Traitor's Kiss [antikvár]

Prologue August 1998 He held the package tightly, as if he were reluctant to let it go. His calloused and scarred fingers gripped the envelope of cheap brown paper; the tips indented the paper, such was the tightness with which he held it. There was no writing on the envelope, nothing to indicate to whom it should be delivered. T was in my cabin. We needed fuel, and I was using the calculator, working out the exchange rate, and then he was just there, no knock. One moment the door was closed, the next it was open and he was filling it, and he took this from inside his jacket, and , . Mowbray, the veteran, said quietly, 1 think it's better, Mr Harris, if we just start at the beginning. In your own time.' He smiled reassuringly. The head of Russia Desk, Bertie Ponsford, beamed. Behind Harris, her pencil poised, Alice North sat with the shorthand pad on her knee. At the end of the table, detached from the rest of them, was the naval officer who wore slacks and a blazer and had loosened his tie as if to relax the stranger. In a cabinet the tape-recorder was already turning, but it was general practice to keep recorders and microphones, which intimidated civilians, out of sight. It was mid-morning. 11