See Charlie Run

The assembled CIA agents looked between each other and then Levine said: ‘Seems to be a sudden change.’

‘We did make a deal,’ reminded Fredericks.

‘Did you intend to keep to it?’ asked Levine.

‘No,’ admitted the supervisor.

‘Which is why I’m surprised he appears to be doing so.’

‘You reckon it’s a military plane?’ asked Elliott.

Fredericks nodded: ‘It’s got to be some sort of aircraft, to get her out anyway. Halfway back to base; that’s what he said. Military planes land at bases.’

‘What about us?’ asked Fish.

‘A C-130 from the Philippines,’ said Fredericks.

‘Where do we snatch the woman? asked Yamada.

‘The most important question,’ agreed Fredericks. ‘So OK, let’s go through it and make sure we get it right. There’ll only be one shot and I don’t want to lose it …’

‘Guess Kozlov will insist on the usual run around?’ said Levine.

‘We’ve certainly got to allow for it,’ agreed the supervisor. ‘It means we’re going to be stretched.’ He looked at Dale. ‘You’ll have to cover the hotel, as always …’ To Fish he said: ‘You drive for me …’

‘What about me?’ asked Yamada.

‘We’ll need liaison, between us with Kozlov and the others with the woman,’ said Fredericks. ‘Once we get them both I want us out of this country so fast there’ll be scorch marks. That’s your job …’ He came to Elliott, remembering the determination to settle with the Englishman and deciding to give the man the opportunity. He said: ‘You and Hank get Charlie Muffin.’

Elliott smiled at once and said: ‘You better believe it; I’ll get Charlie Muffin.’

Fredericks felt a flicker of doubt. ‘It must be right, like I said,’ he warned. ‘We’ve no idea what she looks like so we’ve got to wait until the contact is made. His moving with a woman will be our identification, so nothing before then. And still not too soon. I don’t want her having the chance to run. Remember she won’t want to come with us.’

Elliott raised his hand, a stopping gesture. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘There won’t be any mistakes.’

‘There hadn’t better be,’ said Fredericks. ‘Remember, he’s a sneaky son-of-a-bitch.’

‘I’m sneakier,’ said Elliott.

It was very late and this part of the airport was deserted and Jun Hayashi was nervous, pulled deep into the shadows of a cargo shed. He was completely unaware of the Russian’s approach, grunting his surprise when Kozlov appeared abruptly beside him.

‘Well?’ demanded Kozlov.

‘Americans as well as the British,’ said the Japanese, nodding behind him. The aircraft were too far away in the darkness to locate.

‘You’ve done well,’ said Kozlov, handing over the payment. ‘Very well indeed.’

‘Damned capitalists!’ said Hayashi.

Kozlov was glad of the darkness, which hid his amused reaction to the outburst. ‘They’ll be brought down,’ he said.

Chapter Twelve

Charlie was up early, with a lot to do before noon. ‘Smooth as silk,’ he told himself, in the bathroom mirror. So why was he still unable to lose the feeling that any minute that steel-shod boot was going to catch him where it hurt the most. Kozlov was unquestionably genuine: no doubt about that, like he’d told Fredericks. Reason for the split defection made sense, too, because defectors were despised and frequently dumped, when their usefulness was exhausted. All the negotiations had been convoluted, but that made professional sense, also, because at any minute Kozlov could have pulled back. OK, so he hadn’t withdrawn when Fredericks maintained his warned-against surveillance, but that wasn’t an important inconsistency. Neither was the fact that Irene had been kept out of it; professionalism again, because it minimized the danger. Nothing wrong then. So maybe it was a hundred and one per cent genuine; maybe he was a suspicious old sod with thinning hair and painful feet and bloodshot eyes, who’d spent so much time making two plus two equal five that he couldn’t properly add up anything any more. And yet he could still feel that incoming boot.

Mind held by his self-description, Charlie leaned forward in the mirror. Eyes weren’t bloodshot – well, not much anyway – and the hair wasn’t thinning; just looked that way because he’d slept awkwardly. Not in bad shape at all, really, providing he remembered to breathe in all the time and walk with his chin up, to lessen the jowl droop. He managed to shave without cutting himself and chose the freshly pressed suit and the tie that no longer showed the pie stain, smiling at his unusual reflection in the larger mirror. Posh enough for a wedding, he decided. The reflection ran on, soberingly; people dressed up for funerals, as well.

He picked up the passport, checking his entries of the previous night, pausing at the photograph of Irena Kozlov. Certainly no rose, he thought again. He searched for the descriptive word and came up with formidable. Irena Kozlov certainly looked a formidable woman. He guessed it would take a long time fully to debrief her, everything having to be done at her speed and pace. Charlie hoped he didn’t get lumbered with the task; he disliked being boxed up for weeks in guarded country houses, painstakingly stripping the facts from the invariable self- important fiction with which defectors always attempted to make themselves appear better catches than they were. Bad as damage assessments, when one of their own people went walkabout. The thought led naturally to Herbert Bell; better as a conduit, the Director had said. Charlie wondered what disinformation they were feeding the Russians through the Foreign Office traitor. Sir Alistair Wilson was a cunning old bugger: whatever it was, Charlie knew it would be confusingly good.

Charlie did not hurry through the long walkway to the main foyer and stood back for a couple at the taxi rank, wanting at this stage to make it as easy as possible. He didn’t check until the vehicle was down the ramp and into the immediately clogged streets, looking idly through the rear window. Difficult in conditions like this, with so many cars, but he put ?5 on the black Nissan with the central roof aerial: two men, neither Japanese. There’d be plenty of opportunity to make sure; Haneda was a bloody long way from the city. Of which he had not seen enough, Charlie decided. When Irena was safely away he’d definitely do the rounds in Niban-cho: he liked the look-at-me neon with bars the size of cupboards and bills the size of wardrobes, especially when it was Harkness’s money. Invite Cartright, maybe; give him indigestion, if he were Harkness’s man.

Charlie guessed correctly about the Nissan. Levine, who was driving, said: ‘I guess the airport.’

‘Where the hell is the pick-up?’ said Elliott.

‘Could be a dozen places.’ His partner’s constant anger worried Levine.

‘Noon, he told Fredericks,’ reminded Elliott. ‘He’s given himself a lot of time.’

‘Suppose it would make sense to meet her at the airport?’ said Levine.

‘Not good for a snatch,’ said Elliott. ‘Too open.’

‘I wouldn’t like it either,’ agreed the other American. ‘Damn all we can do about it.’

‘Shouldn’t we close up a little?’

‘Don’t want to spook him,’ said the more controlled Levine. ‘It’s got to be the surprise of his life.’

‘What there is left of it,’ said Elliott.

‘The woman first,’ cautioned Levine. He wished Fredericks had linked him with someone else.

They joined the airport highway and Charlie made another check and decided he was right about the Nissan. He wondered what Washington’s plans were, to get Kozlov out. It had to be an aircraft of some sort: and military,