counteracting Russian publicity and public perception, hasn’t it?”
“Has everyone forgotten my suggestion how to counteract that?” dismissed Monsford.
Aubrey Smith waited, hopefully.
“Aren’t there several points there?” questioned Bland, in cautious agreement.
“No,” rejected Smith, satisfied. “We can’t anticipate the publicity this will generate until it’s happened. So we’ll be following their lead, with each and every rebuttal we attempt: appearing that we have to defend ourselves.”
“What, then, are you suggesting?” demanded Palmer.
“That the conference connection is established, that Maxim Radtsic is warned as strongly as possible of the potential traps, and that we all pray that he manages to persuade his wife and son to continue on here,” said Smith, establishing his reservations. “If, that is, the kidnap allegations are withdrawn and the French agree to release them into our protection and not Moscow’s. If we get them here we achieve the defection. If we don’t, it’ll be unmitigated professional disasters.”
“I’m sure we all of us defer to your knowledge of professional disasters,” said Monsford.
“Your favorite, Shakespeare, had a view of professional disasters, didn’t he?” said Smith. “Something along the lines of how he was wearied by them: the first murderer in
The 986 circle line service hissed into Komsomolskaya more slowly than it had at Paveletsky, which Charlie assumed to be dictated by platform length, making it easier to identify Beckindale and Warren in their respective carriages. Both were standing, as if to get off, but which Charlie guessed made it easier for them to scour the arrival platform, taking it as confirmation of their surveillance realization. Wilkinson snatched to answer Charlie’s call as the train squealed to a final halt. Charlie said: “Appear to be getting off the train but don’t,” and disconnected, watching Warren and Beckindale move separately in their respective carriages toward the opening doors for a closer platform search.
Warren must have had his cell phone in his hand, from the awkwardness with which he answered it getting off the train. Charlie said: “Beckindale’s with you. Lose him. I’m at the top of the escalator. I’ll make the contact.”
Warren’s reaction was better than Charlie had expected. There was no startled backward look. Warren continued purposefully on as Beckindale got off, appearing surprised at the sight of the other man ahead of him. Beckindale hesitated, uncertainly looking between Warren and the train, edging just close enough to see Wilkinson getting up from his seat. Beckindale remained momentarily undecided before hurrying after Warren. Charlie moved, too, having to thrust his outstretched arms between the closing doors for them to reopen to admit him.
He was taking a hell of a chance, Charlie accepted, with no idea if any of the others remained on the train. It would be safer to stay where he was, next to the door, at least until he cleared the next station.
29
There were audible voices, speaking French, but no picture. The screen flickered, distorted images breaking up, then settled to show Elana and Andrei side by side behind a table, which was how Radtsic was positioned in Hertfordshire by M16 technicians. They’d also covered the entire wall behind him with beige, nonreflective fabric, as the French had also done in Paris, in the same color. The microphones on both tables virtually matched, as well. The water carafes were similar, each oddly set with four accompanying tumblers. Monsford was behind the camera, with earphoned technicians and engineers, hands cupping earphones to his head to hear the simultaneous translation.
“I can…” began Radtsic, uneven voiced, at a gesture from a technician off camera.
Radtsic stopped, clearing his throat, and started again. “I can see you.”
“We can see you, too,” said Elana. She was wearing a vivid red dress, with a diamond brooch pinned close to her left shoulder. Her hair was immaculately coiffured. Her voice was even, showing none of her husband’s uncertainty.
“How are you?” asked Radtsic.
“All right.”
“Andrei?”
“All right.” Andrei shrugged as he spoke. He was wearing an open-neck shirt beneath a sweater, which appeared too big for him. His hair was tousled, uncombed, and he constantly fidgeted, both hands first on the table, then in his lap, quickly back to the table again. Unlike his mother, instead of looking into the camera he seemed to be seeking people behind it.
Radtsic cleared his throat again. Stiltedly, enunciating each word as if reading from a script, he said: “Are you being well treated?”
“Very well,” assured Elana, for the first time glancing behind the camera.
“I am in England.”
“Yes.” Almost hurriedly she said: “We know.”
“I want you both here in England with me. We’re going to live here. You were mistaken, about being kidnapped. They were friends, helping you. You must tell people that: make it clear to people there, so they understand.”
The French transmission began to break up and Monsford came too close to the technician operating the English equipment, jogging him. Abruptly the screen cleared.
“I-” started Elana but Andrei talked over her.
“No!” he declared, loudly. “I’m not coming … not agreeing. You’re betraying us … traitor … you’re a traitor.”
Radtsic visibly clenched his hands, outstretched on the table, and Monsford tensed forward again, anticipating the outburst against which he’d warned the Russian, but Radtsic’s voice was controlled, although still stilted. “I am not a traitor.… I want you here, with me and your mother.”
“I want to come … will come,” Elana managed before Andrei overwhelmed her, shouting now.
“I don’t want to come … don’t want to be with you … see you … dead, that’s what I think … you’re dead to me.”
“Please,” pleaded Radtsic, still controlled although his hands were bunched into fists. “Please, Andrei. Don’t break up the family. I need you here, with me. You can’t stay there … stay anywhere except here with me. You know that-”
“I will come … want to come,” Elana repeated.
“Go with him!” yelled Andrei, turning to his mother. “Go with the traitor. I don’t want to be with you, either of you, not anymore.…” He began to struggle up, physically to separate himself from her.
“Stay where you are!” roared Radtsic, all restraint gone, red faced with fury. “You
“I warned you what would happen,” said Monsford, stopping just short of the exasperation that might have antagonized the Russian into worse anger. They’d moved from the room in which the conference link had been established, into a glassed conservatory overlooking the grounds. Radtsic had refused vodka, demanding scotch.
“Disobeying me … actually disobeying me, his father!” struggled Radtsic, disbelievingly, oblivious anyway to what Monsford was saying. “He must come. They won’t let him stay in France. He’ll be taken back … punished.”
“We’re trying to reconnect,” said Monsford, emptily, desperately trying to think ahead. “It was the surprise, of actually seeing you, knowing that you’re already here, after what’s happened in France. He’ll come round when he adjusts to the reality.…”
“He called me a traitor … denigrated me…” remembered Radtsic, overwhelmed in disbelief. “I must speak to him: make him understand.”
