He started running. He was on a flight. Portland Place, a big and normally busy boulevard, home to many of the foreign embassies present in the capital, now seemed abandoned. The freezing dewy London air penetrated his bones, yet underneath the woolen overcoat and sweater, his back was sweating.

An ambulance’s siren was heard from the distance. Yes. Definitely an ambulance, they differ from the police sirens that are whaling up and down. Too bad, if it was a police car he would have run towards the source of the sound for protection. Soon he shall reach the crossroad of the luxurious Langham hotel. A few more steps and he will be safe amongst the stream of tourists walking up and down Oxford Street. Sunday afternoon, there are bound to be tourists there, he convince himself, even though London was rather dreary and empty these days. He kept his pace, taking off his wide bream hat that amidst the run caused his scalp to itch.

From Oxford Street he will find a payphone and will call Murray. Murray was a good lad, too young but serious enough to actually know his way around. His old handler Wilshere had retired, so he was told, but he knew the truth: the body found last week in Regents Park was surely his. He read about it in the newspaper, a balding male in a Tweed suit, same height, same built and same age as Wilshere. There were no signs of violence and nothing was taken. His curiosity had sent him to Regents Park the following day, he had spotted traces of expensive Italian shoes in the mud near the spot where the body was discovered. Who walks around the sleet with shoes like that? The thought that the British service men can’t even defend themselves in their own back yard gave him the chills.

He had arrived to Oxford Street already out of breath, exhaling cold vapor and sweating all over. He had switched to a rapid walk. The feeling of terror had slid down his throat and hit him in the gut, but so did the awareness that he simply had to complete his mission. For his country’s sake. A red double decker passed him from the right hand side, and as it slowed down a few people jumped off without waiting for the bus to pull into its station. The British efforts to take Poland out of the Warsaw Pact had gone sour. The British government is so vain, he thought to himself. What did they expect- on one hand they keep supporting the exiled government that does as little as distributing propaganda from their base on Eaton Street, while on the other hand they are conducting talks with the communists. Suits the Brits to try and hold the stick from both ends, then to approach little old Henry to try and figure out where they stand. His mood seemed better under the protection of the Oxford Street shoppers. He coughed. He had entered the first red payphone that he came across his way, near Bond Street, and rang Murray’s number.

Two hours later, as the twilight dissolved and gave way to the early December evening, he sat on a bench in the north end of Hyde Park, close to Speakers Corner. It was way too late for speeches held by eccentric individuals that took place on that spot during the hours of the day. He was practically alone in the park. His features were indistinguishable, protected by the nightly shadows that defeated the faint lamppost light. In the future, from this placid spot, one would be able to hear the commotion of the winter amusement park “Winter Wonderland”. Today, as the sun set lazily so early, not even a cricket could be heard as if it was the dead of the night rather than the early evening hours.

A sound of boots grinding the wet leaves was heard from the cement path. Earlier, he made sure to meticulously mark the tree to the right of the bench with a distinctive white chalk stripe, a prearranged single suggesting that he hadn’t been followed. The fact that two figures emerged into the pale orange light worried him, it was not what was concluded over the phone.

Both silhouettes wore light mackintoshes, which were completely inappropriate to the freezing temperatures. As they approached he noticed that they were both wearing old fashioned bowler hats that were much more common a decade earlier. As they came near, the street light revealed two English faces. The younger man of the two casually addressed him by saying “It’s already snowing in Warsaw”.

They were waiting for him to complete the sentence for reassurance that this is indeed their guy and that everything was in order, yet he kept silent. He thought he recognized Murray’s voice, but he wasn’t sure. Besides, he decided he wanted to see how the men will react facing uncertainty. As the seconds passed, he could clearly see that the other fellow was reaching to an object concealed from sight by his mackintosh. A gun? “So far here in London it’s only cold” he finally blurted the other half of the code, and could immediately see the gentlemen’s faces became a lot less tense.

They both stepped closer to the bench. The other guy, who he presumed wasn’t Murray, took out a cigarette and lit it without even much as offering one. Rude, he thought.

“This wasn’t what we agreed” Ephraim finally said “I could have easily given you guys the slip, seeing you both down the path”

“Relax,” Grey tried to reassure him “Jamie here is a colleague, he can be trusted”

Grey’s face was clean shaven, and without a hint of a wrinkle on them. The second man was named Jamie Jensen, he was an Operations Room Executive Officer, recruited by the service only about a year prior to Grey. He had a rugged look, with a high forehead and a receding front hairline, which made the forehead appear even bigger. His eyes were narrow and his eyebrows were stringy, which made his face look clownish. He was smoking his Woodbine brand cigarette slowly, and kept glancing at anyone who passed by. Jensen was never a handler, that’s why they didn’t even bother coming up with alias for him. He was there as a favour to Grey. The incident involving an agent that was murdered in Regents Park, called for a new protocol within the service, in relation to meeting up with sources or agents. Handlers were to request a security team for every meeting, and authorization was to be sought in advance.

Since Ephraim’s call came in so suddenly, and Grey had never actually met him, he decided to dance to accommodate him and agreed to meet on the day. He didn’t want this lead to get cold. Since no security team was to be obtained so promptly, the alternative, was to simply ask Jamie, who was the executive operations officer in charge, to accompany him to the meeting at the end of his shift. This was highly unorthodox, but at least he wasn’t going alone. So far, Grey thought, Jamie was on form. He was holding his Walther P.P.K covertly, and he appeared to be tightening the grip whenever a stranger was drawing near them.

Another minute of silence had passed between them. Grey didn’t push any questions. He knew better than to put a source on the spot. He will eventually talk, he thought to himself, they always did.

A lone cyclist passed by. When the sound of the bicycle wheels ticking on the path concrete subsided, Ephraim started talking again. “They are using us Murray.” His voice was trembling. “the Russians. They are using us to enhance their nuclear arsenal.” Grey kept his silence.

“I found documents from the Warsaw Pact. I don’t normally have access to them, but a couple of weeks ago the guy that used to do it got called back to Poland, so I’ve been filing these as well for his departure.”

“Which department is that?”

“Ministerstwo Obrony Narodowej.” The Polish Ministry of National Defense, he said the name in Polish. “I brought them with me, but I need to return them as soon as possible”

Grey was overwhelmed. It wasn’t Ephraim’s statement regarding the eastern bloc’s nuclear proliferation that shook him. Grey saw these reports himself. It was the fact that Ephraim had such complete access to the Ministry’s correspondence. Ephraim was clearly the kind of source that could build careers and Grey imagined just how far he could go

“So you said you have the documents with you?”

“Yes”

“Were you made?

“Excuse me?”

“Did they spot you taking these documents with you? You sounded hysterical when we talked”

“I can’t say. Leaving the embassy I thought two security guys followed me and I panicked. Either I lost them in the West End, or it were my nerves playing tricks on me, like you English say.”

“Okay” Grey answered “We can’t waste any more time…” He took out a tiny silver pocket camera. “This is a state of the art espionage camera. We will equip you with one once we know you haven’t been made, so that you needn’t take risks like that again. Now let’s hope that the light here would be enough for us.”

Ephraim nodded as Grey approached him. Jamie Jensen scrutinized the pair with penetrating dark eyes. He drew a lengthy pull from his cigarette and threw the butt into the darkness.

Next Chapter: Chapter 10: Whitehall