of us know Charlie won’t accept that, just as we both acknowledge how good he is. He’d abandon the protection and give you the slip, as he did a few days ago. Except this time he’ll go to Russia instead.”
The Director-General shook his head. “He couldn’t do that without backup resources, which he doesn’t have.”
“You want to run the risk of his trying, which he will, and create a huge diplomatic incident?”
“You proposing we eliminate him?” There was no outrage in Smith’s voice.
“I’m arguing we shouldn’t close everything down as quickly as you seem to be suggesting,” said Monsford. “I also believe it would be an argument that those who crack the whip in Downing Street would consider a validation.”
“I don’t think…” began Smith, but was stopped by the burp of an internal telephone. He listened for several moments before interrupting, sharply: “You know what to do. Do it!”
To Monsford’s inquiring look, Smith said: “The Russians have just broken into Charlie’s flat. And there’s been fresh contact from Moscow. It’s being voiceprinted to make sure it’s Natalia Fedova.”
“Isn’t one thing going to complicate the other?”
“I don’t see why it should,” said Smith. “We’ll have to see, won’t we?”
He wasn’t manipulating events, despaired Monsford. And he didn’t know how to reverse the situation.
It was the first time they’d met, at Maxim Radtsic’s insistence, in Jacobson’s car. An enclosed vehicle was the easiest for an entrapment, so as a precaution Jacobson drove several times past the pickup point from every possible approach to satisfy himself there were no ambush preparations in the immediate side streets. There weren’t, but Jacobson, who’d never before been involved in an extraction and was even less used to having the deputy director of Russian intelligence dependent upon him, wasn’t reassured, his stomach in turmoil as, precisely on time, he made his final approach, still only minimally relieved at the sight of the Russian waiting as arranged. That relief vanished when he realized that the clumsiness with which Radtsic fumbled open the passenger door was caused by his carrying a suitcase in one hand. So instinctive was it for Jacobson to drive off that he briefly took his foot off the brake, making the car jump and almost toppling the Russian, who was only partially in, the suitcase ahead of him. It was a separate instinct for Jacobson to snatch the case farther in and haul the Russian behind it, letting the next forward lurch slam the door closed.
“What the fuck!” exploded Jacobson, finally thrusting the suitcase away from his shoulder into the rear of the vehicle. He was only vaguely aware of the clatter of loose things, his concentration tensed for the siren scream of arrest.
“Very much what the fuck!” returned the Russian, pushing himself upright.
“What’s happening?… What’s in the case…?”
Radtsic recovered first. “I’m the senior FSB deputy: you actually think I would act as bait, for your seizure!”
Jacobson’s fear was molding into humiliation at his overreaction. “We never talked about a case … about your carrying anything.”
“It’s not a bomb, Harry. And our listening devices are miniaturized, just like yours. The case contains all the personal things that Elana wants to take with her. But with which we’d never get past airport security.”
Jacobson was glad the darkness would cover the redness flaming his face. “You should have warned me.”
“Yes, I should, shouldn’t I?”
“You frightened me,” admitted Jacobson.
“I’m sorry.” The Russian jerked his head back toward the case. “You can ship that out in the diplomatic bag, can’t you?”
“I suppose … yes, of course we can. Will there be anything more?”
“I’d hoped there wouldn’t be the need for many more meetings: that you were going to tell me the final details tonight.”
“It’s close. But not yet.”
“Not too much longer: I can’t wait too much longer. Neither can Elana.”
“You won’t have to,” promised Jacobson, hoping he was right.
“I’ve told my father,” announced Yvette Paruch. She was sitting naked at Andrei’s dressing table, until then methodically counting aloud the brushstrokes to her waist-length, deeply black hair but looking at him in the mirror’s reflection.
“You’re exciting me, sitting like that.” Andrei Maximovich was naked, too, still sprawled across their bed.
“I can see for myself.” Yvette smiled, into the mirror. “I said I’ve told my father I’ve moved in with you.”
“What did he say?”
“That he hoped I was sure. And to be careful not to become pregnant until I was.”
“What did you say?”
“That I was but that I wouldn’t get pregnant.”
“Did you tell him I’m Russian?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
“So I’m not going to meet him?”
“He invited us down for the vacation.”
“Do you want to go?”
“I want him to meet the man I’m in love with.”
“He’ll pick up my accent: know I’m not French.”
“Are you frightened?”
“Having survived the Nazi occupation of Warsaw but seen both his parents killed by Russian soldiers, I think he deserves to be told in advance, not when we get there.”
“One hundred!” she declared, finishing her routine, swiveling on her stool to face him. “What about you? Are you going to tell your parents?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t choose to.”
“Does that mean you don’t love me? That it’s just more convenient to fuck me if I live here instead of staying on in my own apartment?”
“That’s ridiculous and dirty and you know it!”
“Why not then! Because I’m Jewish?”
“You’re being ridiculous: intentionally making an argument. Stop it!”
“You know everything about me. I don’t know anything about you. Let’s not go down to Aix for the vacation. Take me to Moscow instead.”
“I’d rather go to Aix.”
“I’d rather go to Moscow.”
“We’ll think about it.”
“You’re not excited anymore,” she said, giggling.
“No, I’m not, am I?” he agreed.
8
Charlie slept intermittently, aware of the infrared monitoring, and feigned sleep when he’d been awake, his concentration entirely upon how to reverse some of the impressions he’d conveyed during his original questioning in the desperate hope of gaining some personal involvement in the rescue of Natalia and Sasha. He’d stupidly
