INCARNATION by Daniel Easterman

pulled out his handkerchief just in time to block the enormous sneeze that had been brewing for several minutes.
    ‘Britain is buggered. What’s going on in Iraq?’
    Donaldson smiled.
    ‘Hay fever?’
    David nodded.
    ‘What do you take? Antihistamines?.’
    ‘Yes. But I’d rather not. Nasty side-effects.’
    ‘You should see a homoeopath.’
    David nodded politely, but he hadn’t the least intention of seeing one. People had been recommending all sorts of weird and wonderful cures to him for years, but he’d bothered with none of them. Better the devil you know ... He sneezed again and blew his nose.
    ‘In answer to your question,’ said Donaldson, ‘a week ago, all communications between Baghdad High Command and field units ceased. We assume that they’re now talking through the hard-wired fibre optics system they laid down before the Gulf War. We can’t intercept anything they decide to put through that.’
    ‘Why make the shift? Why alert us in the first place?’
    ‘We think he’s playing games. It wouldn’t be the first time. Current reading of the situation says Kuwait is a bluff. The trouble is, there’s no sure way of knowing what else he might try.’
    ‘Surely he’s had his fingers burnt too many times?’
    Donaldson shook his head.
    ‘Not really. He thinks he’s invincible, because he always gets away with things. He came out of the Gulf War with almost everything intact. We let him stick it into the Shi’ites, we let him do almost anything he wanted with the Kurds ... He goes quiet for a while, then …’
    He sipped his coffee. It had been stewed senseless.
    ‘Look, keep this to yourself, David. It’s supposed to be seriously hush-hush. So far, the only person outside our section who knows is your desk head, Farrar. If he decides to brief you, just look suitably surprised.’
    'Does he know you were there today?’
    Donaldson set his coffee down, barely touched.
    “Not drinking yours?’
    ‘I asked if Farrar knew you were there today.’
    ‘I really can’t say. Let’s say that, had he turned up, I’d have made a sharp exit. He’ll hear eventually.’
    ‘He’s not a man to cross.’
    'I’m aware of that.’ Donaldson paused and took a cigarette from a pack in his shirt pocket. He offered one to David.
    ‘No thanks. If I smoke, I prefer …’
    ‘Don’t we all?’ Donaldson lit his cigarette. He sucked on it thoughtfully, and exhaled a slow cloud of pale blue smoke. ‘Speaking of Farrar,’ he said, 'I hear you and he aren’t on speaking terms.’ 
    ‘No, we speak. It’s just  ...'
    ‘A little bother with your wife.’ 
    ‘Not a little bother, no. She’s been having an affair with him for three years. I found out a few weeks ago when she left me and moved in with him. I’d rather not talk about this, if you don’t mind.’
    ‘Actually, I do mind. We’re talking about national security. If you and Farrar aren’t able to communicate ...’
    ‘Don’t worry. It’s all intensely civilized. I’d like to strangle him, and no doubt he finds me a bit of an embarrassment. But if anything happens, it’ll be in the waste ground behind my local, not in the office.’ 
    ‘I can depend on that?’
    David hesitated. Donaldson was a total stranger.
    ‘Shall I tell you the truth?’ he asked. ‘I’m not sorry she’s gone. She was an unkind woman, self-centred and vain, and she made life miserable for all of us. If Farrar wants her, he’s welcome to her. They suit one another. Now, you were about to tell me something hush-hush.’
    Beside them, the fruit machine galloped through a new routine, beeping and whirring its little heart out. But nobody came to play it.
    Donaldson laid down his cigarette and cleared his throat.
    ‘Diogenes scored a hit last week. Five past four on Thursday afternoon.’
    Though David never had recourse to its intercepts, he was familiar with Diogenes, a listening post based at Sinop in Turkey, run by Americans, and manned by British