License to Kill

"We have other functions too. We escort assets out of dangerous situations, where they've become untenable, and yet still have value to us. Sometimes we are sent in to recover information that an asset cannot give to us directly, for one reason or another. I'm sure you can see that an operator's remit can be broad and wide. We aren't double-oh-bullshit, but we do have skill sets, and we do go into extremely volatile and dangerous situations. And inevitably, at some point, your luck runs out. We all know that, going in.

"But, we are all very gung ho, and all very patriotic, but between you and me, we are also a bunch of raving self-absorbed narcissists who believe we are just better than the opposition, and want to prove it. And the bosses know that, and use it. Now I'm out and looking back, it's more obvious than ever to me.

"However, it's also an extremely insular occupation. You can't share it with anyone, except fellow operators. You are trained to lie, and lie well, and it becomes second nature. You are always weaving people away from any kind of truth, as you see it. You do become paranoid, but often with good reason. But, and this is the biggie, you lose contact with regular people. You can't be open with anyone, up to and including your family. And then couple that with the fact that you can effectively find out anything about anyone you want. Plus the access to technology no one else has, and that your whole job is to fool the other guy, well... is it any wonder that as time goes on, field agents lose touch with the society they are actually doing stuff for?

"You'll hear a lot of crap about how noble these operators are, putting their lives on the line for freedom and the common man, and it's all just that. Crap. You very quickly lose sight of the people you are doing this for, because you have nothing in common with them, and you are all so far superior to them anyway. It becomes about the mission, and outwitting the other side, who are the same as you. It becomes a means to its own end. It's not about 'The Big Picture'", here, he used air quotes, "because you never see that anyway. You are doing the bidding of whatever political wind is blowing at the time. Taking the chance to one-up the opposition. Proving you are better than they are. That's what it all comes down to, - a huge dick comparing contest, regardless of whether or not either person has a dick at all. Given it's all one massive echo chamber internally, well, you can imagine how prevalent and agreed upon that thinking becomes. It becomes a very much 'Them and Us' mentality."

He stopped, took another swig, and looked off into the distance.

"Lots of operators never come out of that mindset."

He sighed and added, "I did though. Thankfully."

"Anyway, given the atmosphere of how the work gets done, it will surprise you not one iota that there are a lot of burnouts and people who lose the plot. Now, when an operator loses it, it's not like in the movies. They don't suddenly turn evil and try and ransom the world. No, they tend to check out mentally, and start writing their memoirs with a particular political slant, or they start propagating conspiracy theories about lizards running the world. They don't become arch nemeses, they become a problem of encapsulation. Of discrediting. Of losing yet another trained resource and having to replace them.

"So, how to combat that? Well, this is where you come in. Or your ilk, anyway. The thinking at the trick cyclists' level was this. If people are becoming isolated from the common populace, then they need reminding of this. An attachment to the people they are doing what they are doing for, so to speak. People like you, old chap."

"So, I was what, an emotional support husband?" I answered, both fascinated and appalled, at the same time.

"Well, that's one way to look at it, I suppose," mused the Major, dubiously. "I think the intent was more to be a grounding rod. To give the operator a grounding in reality. Of what life is really like for everyone else. An outlet to be 'normal', whatever that is. I mean, an operator's life is anything but normal. Everything is a performance. All true intentions hidden. All that sort of thing. The idea, as I understood it, was to have an axis of life where that wasn't true. Where they could relax a little, and be who they are deep inside, rather than who they think they have to project themselves to be, in order to get the job done. You get the gist."

I did. It was revolting, but yes, I did get it.

