THE MISFIT UNIT: 20) CHEZ BIZARRE

My Saturday Evening Post: A Serial Novel of Intrigue & Lunacy

An hour later, after another slow Oban single malt whiskey in the bar at Brown’s Hotel in London, Jeff Dalkin and his maverick Brit, Richard Thornington, cross Albemarle Street and enter Chez Bizarre, where an Aussie maître d' sits them at a table that doubles as a display case exhibiting colorful items from a Bombay flea market.

Dalkin accepts the dreaded menu, determined not to peek inside, fearfully aware that ethnic food ignites in him Tourettic outbursts.

Thornington quickly orders Singh beer for both of them.

"So tell me about your Russian source," says Dalkin.

"Born and raised in Moscow," says Thornington. "His father was a professor at Moscow Aviation Institute. Our chap attended the Higher School of the KGB and the Red Banner Institute."

"How old?"

"Early 50s."

"You don't know exactly?" said Dalkin.

"I've written it down somewhere."

"But you did check him out?"

"I did what I could do without giving his actual name to my superiors and running it through Five’s databases," says Thornington.

"Okay, go on."

"His first foreign mission was Afghanistan. That's when he began to question his own system. When he returned to headquarters in Moscow, he watched in disbelief as those around him—especially the higher echelons—filled their pockets with dirty money as the Soviet Union disintegrated."

"So if he's opposed to corruption," says Dalkin, "what's his motivation for dealing with you?"

"Money."

"Do you see a contradiction here?"

"We call it irony," says Thornington. "And the Russian mentality is more ironic-oriented than we are here in Britannia. But to answer your question, I think he's bitter that they all got rich and got away with it. He remained honest and he earns about a hundred dollars a month. But the other side of it is this: I think he wants to hit back at those who stole from the Motherland. That's how, and why, we got into the SVR-Red Mafia overlap."

"Go on."

"He served in Central Europe. Did well, I think. Returned to Moscow, was rewarded with a transfer to Directorate S and a tour in London. They all want to come here."

“So how did you meet this Russian?”

“At a diplomatic function. We actually tried to recruit each other.” Thornington grins. “I lost.”

“He recruited you?”

“No. I recruited him, his information touched a nerve—and I lost my job at MI5 and tossed over to you.” Thornington lowers his voice from a whisper to a hush, his eyes on the door. "Here he comes."

Igor Sokolov gives Chez Bizarre a good eyeballing before taking off a Harris Tweed hat. Satisfied, the Russian bounds over to Thornington.

Introductions are made; Sokolov takes the couchette with Dalkin, back to the wall. "I am sorry, it takes time," he whispers, one eye on the door. "I come long way." He chuckles. "I take full tour of London to find you."

The waiter arrives with two glass mugs of Indian beer. Sokolov asks for hot tea.

"Cheers." Thornington raises his glass to the Russian.