address that firmed-up the assumed ID.
De Payns nodded and pointed to the dangling silver earring Lolo wore in his left lobe. ‘That’ll have to go.’
‘Just a couple of square guys, huh?’ replied Lolo, reaching for the earring.
‘Something like that,’ said de Payns, opening the driver’s door.
■
They made fast time on the A6 out of Paris, which went through Auxerre and bypassed Dijon, where de Payns had been based as a fighter pilot during the Kosovo conflict. It was a part of his life that had been so important at the time, but the great pride he’d once felt was fading with the years. De Payns had been cleared to fly combat, in Mirage 2000 fighters, at the age of twenty-one, and he remembered every sortie over the Balkans. But a back injury and spinal surgery had meant he could no longer fly fighter jets, and he found it easier these days not to dwell on it. Easier, perhaps, because the early days with Romy occurred when de Payns flew, and it was that version of him she remembered so fondly.
They stopped for lunch at a Total roadhouse just north of Villefranche, and de Payns opted for one of the outdoor tables so he could sneak a smoke after his baguette. He was aware of his senior role at the Bunker, and the fact that early-career people like Lolo were hungry for insights and wisdom. He didn’t mind talking about tradecraft and some of the lessons he’d learned, but he also lived in a world of information compartments, so being interrogated by a younger OT could be exhausting. He wiped his fingers and put a cigarette to his lips. ‘So, Lolo,’ he said, lighting the smoke as Lolo played with his tuna salad, ‘you’re fairly new to the Bunker. What’s your story?’
Lolo smiled. ‘I did electrical engineering at the Université Paris Nanterre, and then I became a junior lecturer in telecoms engineering. I worked briefly at Vodafone, and now …’ He shrugged.
‘What did you do at Vodafone?’
‘Tower testing, network commissioning. You know: propagation delay, latency, basic fix-it algorithms and some code overwrites.’
De Payns smiled. ‘Basic, huh?’
Lolo looked away. ‘Some people can sing, some can hit a golf ball. This is my thing.’
‘I’m told you’re the best we have on a spinner,’ said de Payns. ‘We’re looking for a phone number currently being used in Genoa, and with a spinner in place we hope to identify the user. You been in the field before?’
‘I passed the basic courses at Cercottes,’ said Lolo. ‘I’ve been in the sub,’ referring to the vehicles used by the Company for observation, ‘but nothing like this.’
‘Where have you operated?’
Lolo went to answer then stopped himself. ‘Actually, no comment.’
‘Good answer,’ said de Payns, glancing at his watch. ‘Enjoying the job?’
Lolo shrugged. ‘I’m loving it, but this is the part that I really want to do.’
‘In the field?’ asked de Payns, subtly watching a couple at the neighbouring table who looked stilted in their interaction.
‘For sure,’ said Lolo. ‘It would be great to see how to do it properly.’
At the next table the woman shook her head and looked away from the man. They were having a domestic; they weren’t watchers.
‘Doing it properly takes a lot of anxiety,’ said de Payns. ‘You’ll get the hang of it.’
■
They sat on the speed limit as they motored south and de Payns used the time to bring Lolo up to speed on their first liaison in Monaco.
‘I’ll be meeting someone at the Bar Américain in the Hotel de Paris,’ said de Payns. ‘His name is Johnny, and you won’t come with me. I need you sitting in a corner, looking like you belong there, but keeping an eye on things. You’ll cover the contact.’
‘An eye on things?’
De Payns turned down the radio. ‘You’ll get out of the car a few blocks from the Monte Carlo casino and take a stroll, checking your hygiene, then you’ll enter the bar.’
Lolo looked at his map.
‘Have the directions clear in your head,’ said de Payns. ‘In the Américain, you sit at a table, not at the bar, and this table will give you a view of the entrance and an overview of the room.’
Lolo folded the map and listened.
‘You’ll be in the bar twenty minutes before me, and you’ll just observe. You’re looking for anything special before I get there.’
‘For instance?’ asked Lolo.
‘For instance, a couple of guys like us, taking positions. Maybe a man and a woman operating as a couple. When you see me come in at minus one/plus two, I will sit at the bar counter. You’ll check if anyone enters just after me. Keep an eye on where these people sit, but don’t stare at them. You’ll have to memorise everyone you see there.’
Lolo nodded.
De Payns overtook a truck. ‘Hopefully, you’ll see Johnny come in and approach me. When the meeting happens, your job is to check if he looks at anyone in the bar, or if anyone looks Johnny in the eye. You wait for me to finish my chat and leave, and you’ll observe if anyone follows me out. After five minutes, leave the bar. We’ll meet at the car one hour after I leave.’
‘Okay,’ said Lolo, serious.
‘Please try to be natural,’ said de Payns. ‘And remember, don’t catch anyone’s eye. People who stare are conspicuous. Use your peripheral vision to observe.’
Lolo beamed. ‘It’s very kind of you to send me in like that. But I’m just a technician, remember?’
‘When you work with me, there’s no such thing as just,’ said de Payns. ‘You’ll be fine; nothing can happen to you if there is no collusion between us.’
‘I don’t know if I can do this.’
‘It’s what you’ve always wanted, remember?’
‘I don’t want to screw it up,’ said Lolo.
De Payns turned to him. ‘Sorry Lolo, but it’s an order, if that’s what you need.’
De Payns gave Lolo a potted history of Johnny, a former SAC man who was now retained by the Company as an Honourable Correspondent in Monaco. Johnny would be asked to arrange access to a superyacht called Azzam which would be berthed at the principality’s Port Hercules in ten days’ time.
‘SAC?’ asked Lolo.
‘Service d’Action Civique,’ said de Payns. ‘The French intelligence organisation that answered only to de Gaulle.’
De Payns could see his colleague trying to remember. ‘The SAC was very right-wing, very violent, wasn’t it?’
‘True believers: God without the clergy, I think was the phrase,’ said de Payns. ‘They were anti-Communists, from the Resistance.’
For several minutes there was silence in the car, broken by Lolo. ‘So, this Johnny, he just lives in Monaco, waiting to help the Company infiltrate a Russian party? Doesn’t sound too good for his health.’
De Payns smiled, knowing he’d got Lolo focused on the evening ahead. ‘Did I tell you he’s Corsican?’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Lolo nodding slowly.
‘Yes, it’s not Johnny’s health that’s in question. But you don’t have to deal with him, and you won’t. I want you just to sit in a corner of the bar and keep an eye on things, okay?’
‘Sure,’ said Lolo bravely. ‘Do we leave the guns in the car?’
De Payns laughed. ‘Of course. Johnny’s one of the good guys.’