"You were actually part of the pilot program, in fact. Clarissa and four other operators were tasked with finding a mate. Someone they could connect with. Someone where they didn't have to be an operator, as much as a partner. She went through four or five people before she met you. You turned out to be, as she put it, 'perfect fodder'. Yes, I know," he interjected as I slammed my beer down, angrily. "I know. Not a nice way to categorize you at all. I get that, now. But you have to understand, at the time, we all thought this was a stupid idea, and treated it as though it were a mission. Something to be completed, but not something to invest in emotionally, right? So we went out, we did it, and then... well... the higher-ups knew that we'd treat it with contempt, but they figured that you can't stay in a relationship, one that is loving, and make it work without it actually working, right? I mean, you can't treat the other person with contempt because they are a mark, without them feeling that. You have to treat them as though they are your other half, and over time, that becomes a reality. That was the idea, anyway."

He took another sip and then looked at me directly. "And what's more, it worked. It did for Clarissa, it did for me, hell, you can see how it's still working for me."

"Does it matter if it worked for me?" I asked, picking up my bottle again, not really giving a shit what he thought of my question. "It's nice that I got picked. Was I just the right level of naive? Was I just gullible enough? Just that right amount of stupid to not ask questions or notice anything?"

"Well, that's where it all fell down, isn't it? The brief was all about the expensive to train and mentally fragile operators, not the poor saps chosen to prop them up. There was very little consideration of that part of the equation, to be honest. I mean, some of what you just said is, unfortunately true. The partner did have to be someone who was not naturally suspicious. Who would trust, once that relationship was established. Not stupid per se, just... not that observant. I'm sorry to say it, but you fit the profile, and more importantly, Clarissa liked you. Right from the word go.

"They did quite a deep dive on you, to make sure you were who you said you were. There was even a profile study performed, so Clarissa would know how to handle you. What your triggers were. When she needed to give way. Relationship crib sheet, so to speak. We all had one on our prospective partners."

"Jesus," I hissed, bitterly.

"Well, again, it sounds pretty awful I know, but you need to look at it from a different point of view. They were trying to make your relationship frictionless. Trying to remove points of contention before they began. I mean, if every marriage had this on entry, for both sides, can you imagine how many more successful ones there would be? Sure, in this case, the reasons for it are far from altruistic, but the practical effect, well, what difference does it make why it was done? The end result is what mattered, on both sides. It made for a more harmonious relationship. Nothing to complain about there."

"Well, yes, you would say that, if you are the side that gets these little reports. It's less than respectful to those of us who just thought we were working it out for ourselves."

The Major coughed slightly and looked away. "Well, yes, that's true too. I do forget, sometimes, that I'm now on the outside too."

There was silence for a while. We both drank and kept our council.

Eventually I broke it.

"Was any of it true?" I asked, the only question that really mattered, when it came down to it. "Did she ever love me?"

He looked back at me, and for once, I could see the contrition on his face.

"I don't know for sure. I think so. You'd have to ask her. I know I ended up in love with my wife. I can only imagine what it was for her. The reality is, we didn't talk about this kind of thing at work. I mean, how can you? We are supposed to be hard-bitten operators. It's just not the kind of thing you broach as a discussion topic when you are cleaning your silencer, you know?"

A thought occurred to me. "Did she kill people?"

The Major shifted again, uncomfortably. "I can't really go into details. I know you signed the Secrets Act, but that only is in effect in the UK. Let's just say, we were trained for all eventualities, and sometimes those come up, and leave it at that."

I nodded glumly. She had then. Great. Who the hell had I been married to?

"So, I suppose when I blew up that operation, the whole thing got shut down?"

The Major laughed. "Oh hells, no. You were considered their greatest success!"

"I what?" I demanded, confused.

"You were proof that an operator could carry on a relationship, and make it work. You quite literally laid down your life for your wife, even after discovering her situation. That was considered the pinnacle of success. You loved her so much, you would do that."

"It's not like I had a lot of choice," I pointed out. "It's not like I had a lot of options. I was shot in the leg."

"Oh, don't be like that," replied the Major, bemused. "Don't sell yourself short. You could have sold us out, or yelled for the police, or something else, I don't know what. Instead, even after I suggested to your wife that she leave you, or worse, shoot you, you took the gun and protected us as we escaped. Even though we'd failed in our mission. That took real guts. And it's taken me this long to recognize exactly what you did, and the price you paid for that, for no reason than you loved your wife. Honestly, I thought at the time, what a wimp! How easily fooled! And then I left the service, and took a long look at my life, and the things I've done, and then my wife, and then my kids as they came along, and re-evaluated a lot of things.

