“If you bother to look through what Dave’s left, you’ll see that the Western media have well and truly adopted Stepan Lvov as their own, even before he’s elected. The buzz phrase is ‘Russia’s New Camelot.’ Inevitably London is asking for a full profile.”
“Halliday told me he’s already provided one.”
“For his people. Apparently we need our own. Dave’s given me all his stuff and Tex passed on a lot more. .” The smile was a frigid one. “Some people work quite harmoniously with others.”
As she turned to leave Charlie said, “Don’t you want your bell?”
She paused at the door. “You keep it, Charlie. You might want to ring for help. Let’s hope someone hears.”
Charlie made his way slowly from the main embassy building into the residential compound, trying to decide if the previous thirty minutes really had been a genuine olive branch offer from an inexperienced operative on her initial overseas assignment. First-time appointees-certainly to a high-profile embassy like Moscow, which was rarely if ever a beginner’s posting-were rigidly vetted for any personal weaknesses and there certainly hadn’t been any weak frailty during their initial encounter. Why then the near embarrassingly inept act? Not something to be mulled over at any length but perhaps mentally filed for later reference.
Both duty operators-one male, one female-were lounged in easy chairs, disinterestedly flicking through out- of-date newspapers, their boredom shown in the log listing only four incoming calls after the tidal wave of the previous night’s TV broadcast. One of the four was from the familiarly ranting communist zealot, two were new Japanese press calls, and the fourth was a heavy-breathing blank.
The man said, “Harry told me to tell you he’d be along later, around eleven. He’s with Robertson, in the inquiry room, if you want him.”
Mikhail Guzov wasn’t at his Petrovka telephone when Charlie called. He told the woman who answered that he’d courier transcripts of the overnight contacts, although there was nothing of significance, and asked that Guzov return his call, slumping into another easy chair. He managed to go through Halliday’s newspapers, relieved there was still no reference to the embankment crash, before Fish’s arrival.
“What’s Robertson doing?” asked Charlie, expecting the mole-hunter to be in tow.
“His job, starting the reinterviews,” retorted Fish, more belligerent than unhelpful.
“You tell him about the hopeful call?”
“You didn’t ask me not to.”
“Or that you should.”
“You’re surely not expecting her to call again, after last night? And today’s newspaper follow-ups!”
“That’s not really the point, is it?”
“I don’t think there’s any longer much point in anything we’re doing here,” dismissed the electronics specialist. “Did you call that anchorwoman back?”
“That’s not a point of discussion, either,” refused Charlie, raising a three-day-old copy of the
“A minute to go, if she’s going to call,” announced Fish, unnecessarily.
Charlie finally lowered his newspaper and said “thanks,” disappointed he didn’t convey the intended sarcasm.
All four watched 12:10 register on their individual watches. A full minute later, Fish said: “You’ve lost her, as it was obvious you would.”
The woman monitor coughed and began rummaging in her handbag.
Fish said, “A good job you didn’t tell London.”
“I’m pretty sure they know, aren’t you?” said Charlie.
“How could. .?” started Fish, but was stopped by the telephone.
“I couldn’t decide.”
“I’m glad you did,” said Charlie.
“I’m frightened.” It was more a wheeze than hoarseness.
“I know. Don’t be. We have to meet.”
“I need to be sure.”
“Whatever you want. Tell me and I’ll do it. . whatever you want.”
“Need to be safe.”
“I’ll make sure you’re safe. Kept safe.” It wasn’t so difficult for him to say today.
Charlie could hear the growl of her breathing, which sounded as if it was quickening, as if the fear was building, but he held back from speaking, waiting for her, tensed against the line suddenly going dead. The other three in the room were tensed forward, too, the female operator with her cupped hands to her mouth. Charlie didn’t understand the single word the hoarse-voiced caller said, despite the magnification. Forcing the calmness, he said, “What was that?”
“Arbat,” she repeated. “You know the Arbat?”
“Yes, I know the Arbat.” Moscow’s tourist flea market, jammed with people, the best place for a jostled, easily escapable assassination, he thought.
“Saturday. Go there on Saturday.”
Natalia’s day! was Charlie’s immediate thought: the day he had to meet Natalia and Sasha-after now trebly ensuring he was free of any unwanted company-to make all the promises he intended to keep, make any concessions she demanded to persuade her to come with him to London. “What time on Saturday?”
“Be there at ten.”
“Where? What part? It’s a long street.”
“Just walk. Look at the shops and the stalls.”
“How do we meet?”
“I’ll decide. Don’t be surprised.”
“I need-” started Charlie but the line went dead.
“It’s a hoax,” declared Harry Fish. “You’re going to be made to look a fool again. Or be killed.”
The bastard was probably right, conceded Charlie, before the other thought registered. “I didn’t think you could speak Russian?” he said to the man.
23
During the initial seconds that followed Charlie regretted his challenge. His intuition was that the hoarse- voiced woman had something to offer. But objectively he had to recognize that Harry Fish could be right and that it could all be an elaborate hoax or, he had to accept, another attempt on his life.
Charlie contemptuously refused Fish’s near incoherent insistence that what he had intended to convey was not so much a denial of the language but a qualification that his superficial restaurant-Russian was insufficient for him properly to discuss and assess the shaded nuances of any exchange. In an insistence of his own, Charlie demanded the names of both monitoring operators to be witnesses at any future inquiry that might be convened by London after the documented protest he intended to make to the Director-General.
Which he did.
Consciously invoking more cliches, Charlie wrote of climates of suspicion, vindictiveness, unjustified internal spying and distrust, exacerbated by a still undetected internal informant, positively obstructing every investigatory move he attempted and further endangering any continuing, already fragile cooperation with the Russian authorities. It was not until his second complaining page that Charlie mentioned the contact from the hoarse-voiced woman, inferring London’s awareness of everything he did having been under constant observation by warning that if the woman suspected for a moment that he was not entirely alone for their arranged encounter, as he’d promised, any chance of maintaining that contact would be lost. For that reason, he intended employing even more
