DIPLOMACY
By Johnny Barclay April 2020
“Listen, do you want to know a secret? Do you promise not to tell?” Jack whistled this latest Beatles song tunelessly under his breath as he strolled along the promenade, staring out to sea on a sunny morning in Beirut.
His actual name was John, his surname Rossall but, despite the spelling, he had been known as Jack since school.
After early postings to Reykjavik where he negotiated fishing contracts and later Cairo, he had become very much a Middle East man and seemingly a classic product of Britain’s post-war foreign and colonial service. By the Springtime of 1963 he was a respected member of the Embassy in Beirut.
Ironically though, Jack, as he whistled his way along the beach front and watched the Lebanese fishermen, dressed in pyjamas, casting their lines into the Mediterranean, did have a secret and one upon which his life’s work and mission had been based. He was a spy, a secret agent, a double agent, a convert to Communism since his recruitment at Oxford in 1934 and enhanced by a formative republican involvement in the Spanish Civil War; Cambridge was not the only breeding ground when it came to Intelligence.
Now in Beirut Jack was filling a gap, not quite the fourth, fifth or even sixth man, but with Blake safely locked away in Wormwood Scrubs and Philby’s disappearance back in January, he was increasingly coming under pressure to produce the goods for his Russian masters and so take more risks. He didn’t like it and felt uneasy.
This Wednesday morning he was on his way to meet his contact just off St George’s Bay. He felt tired and nauseous after several late nights at the office, decoding and photographing documents. He was still trusted – his best cover, both at the Embassy and home. His wife, Marcella, was kept in the dark but always loyal, seeing him as the clever, reliable, if a bit drab diplomat whom she loved. If anything she countered his greyness with a simple glamour which she cleverly exploited to get her own way. Marcella was French.
Jack had dropped off his two children, Henry and Fifi, at the Grand Lycée and was now making his way towards the bar at the St George’s Hotel and becoming increasingly nervous and anxious, his loyalty to home and family conflicting with his idealism. Nearly thirty years of pretence and subterfuge were catching up with him and cracks were beginning to show.
He grabbed a drink at the bar, two actually, before emerging back into the sunshine of St George’s Bay. He pushed on up the hill and away from the sea, around a corner and up a side street before turning into Rue Gourand. He wanted to get this over with. He always did.
With the conflict of loyalty and consequences of betrayal hammering hard in his head and weighing down upon his heart, he became aware of a presence creeping up on his blindside.
Then he got a tap on the shoulder …
From Simon: The reportage style of writing suits the subject matter very well. The use of the Beatles song is a good example of the way music can be a handy shortcut to setting the date of the action. And Jack’s apparent insouciance works well when contrasted with the high stakes he’s playing for. The historical background detail about Blake and Philby not only helps set the narrative in time but also builds up the level of Jack’s importance in the world of espionage. And the story of how he got into that world is entirely credible. All of this is excellent – particularly with a threatening but ambivalent pay-off which leaves the reader desperate to know more. Also, the piece did exactly what was requested in the brief.