The Traitor's Story by Kevin Wignall

got up and left, one of them looking back at Jonas two or three times, trying to make eye contact. At the very last, Jonas noticed her and threw a shy and slightly lost smile back at her. Seeing it made Finn feel like a ghost.
    Jonas turned back to him. “We put it on a memory stick. Hailey has it.”
    “She could have left it in her room.”
    “No, she would’ve taken it with her.”
    “You don’t have a copy?”
    The kid shook his head and took a deep draft of his hot chocolate.
    “I made some notes, but I didn’t have a copy of the files. I don’t have my notebook with me. It’s a Moleskine, which is what Hemingway used, though really it’s just a brand now. I don’t much like Hemingway, anyway.”
    “ The Old Man and the Sea was pretty good.”
    “True. But don’t you think it’s the idea of Hemingway that people like, rather than the writing?”
    Finn nodded, smiling. “That’s an interesting theory. I like that.”
    Jonas smiled, too—flattered, even a little embarrassed.
    “But, tell me, the information you hacked, did it seem sensitive?” Thinking of Gibson’s possible careers, he added, “Did it deal with stock information, perhaps, or sensitive industrial data?”
    “It didn’t seem to relate to anything that we could make sense of. If I showed you my notebook it might give you an idea of how random it was.”
    “You can’t remember any of it now?”
    “Little bits.” He thought for a moment. “It mentioned Helsinki. I remember that because I’ve been to Helsinki.”
    Finn looked at him expectantly.
    “It mentioned . . . let me get this right. It mentioned ‘Albigensian,’ but then another note said he should disregard that comment.”
    Finn could almost feel his thoughts tumbling away into an abyss, could feel his body tightening.
    “Albigensian?”
    “Yeah. I checked it out because I’d never heard of it—it’s from the Albigensian Crusade, which wasn’t against Islam, it was against—”
    “The Cathars. It’s what my new book is about.”
    Jonas looked lost for words momentarily, then said, “Hold on, you don’t have a network in your apartment?” Finn shook his head. Jonas was ahead of him, though, saying, “But no, it was Mr. Gibson’s network, I know it was. Do you think he was spying on you?”
    “Could be a coincidence,” said Finn, but he knew that it wasn’t, looking instead for the least troubling explanation for why he might be under surveillance again after all this time.
    Jonas checked his watch, then attracted the attention of the waitress and said, “I have to go now, but if we meet tomorrow, I’ll bring my notebook.”
    “I’d appreciate that,” said Finn, then watched as Jonas settled the bill with the smitten waitress.
    His mind was racing. They’d left him alone for the best part of six years, the terms of his departure agreed upon, a line drawn under it. So why would they be showing an interest again now? Unless the mention of “Albigensian” really had been a coincidence, something that seemed too unlikely but that he still wanted to hold on to as a possibility.
    They walked out into the cold together and arranged a time to meet—Jonas had the following afternoon free, which made it easier—and a place: the same coffee shop. And then Finn thanked him and Jonas walked away.
    Only after Finn had started walking did he hear Jonas call him. He turned and looked, and Jonas shouted, “I remember something else. Something he talked about a lot.”
    “What was it?”
    “Sparrowhawk,” said Jonas. “You know, like the bird of prey? Sparrowhawk!” He shrugged, as if to suggest how absurd it was. And he waved and walked along the street and left Finn standing there, knowing that it was over, that Adrienne had left at the right time, because the life he’d constructed over the last six years, already insubstantial, had just evaporated.

History
    Harry called in sick the following morning. Perry seemed preoccupied for most of the day,