"That's why I'm here. I realize now that I owe you my life. If you hadn't done what you did, the Saudis would have taken us all, and God knows what secrets we may have spilled. They are very good at getting the truth out of people. You are owed by the people who screwed you over, above and beyond what the service paid for your silence. So I'm here to fill you in and give you at least some of the background on what happened, and why. You deserve at least that. I can't go into everything, mainly because I don't know everything but still, what I do know I'll share."

He took a deep breath, looking over the water, and then turned to me, and looking into my eyes, unblinking, with what looked like a tear in one eye, he said, slowly, "Thank you for my life. I don't know how else to say it."

I mean, how do you respond to that? I couldn't say "Think nothing of it" or "It was nothing" because it fucking was. I lost two years of my life to this, plus torture, and now I was effectively someone else. And I still was no closer to really understanding who my wife actually was.

Easier to just nod, awkwardly. That's what us British do best, isn't it? Never acknowledge a thank you? Too much drama. Stiff upper lip in all situations.

In an effort to change the subject, I asked, "So did things change after I blew whatever it was you were doing? What was that, anyway?"

"Ahh, that's an area I can't really go into. Plausible deniability. Let's just say that Clarissa was going to get some information we dearly wanted to have, and leave it at that. Safer for everyone, including you. Anyway, no. Things didn't change. Well, not drastically, anyway."

"No?" I exclaimed, surprised. "I blew up something because I didn't know what was going wrong. My wife lied to me, and I caught it, and then I followed her, and well..."

"Well, what has changed is that now, when marriage is in the offing for an operator, their partner is brought in and briefed. Not before some leverage is either obtained or generated, of course."

"Leverage?" I asked, disgustedly. "They have to force them into marriage, if they don't want it, after they are told the truth?"

"No, it's for prevention of them revealing the truth, if they take it badly. Look, you are just told your wife to be is a spy, and has lied to you. Naturally, most people are fairly pissed off at that. There's nothing then to stop them from going to the press. 'My life with the spy who loved me!' The Sun would LOVE that as a headline. No, the leverage is just to stop them from revealing all, if they are that pissed off. Honestly, most are surprised, a little angry, but mostly they think it's cool! That's the major change. Now, it's all about supporting 'our brave agents in the field.'"

I sighed. "Well, I'm so glad I could help facilitate such a change," I said in a depressed voice.

"Yes," sighed the Major. "I know, I'm sorry. I keep forgetting your unique perspective on the whole thing. It's not quite so cool when you are on the receiving end of it, I'm sure. Speaking of you blowing up the operation, how did that come about exactly? We never completely pieced it together. I know the group will have debriefed you after you were found, but I never saw that report.

"Clarissa knew that at the surprise dinner at the Dorchester, when she saw the table full of disrobed Arab princes show up, she had to get out of there. As much so the op wasn't blown as much as to preserve your relationship, sorry to say. They already knew her in her operational persona, and it all would have blown up if they'd seen her. She thought she got out in time, and she hightailed it to the office, explained what had happened, we came up with a story we thought you'd go for, tinged with truth as it was, and then she thought it had blown over.

"And then you showed up at the gathering." He looked at me, intently.

"Well, she didn't get out of the dinner date unseen. That table full of princes sent us a bottle of very expensive wine, to a Miss Davies. And she didn't go straight home, either. Her phone wasn't turned on. They had talked about meeting her Wednesday. Clearly, she didn't want to see someone, she bolted the moment that lot showed up. When I confronted Clarissa, she didn't mention why a group of strange Arabs would be sending her wine or calling her by a different name. And that bullshit about her sitting in a park, thinking things over? That was just a crap story. So yeah, suspicions were spooked and I followed her that day, to see what she did. See if there was any truth to the whole Wednesday thing. I got in to the place dressed as a bike courier. And the rest you know."

