automatically triggered movement or body-heat activated burglar lights. Ground sensors sounded an audible alarm by tread or passing movement, with no visual screen display. There had been nothing on the night of the body discovery that sounded like a pistol or automatic weapon report.
“Which we would certainly have recognized,” offered Hoskins, the plumper of the two ex-soldiers.
“Even below the rest of the noise that there was that night,” added the mustached Jameson.
“Below what noise that night?” quoted back Charlie.
Hoskins shrugged, dismissively. “There was a lot of noise around midnight. An altercation among a birthday party group, something like that, farther along the embankment.”
Charlie let the despairing frustration pass. “How much farther along the embankment?”
There was another dismissive shrug. “A hundred, hundred and fifty yards. Quite close to the pontoon. A bunch of guys trying to throw someone in the river.”
“How do you know it was something like a birthday party and that someone was being threatened with being thrown into the river?” asked Charlie, sure he already knew the answer.
The two men looked at each other. “We went along to check it out; make sure it wasn’t going to be a problem that might involve the embassy,” said Jameson. “That’s our job, making sure the embassy doesn’t get caught up in any trouble.”
“Yes.” Charlie sighed, as Stout reentered the room. “That’s what your job is.”
“I don’t understand it,” complained Stout, intruding into the meeting.
“Let me guess,” offered Charlie, wearily. “The log for the night of the murder isn’t in the file where it should be?”
Stout nodded, in agreement. “There are some other days that are missing, too.”
“Nights and days when the CCTV didn’t work?” suggested Charlie.
“How did you know?”
“It’s a knack I have,” said Charlie.
His meeting with the two nighttime guards over, Charlie insisted on being taken to the electrical control box governing the embassy’s CCTV cameras, his stomach lurching at the immediate discovery of at least twenty other control terminals forming part of the same bank.
“The Russian electricians had access to this box?”
“Of course. They had to have.”
“For how long?”
“An hour. Maybe a little longer.”
“Who was here, monitoring them?”
“I was,” replied Stout, his voice lifting at being able at last to respond positively.
“Here, all the time?”
Stout gave another of his now familiar hesitations. “Apart from the times I went with the other Russian to check the CCTV screens, to confirm that they were operating normally again.”
“Leaving the other man working on the terminals here all by himself?”
“I couldn’t split myself in half to be in two places at the same time, could I?”
“No, I don’t suppose you could,” agreed Charlie.
4
Charlie’s escape from his scourging frustration at the embassy security debacle was to immerse himself and his every thought on Natalia and Sasha. And the more he did, the more his confidence grew that his return to Moscow presented him with an opportunity to salvage a relationship he’d never imagined possible to save. And that there was no reason why he shouldn’t make every attempt and effort to do just that. Their relationship hadn’t collapsed. At its worse assessment, it had been interrupted. They certainly weren’t enemies. If anything, on his part at least, his feelings for Natalia had grown from their being apart. They corresponded regularly, sometimes more than once a month. Natalia kept up a steady supply of photographs of their daughter, and when he’d eventually, although reluctantly, accepted that Natalia wouldn’t join him in London, he’d put all the necessary bank arrangements in place to provide monthly maintenance, never missing a payment although occasionally leaving himself strapped for money. At the beginning of their odd separation there had been telephone calls, but they had gradually lessened; the last had to be four months earlier and on that occasion Charlie had imagined-and hoped it had only been imagination-that there was a coolness from Natalia. Never, in any of the letters or any of the telephone conversations, had there been any mention of divorce.
He had to plan the approach very carefully, though: warn her he was here, in Moscow, and leave any actual meeting to be on her terms and at her convenience. A phone call would be too abrupt and unexpected, even though Natalia would understand the short notice with which he’d been dispatched, despite their never discussing their respective intelligence work.
A brief letter then, dismissing the reason for his being here as business, giving the hotel as his contact address. He’d leave it to Natalia to decide if Sasha should be included in the initial meeting: paramount in both their thinking had always been to minimize as much as possible any disruptive effect upon Sasha by their living apart. Charlie hoped the stories he had heard about some Russian stores and shops bringing themselves up to European quality and choice were true, although he didn’t have the remotest idea what a child of eight would appreciate as a fitting present from a suddenly appearing father. He should buy a gift for Natalia, as well. Something else that wouldn’t be easy. Natalia always protested he was too extravagant in his present-buying for both of them.
His decision made, Charlie missed breakfast to write his note on hotel letter-head paper, scrapping two attempts before he was satisfied, in no hurry to get to Smolenskaya Naberezhaya, unsure whether to go to the embassy at all until after contact was established with Sergei Pavel and pathologist Vladimir Ivanov. The decision was made for him when there was no response from Pavel’s Petrovka phone.
Halliday was at the embassy when Charlie arrived. Paula-Jane wasn’t. Nodding to her office, Charlie said, “She seems a very busy girl.”
Halliday grinned. “And a very popular one, particularly with our American cousins. I’ve got the most recent newspapers, including the British. The speculation about your murder ranges from the Russian preference for the man being the victim of a gangland contract killing, through to the elimination by pursuing Russian police or intelligence agents of an intended traitor at his moment of defection, finally to the man being an Islamic suicide bomber shot by British security officers seconds before detonating his explosives. Three London newspapers appeared to have flown reporters specifically to Moscow to cover the story.”
“Thanks for keeping them. I’ll read them later.”
“And the world media have finally discovered the about-to-be new First Lady,” continued Halliday. “The beautiful Marina Lvov is all over the newspapers.”
“I’ll stick with the murder coverage.”
“On the subject of which, you going to fill me in now or wait for P-J?”
“What?” Charlie frowned.
“The press conference.” Halliday frowned back. “I didn’t know there was going to be one until I bumped into Dawkins first thing this morning.”
“And I still don’t know anything about it,” said Charlie.
“You’re not involved?”
“No,” said Charlie.
“And here comes P-J,” said Halliday, looking farther down the corridor along which the woman was hurrying toward them, raising her hand in greeting as she got close to Halliday’s open office door.
“When I couldn’t reach you by telephone, I went to the Savoy to find you; messages never get through,” she announced, breathlessly. “You all set?”
“I think I’m close to being set
“Dawkins,” replied Paula-Jane. “The embassy’s being overwhelmed by media approaches. The ambassador has decided upon a press conference, so you’ve got to be there. It’s scheduled for eleven.”
