Monsford, emerging from his protracted silence. “So far they haven’t published them. They could be waiting for just such a denial to wrong-foot us by releasing the pictures.”
“He was never named, either as Charlie Muffin or Malcolm Stoat, at any of those public appearances,” Smith pointed out.
“There could be another reason why they haven’t released photographs,” suggested Passmore, his good arm across his body.
“Associating Charlie with the failure of their Lvov operation, you mean?” too quickly anticipated Monsford.
“I don’t mean that at all,” dismissed Passmore. “That Lvov failed isn’t publicly known, any more than that his death was a cover-up FSB assassination. What
“This is becoming convoluted,” protested Monsford.
“To illustrate why we can’t abandon Charlie,” insisted Passmore, brusquely. “To abandon him would need our withdrawing all the support in place in Moscow, which would include, presumably, the exit passports waiting at the embassy for Natalia and the child. We’ve all of us acknowledged that Charlie would still try to get them out, which he wouldn’t stand a chance of doing. He’d get picked up and only then be photographically identified and accused not only of spying but also of being linked-openly accused, even-with two assassinations on Russian soil.”
There was a longer digesting silence before Monsford said: “They’d never be able to do that without the real truth coming out about Lvov and all the others killed in the FSB cleanup.”
“Putin’s put the straitjacket back on Russia,” argued Passmore. “It’s not as tight as it was at the height of the Cold War, but it’s enough for a public exposure that’ll make what they’ve staged so far look like an amateur rehearsal.”
“We covered the possibility of his arrest and trial during the Buckinghamshire planning,” remembered Monsford, triumphantly. “What’s to stop Charlie exposing everything about the Lvov business in court?”
“The straitjacket,” rejected Aubrey Smith, at once. “Charlie would have to be represented by a Russian lawyer and get the agreement of the judge or the tribunal to make a statement in open court. He’d be silenced before he managed to speak ten words.”
“We could make sure the truth came out from here, publicly if needs be,” argued Monsford.
“Which with very little editing, maybe no editing at all, could be used as confirming evidence against Charlie, not exoneration in his favor,” punctured Passmore.
“Are you saying we can’t do anything?” agonized Palmer.
“I’m saying we can’t cut Charlie adrift, no matter how much we want to.”
“And there’s an obvious way that’s taken us too long to reach to prevent Charlie causing any more trouble,” said Smith, quietly. “And it’s not what you’re thinking.”
“You did well, stepping in to halt the panic,” Aubrey Smith congratulated his operations director as they walked across Parliament Square on their way back to the MI5 building. Turning to Jane Ambersom on his other side, he went on: “And if it hadn’t been for your input we wouldn’t have reached the decisions we did.”
“It was Rebecca Street’s idea how the hotel arrests could be honestly refuted,” said Jane, only just keeping the bitterness from her voice.
“You initiated the discussion,” said Smith. “And if you hadn’t, the way to lift Charlie and close down the whole bloody business wouldn’t have emerged.”
They waited for a traffic change to cross to the abbey side. Passmore said: “Simple and obvious if Charlie does the simple and obvious thing by eventually approaching the embassy for the passports he asked me separately to provide. From his maneuvering so far I don’t expect him to come through the embassy gate with his hand out, do you?”
“No,” admitted the Director-General at once. “But there’s somehow, somewhere, got to be a personal exchange. That’s when and how we’ll get him. And once we’ve got him, believe me he’ll never be allowed to cause any more trouble, ever again.”
“I wish I were as confident as you,” cautioned Passmore.
“It’s satisfied our government masters for the moment,” Smith pointed out. “Which is all I wanted, time and space in which to think of something better.”
“What about the others?” questioned the woman, ever conscious of the puppetry of her former director. “Do you trust Monsford to go on working with us now?”
“No,” conceded Smith, as quickly as before. “I think he wants out. He can’t say so, not after all the bullshit of seconding Charlie to MI6. But I’m sure he’s got cold feet.”
“What can we do to keep him onboard?”
“You tell me,” said Smith, emptily.
“Which creates another uncertainty we don’t need,” said Passmore, matching the cynicism.
“
“Shelter MI6 from any fallout!” echoed the woman, contemptuously. “The only entity Gerald Monsford wants to shelter from fallout is Gerald Monsford. And there’s no limit whatsoever to what or where Gerald Monsford will go to guarantee that.”
“You can’t mean that: not really believe that,” disbelieved Passmore.
“I’ve never believed anything more in my entire life,” said Jane.
They’d driven without speaking back to Vauxhall Cross, both Rebecca Street and James Straughan warned against any conversation by Monsford’s lowering the partitioning glass between them and the driver. Both remained silent until they reached the Director’s suite.
“It’s time to press the button on the Janus extraction,” Monsford declared as he turned from activating the recording apparatus. “Alert Jacobson and the Paris team at once. They’re to liaise entirely through you, as central Control, to establish you’re in personal command the entire time. Everything’s on standby, ready, isn’t it?”
To establish that you’re in personal command the entire time, wearily recognized Straughan, “Everything’s on standby but it can’t be immediately activated.”
“My orders were, and are, to have everything ready at a moment’s notice!” accused Monsford. “Why haven’t they been followed!”
If the bastard wanted a provable record he’d provide it, for every later examination to hear in crystal clarity, determined Straughan. “I’ve just told you everything’s in place, ready. But it’s got to be synchronized. A flight plan has to be filed for the private plane that’s to be waiting at Orly for Elana and Andrei, whose arrival there has to be coordinated to the minute. Their departure has to be coordinated with Radtsic’s flight from Moscow. If just one coordinate falls out of sequence the extraction collapses into chaotic disaster ten times worse than that we’ve already got.”
“I didn’t ask for a lecture on tradecraft!”
“I’m not lecturing on tradecraft,” refuted Straughan, his nerves inwardly in turmoil. “I’m setting out the logistical practicalities. And before they’ve even been put in motion Elana and Andrei have to be told to be ready at a precise time for their pickup. In Moscow a ticket has to be bought for Radtsic and bookings made for his escorts on a direct commercial flight to London, with no intermediary stopovers like Amsterdam to prevent an FSB interception if there’s an airport identification of Radtsic but insufficient time to stop him, which is a possibility we can’t overlook. Because you’ve only just given me the instructions we don’t yet know if there are available seats on that first convenient direct flight, the lack of which is another possibility we can’t overlook. And if there aren’t available seats, all the other timings have to be resynchronized. And-”
“All right!” stopped Monsford, tight voiced. “How long?”
“Twenty-four hours at the very earliest to guarantee that synchronization,” promised Straughan. “Allowing for inevitable setbacks, we should get all three to London the day after tomorrow. Where a safe house is also set up, fully staffed and protected.”
“You’d better start at once, to minimize those setbacks, hadn’t you?”
