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Bramwell Peterson was pleased with himself. Not only had he survived but he’d managed to consolidate his position. It’d been a bold strategy, not without danger. Ideology wasn’t the reason he’d passed classified information to the Russians and their allies. No, it had been necessity. They knew of his proclivity, but they weren't the only ones.
Agreeing to be ‘turned’ by the Security Service was a long-awaited act of release. Ceding ownership of the diary in which he’d detailed his and the ‘others’ shared experiences was the stimulus for their offer.
They were so pleased with themselves no one had even broached the question of a copy. Well, copies to be exact; sealed in brown envelopes, addressed to two rival newspapers and safely tucked away in a bank safety deposit box. The new copy of his will and its instructions were quite clear, even the obscure solicitor the bank had recommended would be able to manage it should anything happen to him.