"Oh, that explains so much. I knew we shouldn't have followed through on the op that day. Too many variables in play. But Clarissa was dead set on it. She was convinced she had you in the palm of her hand. Once we got away, we were confused. Were you part of the Saudis' plan? Had you been turned? Had someone else got to you? We had no information at all."

He paused, and then glanced over at me.

"She never believed you were dead, you know. Despite what we were told, she never bought into it. You are free because she didn't believe it. Oh, we were warned off, of course. The service had people watching the venue and the embassy, and police swarmed the venue almost instantly. You weren't being kept there, if you were still alive. But you weren't seen going into the embassy either. The higher-ups concluded that you'd been taken to some safe house and... disposed of. So nothing of you would ever be found. The Saudis specialize in that. We still don't know how they got you into the embassy in the first place. But, if you were somewhere, it would have been there. Clarissa knew it, as we all did.

"We were debriefed, and then given new assignments, and told not to look back. Clarissa was stone-cold. She ended up a legend in the service because of it. The woman who left her husband in front of the enemy, for the mission. She's untouchable and spoken of with awe because of it. The stone-cold bitch."

He glanced over at me again, out of the corner of his eye. I just sat, immobile, staring at the water, jaw set.

"But that was all a front. She worked tirelessly when she was in this country, and often when not. She was pulled up three times and written up. She spent all her time doing her best to ferment rebellion against the Saudi regime in the UK. It didn't matter how or who, she was just stirring the pot. She's very good at that, remember. She whipped up sentiment and got others to stand up and rabble-rouse, and it ended up with the embassy being stormed. Not before she'd surreptitiously taken out a few of the armed guards there, to make it easier. The Saudis have never dropped the ball on personal protection, and never shied away from using force when they have to, and so when the mob had gathered, she had to make it easier for them to gain entry, and so she did.

"She was there, when they broke in and stormed through. She was in the building when they found you, and she was the one who called the ambulance. She is the reason you are still alive. And the British Services know it, everyone does. But no one will call her out on it. It's all just swept under the rug.

"You turned up alive, and then the government had to figure out what to do with you. They made a concerted effort to offer you something. Like I said, they weren't altogether without empathy for how you'd been used, or what you'd been through. They don't want to make a bad situation worse. And if Clarissa had gotten any hint that you weren't taken care of... well, she's a feared woman in that group, let me tell you. She would have been watching everything like a hawk."

He trailed off, clearly not knowing what to say next. I sat, silently for a moment, digesting everything he'd said. There was a lot of information that felt right in what he'd delivered, but I didn't know how it changed how I felt right then.

"So, if she cares so much, where is she?" I asked, looking unblinkingly at him. "Why are you here, telling me all this, instead of her?"

He shifted yet again, and picked up the second bottle, popped the cap and drank deeply.

"Because she's scared. She's terrified of you," he said, eventually.

"Oh, I find that hard to believe," I scoffed. "Big bad secret agent woman, who destabilizes regimes? Why the hell would she be afraid of me?"

"Because I think she loves you. Because you are the embodiment of everything she's failed at. She manipulated you from the start. She lied to you. She betrayed you with her body, multiple times while you were married. She walked away from you when a situation she created put you in danger. What she did to you, callously, and with aforethought, pierces every possible rationalization she has for what she does. It exposes her to herself for what she is. A glorified thrill seeker, who doesn't care who she hurts as long as she gets her buzz.

"She can't possibly face you and continue to be who she has built herself to be. So she won't. Oh, she'll read the reports and manipulate from the shadows, but she can't see you in person, because then she'll be face-to-face with what she's caused."

He paused and took multiple drags from the bottle.

"At least, that's what I think," he said, burping after swallowing it all. "What do I know though? You'd best ask her yourself, if you ever see her. She'll be honest with you, and she won't with anyone else."

"Is she..." I hesitated a bit before carrying on. Did I really want to know? "Is she still working for the government? You know, an agent."