McFassy Fortnight: Karla

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Karla Aesthetic

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“She shot my son!”

Smiley just sat there and stared across the desk at his oftentimes elusive Mate, who had to all intents, just miraculously appeared in his office like a wraith on All Hallow’s Eve.

“She set him up!”

Still Smiley said nothing, knowing the best way with one who generally said little enough himself, was to play the same card.

“She doesn’t get to keep living for this!”

Several sarcastic comments on the nature of parenthood, lanced caustically through Smiley’s mind, but never once made themselves known upon his face.

“My own government wants her dead!”

Having deconstructed the material Lorraine had used to frame the Head of Berlin Station as the much sought after traitor known as ‘Satchel’, George had only a moment before put the phone down on M, after securing her agreement on a mutually beneficial deal that would ensure the cooperation of the Americans for quite some considerable time.

“I’ll kill her myself!”  Karla snarled it with a particularly vicious tone that naturally reminded George of the manner in which his Russian nemesis was known to conduct daily business.  “She’s murdered sufficient Russians to justify a death sentence from Moscow.”

“Moscow bought her cover just as much as London and Berlin.”

“My son is not a traitor!!”

“Very true, but then again he is no more like you than he is like me.  David will inevitably have his moment to confront her before he goes back to work.”

“Insanity!”

Smiley pushed his glasses up his nose.  “The Wall has come down.  The world changed shape over night.”

Karla’s eyes narrowed nastily.  “And one day we will truly be obsolete, but until then, I will see justice done!”  He was about ready to thump his fists on the desk.

“It will be,” George assured him.  “The real ‘Satchel’ is ruthless, efficient and quite brilliantly smart.  At least for a female operative.  She’ll be made to help train a different generation of spies for us in this brave new world we are creating.”

“For the Americans?”

“No.  For us.”

“The Americans will simply hand her over?  Are you mad?

“Yes, they will.  And no, I am not.  At least not today.”

“How will they do this?”

“Well now, that would depend on whether you trust your son to be more ruthless than you, more clever than me, and more efficient than our enemies across the Pond.”

“You just said he was nothing like either of us.”

“He’s not.  He’s better than we ever were.”

Karla snorted, though it sounded more like a disgusted cough as he contemplated the future.  “He can adapt.”

“Indeed.  He’s very good at it.”

“While we are old and crusted over?”

George allowed himself the mildest laugh.  “We do have our moments, don’t we?”