Not Rushing A Russian Encounter

I had come to Washington to deliver a message to the Russian Embassy on behalf of Sir Harry. What I found interesting was that more and more human couriers were being used to transport sensitive material rather than using electronics. Apparently hacking was becoming a real problem. Now a human being can be "hacked" in a sense, but torture is time-consuming, messy, unreliable and costly. Hence the use of agents to trundle information about.

At the Embassy, there was a spot of trouble. I went to the information desk, and requested to speak to the person Sir Harry had named, one Colonel Grigov.

"The Colonel is busy," came the reply from an official whose appearance reminded me of an emaciated grandee such as John of Gaunt.

"Please inform him that Tinkerbell is here."

The man just stared, flummoxed.

I switched to Russian, and raising my voice, said, "Unless you get the Colonel immediately, I will ensure that Putin and Medvedev are informed that the Embassy is employing an official who is not up to the job, and is in need of re-assignment. Somewhere deep within the Arctic Circle. Or perhaps Siberia, where you can become adept at animal husbandry."

A quick phone call was then made, and almost instantly the Colonel appeared. The man was tall, blond and imposing. In my opinion, he would be an excellent Vronsky in  a film of Anna Karenina. He took me to one side and said, "If the sun and moon would doubt."

"They'd immediately go out," I replied.

"Good. All is in order. And the message?"

"The brown cow is in the pasture." Now I hadn't a clue what freight that phrase carried, and didn't want to know. Suffice it to say that the Colonel paled visibly, but then gathered himself .  'Thank you, and relay to Sir Harry that I an somewhat in his debt. Although his code names need some more thought."

"What do you mean?"

"You are about as far from the figure of Tinkerbell as you can get."

This was unexpected. I was wearing a simple white cotton dress, splashed with polka dots, I hadn't given my appearance another thought, something I really pay attention to when linking up with the Compte de Rienville. He, sadly, was in Paris, coping with the change in government.

"I will bring the matter up with Sir Harry," I replied with a smile.

"Perhaps we will meet again," the Colonel said.

"Perhaps," I replied. "Given the reference to the cow, an 'udder' time then."

The colonel went blank for a moment, then laughed. "You may also tell Sir Harry that you know how to sugar coat a nasty pill."

I left, content that the exchange had gone well. Then my mood shifted as I recalled a passage from Phillip Howard's The Death Of Common Sense: "We have now circled back to the world where people argue, not about right or wrong, but about whether something was done the right way."

Ouch.