‘I will be his protection,’ she said. ‘That’s how we planned it.’
Charlie decided any further pressure would be wrong at this stage.
‘I never imagined it would be like this: the moment, I mean.’
‘It will be all right,’ insisted Charlie, encouraging now. ‘A train ride, a short flight and you’re safe. No one, apart from Sampson and myself, even knows the cover name.’
She sniggered, a nervous reaction. ‘Rose Adams,’ she said. It’s … it’s …’
Not big enough, thought Charlie, looking at her. ‘Easy to remember,’ he reminded. ‘And you will remember it; the name that took you out to a brand new life.’ He wished it hadn’t sounded like a commercial for soap powder or a laxative.
‘Thank you,’ she said, suddenly. ‘It’s a sensible arrangement: clever, too.’
‘And simple,’ Charlie said, as he’d agreed with Sampson. For an operation that in London had risked being one of the most difficult it had, in the event, turned out to be one of the easiest. He said: ‘In the wallet, with the airline ticket, there is some money. You shouldn’t need it. Just in case.’
‘You’ve been very thorough,’ she said.
‘So were you and Yuri,’ said Charlie.
‘It’s very important nothing goes wrong.’
‘It won’t!’ said Charlie. ‘Trust me when I say it won’t!’
‘I could be in England by tomorrow?’
‘There’s quite a wide time difference, but yes,’ agreed Charlie.
‘Will you be my case officer?’
The expertise was reasserting itself over the nervousness, Charlie decided. He said: ‘I’m not sure. Maybe. Maybe not.’
‘You’re normally operational then?’ she asked, appearing to want to prove herself.
‘I do all sorts of things,’ side-stepped Charlie. Tradecraft did not allow him to discuss his status or working life with her. Actually his was a pretty accurate self-description: a general dog’s-body.
‘There won’t be any misunderstandings about the conditions, if it’s someone else?’
It was developing into a rapid recovery. He said: ‘Of course not!’
She seemed to become aware of the tour and said: ‘I need to get off at the first stop?’
‘Yes,’ said Charlie at once. ‘Give yourself as much time as possible.’
‘I’m nervous,’ she admitted.
‘I’d be worried if you weren’t,’ said Charlie. ‘What else can you be? Everything is going to be all right.’
‘We spent months planning this. Now it’s all happening so quickly.’
‘The way it’s got to be done,’ insisted Charlie.
‘Sampson will be waiting at the airport?’
‘I guarantee it,’ said Charlie.
‘There’s nothing else?’
‘All very simple,’ reiterated Charlie.
‘It is,’ she agreed.
Charlie realized she was searching for words, not wanting to end the conversation. It was a symptom he knew, the reluctance to let go at the very moment of cutting adrift. It was fortunate the decision was being taken for her. He said: ‘We’re getting into Shibuya-Ku: the first stop is there, at an Olympic memorial and a shrine.’ With so many shrines, the gods should be on their side.
Irena breathed in, preparing herself, as the coach pulled off the highway into the car park. Remembering, Charlie swivelled in his seat, seeing the Nissan follow. Conscious of his movement, the woman turned too. As the Americans got out of the vehicle, she said: ‘Elliott is the fatter one, with the receding hair. Levine is the one driving, wearing the patterned sports jacket.’
‘Get away from me,’ warned Charlie.
She moved at once, slotting herself in with the disembarking tourists. Charlie waited in his seat, letting everyone else get off ahead of him, managing further delay by carefully looping the strap of the travel bag across his shoulders before getting off. The guide shepherded them into some sort of order and Charlie saw that Elliott and Levine had attached themselves. Irena was at the far side and Charlie recognized again how good she was, remaining with the group until the best opportunity arose and not attracting attention to herself by immediately splitting away. Dutifully they filed towards the Meiji Jingu temple and Charlie moved nearer to the guide, attentive to the commentary, totally ignoring Irena Kozlov. The two Americans closed up, clearly oblivious to her as well, and Charlie felt the jump of satisfaction.
Irena made her break at the huge entrance gate and did it so well that for several moments Charlie himself wasn’t aware she was no longer one of the party. Still outwardly the rubber-necking tourist, he was tightly alert to Elliott and Levine. Both stayed within feet of him, and Charlie allowed the boast and thought, you’ve done it, my son: and come up smelling of violets. It was important for Charlie Muffin always to win: that’s what made him so good. He looked obviously at his watch, aware the gesture would register with the two shadowing men. Twelve forty-five. Sampson would soon be airborne, Fredericks would be linking up with Kozlov, and Irena had more than enough time to catch her train. Frequent as they were, Charlie guessed she might even be able to get an earlier one. He tramped on, experiencing the first twinge of discomfort and accepting that his feet were going to give him hell, after all this walking: no one would ever fully know the things he did for Queen and country. There was the pause for picture-taking at the shrine and Charlie resisted the temptation to sit, adopting instead an eagerness he hoped the two Americans would discern, imagining an anticipated approach. He remembered that Kozlov had selected a shrine, the night of their meeting, and wondered if the two men had trodden any other tourist routes, during the negotiations with the Russian. More than likely, he supposed.
The trek from the shrine to the Olympic youth centre was a long one and Charlie’s feet were throbbing by the time they reached it. Definitely a celebration tonight, he decided: few drinks at Niban-cho, and then a complete contrast, a
Charlie returned gratefully to the bus, settling in the same seat as before, aware of Elliott in conversation at the steps with the guide and then of the American boarding the vehicle and establishing himself two rows behind, on the opposite side. Charlie made another obvious time-check. One twenty. Two o’clock, Sampson had estimated, they’d be preparing for take-off. Sampson seemed the sort of man who’d always build in allowances for the unexpected: perhaps he’d already left. Charlie decided to move at the next stop: Elliott might learn of the now missing Irena by questioning other passengers. There was no reason, in fact, to delay the signal to London that everything had gone off perfectly; absolutely perfectly.
The stop was at the nature study park in Shirokanedai and Charlie made no attempt to conceal his departure from the Americans because it didn’t matter any more, separating away as the group began their tour and heading for the road. He ignored the car that Levine parked, looking for a taxi. The traffic was bad, the air shuddering with exhaust fumes; several passing Japanese wore smog masks, like doctors looking for a misplaced operating theatre.
He was lucky with a cab, sitting forward on the seat, impatient now to get to the embassy and find out from Fredericks how everything had gone with Kozlov. Perhaps he’d extend that night’s invitation to include the American. Kozlov would be gone and there was nothing to be gained by continuing the rivalry. As far as Fredericks was concerned, the episode had ended in a draw, one each.
At an intersection, the driver made a sudden turn and Charlie saw, relieved, that they were joining the major Sakuradadori Avenue and that it was comparatively clear. It stayed that way up to and then beyond the Imperial palace. It was fifteen minutes past two when the cab pulled up outside the British embassy.
The Americans were two cars behind and Elliott said positively: ‘It’s gone wrong!’
‘Nothing happened on that bus,’ insisted Levine.
‘It was the only place and we missed it,’ said Elliott.
‘I’m sure nothing happened,’ said Levine, who wasn’t and who knew that Elliott didn’t think so either.
‘What now?’ asked Elliott.
‘We wait.’
