See Charlie Run

‘Of course,’ said Charlie. Greedy bastard, he thought. The reaction was largely personal irritation, at his misconceptions. Thank Christ no one knew. Trying to press his point, he went on: ‘I wasn’t talking about publishing a book …’ but Kozlov refused him.

‘I was,’ said the Russian. ‘And that’s all I was talking about. I will not undertake any lecture tours; neither will Irena. No personal publicity, either. Any meetings with publishers or writers will be before I undergo any appearance change. The same with Irena.’

It was an explanation, decided Charlie. He felt uncomfortable with it. He said: ‘Separate book contracts, like separate defections?’

‘Listing all the promises that are broken,’ confirmed Kozlov.

Charlie supposed it had some kind of rationale. He said: ‘Your wife is prepared to cooperate fully? She knows what’s involved?’

‘We’ve both considered it very fully.’

‘You’re worried about getting caught,’ said Charlie. ‘What’s her fear?’

‘The same,’ said the other man at once. ‘If I’m seized, she loses me. She is as worried at the possibility of an arrest as I am.’

Time to move on, decided Charlie. ‘You used a word to describe yourself, to Fredericks. He couldn’t remember it,’ he prompted.

‘Cheka,’ responded Kozlov at once.

Kozlov certainly wasn’t an imposter. An imposter would not have known the abbreviation of Vecheka, the name of the first intelligence organizations formed after the Russian Revolution and still how genuine KGB officers referred to themselves, as a term of pride.

‘It must be fascinating in Dzerzhinsky Square, knowing you’re in the very place where your service began,’ persisted Charlie.

Kozlov laughed, openly. ‘You’re much more sceptical than the Americans,’ he said.

The praise ploy again, thought Charlie. He stayed silent.

Spacing his delivery, Kozlov said: ‘Gorokhovaia Street, in Petrograd, was actually the first headquarters. It didn’t move to Moscow until 1918. And even then not to where it is now: for two years it was at Bolshoi Lubyanka …’ He looked briefly at Charlie. ‘Right?’

‘No!’ said Charlie.

‘But that …!’ Kozlov began to protest and then stopped. ‘As a matter of fact it is, historically,’ he said. ‘But I see now. No part of my Chief Directorate is in Dzerzhinsky Square. We’re too big. Our building is on the Moscow ring road.’

‘What connects with Metrostroevskaya Street?’ said Charlie.

Kozlov did not speak for several moments. Then he said: ‘I didn’t know the British service was that well informed.’

As before, Charlie remained silent, refusing to be drawn, and Kozlov said, after a further pause: ‘Turnaninski Pereulok.’

‘And?’ urged Charlie.

‘Yes,’ said Kozlov. ‘I received initial training there: rifle and pistol shooting, unarmed combat … it’s the school.’

‘I want the other place,’ demanded Charlie.

‘Kuchino,’ said the Russian, at once.

‘What’s the specialization?’

‘Poisons. And drugs that dissipate in the body within minutes of being administered …’ He looked again directly at Charlie. ‘You know Moscow too well.’

Sometimes I wished I lived there, with Natalia again, thought Charlie. He said: ‘There was an operation once. It wasn’t successful. I managed to get out.’ That was too much to have revealed at this stage; any stage, in fact. Wanting to cover the mistake, Charlie tried to off-balance again. He said: ‘Who was Harold McFairlane?’

And this time it worked. They were actually approaching the port now, able to see the anchored, lighted vessels. Kozlov took the bridge over the Sumidagawa River but turned away from the full dock complex, going inland: Charlie remembered that a lot of the waterside area was, in fact, islands where it would have been easy to become boxed in and trapped. Kozlov’s throat was moving and there was a sudden, visible shake, in the hands that held the wheel. ‘You have been extremely busy,’ he managed finally.

‘It would seem that you were, too,’ said Charlie.

‘Has it been an American identification?’

‘You know I won’t answer that,’ said Charlie. It was a careless demand anyway: Charlie felt a stir of anticipation.

‘Tell me how close, at least?’

Charlie had no idea what the question meant. Using Kozlov’s demand as the guide, Charlie said: ‘Very close.’

‘I knew it was wrong,’ said Kozlov. More than at any time since the encounter began, Kozlov was reflective, deep inside his own mind.

What the fuck had been wrong! thought Charlie, desperately: this really was like being on the tightrope and watching the strands fray at the far end. He searched for a further way to urge the man on. Drawing upon his own experience, Charlie said: ‘They never listen to the people who have to do the job, do they?’

‘I needed more time, after London. Bonn only gave me a month: it had to be messy,’ blundered Kozlov.

Enough, Charlie decided at once. He said: There’ll be a complete amnesty, of course. For McFairlane …’ He allowed the pause. ‘And the rest.’

‘That’s the most essential guarantee,’ said Kozlov. ‘I’ll want that – so will Irena – before we’ll agree to anything.’

Charlie reckoned he had everything short of a written confession. He repeated: ‘You’ll have every guarantee.’

‘How will you get Irena out?’ demanded Kozlov.

Charlie paused. ‘Safely,’ he said. I hope, he thought.

There was another fleeting smile from Kozlov, the first for a long time. He said: ‘Yes. It is better I don’t know.’

‘But there will have to be the closest coordination,’ warned Charlie. ‘Everything calculated to the minute, to leave at the same time.’

‘I don’t need reminding of the disaster, if the timing is wrong,’ said the Russian. He paused: ‘If anything goes wrong.’

‘I need a photograph to recognize Irena,’ said Charlie.

‘I expected you would,’ said Kozlov. He reached inside his jacket and handed Charlie an envelope.

‘And to meet,’ continued Charlie. An idea was shaping in his mind; the commandos could be useful, but for something different from what the Director imagined. Duck and weave time.

‘Yes,’ said Kozlov. There needs to be a meeting.’

‘How prepared are you?’

‘Immediate. You?’

‘Immediate,’ said Charlie. Which was a slight exaggeration because he had a hell of a lot to do. He said: ‘My planning with Irena can’t be arranged through the Americans, naturally.’

‘Naturally,’ agreed Kozlov.

‘Or through you,’ added Charlie.

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ said Kozlov.

‘That’s exactly what I am not being,’ said Charlie. ‘You’re seeking protection by being separated?’

‘From your two services,’ argued Kozlov.

‘From each other,’ insisted Charlie.

Kozlov pulled the car into the side of the road and stopped, and Charlie was glad: it seemed they had been driving for hours. Why did his feet still hurt, when he’d been sitting down for so long?

Kozlov said: ‘How can things be coordinated if Irena and I don’t know when and how it’s going to