Nabbing all five of the Cambridge spies in one swoop to trade for a ticket up the ladder?Allen Wilson had no such fantasies. He wasn't exactly destitute, and unless the returns were obvious and immediate, he wasn't the type to take that sort of risk.
If there was a chance for some career leverage, he wouldn't turn it down — but at his age, the odds weren't great.
He was a practical man: without clear profit, he wouldn't gamble on a dangerous game.As for the Cambridge Five, those crown jewels of Soviet intelligence history, for now he just wanted a little… casual contact.
The only point of connection he had with Kim Philby was that both had lived in British India. That would have to be enough for now.
Since returning to London, Allen's thoughts had been mixed. Inside the British civil service, being anti-Soviet was practically a sacred truth. People like the Cambridge Five, who held a soft spot for the USSR, were rare — and usually well hidden.
Allen's own stance was… unique. He was anti-Soviet for his own interests, yes, but he was also anti-American.
With the war nearly over, it was becoming clear the British Empire would have to make room for the U.S. and the USSR. Strictly speaking, the sun hadn't set yet — but dusk was falling. And in that twilight, Britain and America were no "special" friends.
When it came to dismantling the Empire, Washington and Moscow were the same animal. In fact, in colonial matters, the Americans were often more destructive than the Soviets.
Postwar, the USSR would be bled dry — people gone, wealth gone — and too busy swallowing Eastern Europe to project power elsewhere. The real pressure would come from the Americans, and in the short term, London's best hope would be to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with France. Long-term, though, both superpowers would press them.
After their conversation, Allen invited Philby to grab a drink after work. Philby accepted without hesitation.
"Then I'll head off for now. I'll see you after you're done," Allen said, shaking his hand. "You know how it is — not many people in London have actually served in British India. Coming back here, there's a lot I still need to re-learn."
"I'm happy to help," Philby replied with his usual warm courtesy. "Like you said — it's good to have friends."
Once Allen left the MI6 headquarters building, Philby's smile faded. He stood in thought for a long moment before moving on.
Philby was different from his fellow Cambridge spies. Most of them carried a romanticized vision of the Soviet Union. He did not.He didn't believe a state could remake itself from scratch and magically solve every problem.
To him, it was normal for a young regime to stumble through crises. And on a global scale, it was better for humanity to have more than one system to choose from — just as Britain had both Conservatives and Labour. Let people choose whatever model they wanted.
Philby might work for the Soviets, but he wasn't blinded by illusions. That realism was exactly why he was the most dangerous of the five.
"Back in London, I expect they're working out your posting already," Philby said later, swirling the whisky in his glass. "Frankly, it's good you came back early. If India's independence turns out to be inevitable, you'll face far more competition returning later. Coming now means even if you go back there, you won't be caught unprepared."
"You think India's independence is inevitable too?" Allen asked after a slow sip.
"Keeping it would be… difficult," Philby admitted. "And we have to consider the views of the other two big players."
"You mean the Americans. If they're involved, there's no chance," Allen muttered. "It's obvious now — they're a dubious ally at best. The damage they could do to the Empire might even outweigh the Soviets."
"Oh? That's your read on it?" Philby's face flickered, but he hid his eyes behind another drink.
"You're not wrong," he said at last, setting the glass down. "Enemy and ally aren't always easy to tell apart."
"Exactly," Allen agreed, raising a brow. "Couldn't have put it better."
Meanwhile, in the Foreign Office on Whitehall, Leo Amery, Secretary of State for India, dropped a letter in front of Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden."I want to borrow someone from your department — temporarily, still on India Office books. Thoughts?"
"Leo? What's all this for?" Eden asked, puzzled. "Why complicate things?"
"I'd like to know that myself," Amery said with a dry chuckle. "It's from Mountbatten. Mostly personal notes and an update on India — and then this. The civil servant who brought it back from India is posted to my office for now, but Mountbatten wants him to work at the Foreign Office. That's it."
"Sounds like… a standard transfer?" Eden mused — then his tone shifted. "But then, Foreign, Colonial, India Office — we're all in the same business, just with different maps. I'll have the Permanent Under-Secretary arrange it."
"It shouldn't be a problem. Even the PM got a letter from Mountbatten," Amery added. Then he gave Eden a sidelong glance. "This civil servant — what's his connection to Mountbatten?"
"Future son-in-law? The age doesn't quite match," Eden joked. "But the Foreign Office is swamped right now, and we can't just ignore Mountbatten's wishes — especially not you."
The India Office ran all policy for the Raj, which meant anything from the Viceroy had to be taken seriously. And if Mountbatten was also writing to Churchill, Eden suspected he wanted to "gild" this man's résumé.
With Berlin about to fall and the division of occupied zones looming, the Foreign Office had no shortage of high-profile work. A stint there could pack a CV with useful experience in no time.
Eden now had a clear picture of what he should do.