De Payns and Lafont sat next to each other, facing Briffaut and Shrek in the back of the Viano.
‘We have another Maypole tonight,’ said Briffaut. ‘With the Russians this time.’
Night had fallen on Paris and de Payns could see that yet again he would be missing the family meal and bath time. Romy would be stewing when he got home.
‘The Russians?’ he asked. ‘Who called the meeting?’
‘Novak,’ said Lafont, meaning Tatyana Novak, SVR head of station at Russia’s embassy in Paris. ‘She was quite urgent about it.’
‘That’s Putin-urgent,’ said Briffaut. ‘The Russian services only move that fast if the order comes from the Kremlin.’
De Payns nodded, picking up on the way his colleagues were staring at him. ‘You two cooking up something?’
‘Keratine is not producing as he should,’ said Lafont. ‘Our man in the East managed to get a detail on the Vulcan assassination. Keratine says Wagner will use Libyans to do it, which we already know to be true. But Keratine is not reliable.’
Briffaut cut in. ‘He told Jim they’d cleaned up a major traitor ring that was feeding the West, but he wanted to know who else Jim is running.’
‘Acknowledging Lotus but wanting us to talk about Starkand?’ asked de Payns.
‘Yes,’ said Briffaut. ‘That’s our interpretation. But he also tried a blackmail trap on Jim, so I think we’ll burn him.’
‘What did Keratine do?’
‘Insisted on drinking vodka with Jim all afternoon, and then sent a prostitute to his room.’
‘Was it set up by the FSB?’
‘No way to tell,’ said Lafont. ‘We’re thinking of dropping some bait to the Russians at the Maypole, and we’ll see if they were monitoring Keratine the whole time.’
■
The Maypole was conducted in an old hearing room on the ground floor of the Cat. Leading the French team was Richard Larmes, head of the Company’s external liaison department. His counterpart was a Russian embassy officer who looked like Marlon Brando, before the actor needed elastic waistbands: Sergei Valkov, a suave SVR man. Aside from Lafont and Larmes, the French contingent was bolstered by Briffaut and de Payns, who sat at a DGSE listening post in the room next door.
Tatyana Novak sat opposite Richard Larmes, her signature helmet of immaculate blonde hair refusing to budge even when she looked around for her pen. The Russian team was rounded out by the embassy long-timer Konstantin Osterman, who pretended to be doodling on a piece of paper in front of him.
Tatyana Novak kicked off after Richard Larmes had called the meeting to order. She told the French that a manipulated leak on their side was spreading false intelligence among other services, and that this represented a national security breach for Russia. It was crucial that they discover the identity of the leaker.
Novak paused from her introduction and looked straight through Larmes. ‘If the DGSE is not willing to help,’ she said bluntly, ‘we’d consider this destabilisation operation against Russia to be coming from the French, which would create serious tension between our two countries.’
Larmes, who had experience with Russian tactics, responded with a charming smile. ‘We’d be more than happy to help. But may I ask, how did you identify this leak?’
Novak met the French charm with professional hardness. ‘We know that this person we call Dragonfly is sending false information against us to various European embassies.’
‘Were those packages sent to Russian embassies?’ asked Lafont, playing dumb.
‘No,’ said Novak, face like a doll and heart like a hammer. ‘We were given the Dragonfly product by a friendly service.’
‘By which you mean BND?’ prompted Lafont. ‘The Germans?’
‘Well …’ said Novak.
‘Come on, Tatyana,’ said Richard. ‘This is a Maypole that you asked for. We have to know who is receiving this misinformation product if you want our cooperation.’
‘Okay, Germany,’ said Novak. ‘But you knew that already.’
‘I’d still rather be told.’
Novak tapped her pen. ‘Let’s start with the basics: every piece of product in these drops is about Russian military movements and top-secret correspondence with other nations. This is not the sort of leak that is conducive to stability in Europe, and it’s naive to think a single individual is behind it.’
Lafont laughed inwardly. Russia preferred European instability because it was seen as promoting Russian strength.
‘We’re aware,’ said Lafont.
‘It would be greatly appreciated if Russia had the support of our French friends on this,’ replied Tatyana with a fake smile, knowing the DGSE would already be working on it.
Larmes nodded slowly, as if taking the Russian request seriously. ‘But your Dragonfly won’t be easy to find, and it would monopolise a lot of our resources.’
Novak pursed her lips. ‘As I said, a lack of interest on the part of the DGSE would be construed as hostile to Moscow. Surely you wouldn’t want that?’
Lafont eyeballed the Russian, furious, but Larmes remained calm. ‘We have something that might be of interest to you,’ he said, handing over a large envelope that hinted at intelligence leaks from Russian officials in the Transcaucasia region. ‘That’s a measure of our good faith,’ continued Larmes. ‘Perhaps you could share the latest status of your research. From what I understand, we’re assuming Dragonfly is Russian, or at least very well connected, right?’
Novak leaned away as if smelling something bad. ‘This person is not Russian.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Lafont.
Konstantin Osterman finally raised his head from his doodling. ‘There is nothing in here that is alarming to a Russian,’ he said, deadpan. ‘The selection of leaks betrays a Western paranoia about Russian aggression.’
Lafont nodded. ‘So, let’s hear the Russian view. Any insights, given the prod?’
Novak and Osterman swapped a look then Novak spoke. ‘Someone is being paid to leak material that destroys peace between Russia and the West. And when a person is paid for information, we all know what happens to the quality.’
‘You’re saying this is false product?’ asked Richard.
‘No,’ said Novak. ‘I’m saying that a perfectly routine request to navigate through the Dardanelles can be made to look heinous in the context of it being stolen by a spy and trafficked into other services. The DSGE knows it better than most, non?’
Lafont allowed herself a small smile.
‘So,’ continued Novak, ‘I’m concerned that France is encouraging this enterprise, rather than unmasking it …’
‘Okay, enough,’ said Lafont, leaning across the table and looking Novak in the eye. ‘We don’t know Dragonfly, or what is supposed to be achieved with these drops. We’d like to find the source, ourselves …’
‘You’re not doing a good job.’
‘Well, what can we help you with Tatyana?’ asked Lafont, an edge in her voice. ‘Maybe there’s something we can provide?’
Novak sat back, crossed her arms and looked quickly at Osterman, who nodded slightly. ‘Perhaps you could verify a name?’
‘Try me.’
‘Probably working for the Americans,’ she said. ‘Her name is Brenda.’
Lafont shrugged. The name meant nothing to her, but even if she did recognise it, her response would be the same. ‘The name is not familiar, but I will check. Is there anything more you can tell us?’
Novak scoffed. ‘This isn’t a fishing expedition, Marie.’
Sergei Valkov raised his hand for silence and directed his gaze at Lafont. ‘I can tell you, Madame Lafont, that this “Brenda” is not Dragonfly. Perhaps more senior, but not the same person.’
‘Okay,’ Lafont said, scribbling the name on a pad. ‘Anything else?’
Valkov was obviously the power in the room, because the Russians looked at him while he made up his mind. He stared at Lafont, still as a sphinx. ‘We believe Brenda operates in Paris, and possibly Ukraine,’ said Valkov finally. ‘Perhaps this jogs the Company’s memory?’