See Charlie Run

over-bargained pot. And he was going to gamble like hell, to get it. Didn’t like to be a prick.

A sound came at the door and Charlie was momentarily as startled as Irena, forgetting Cartright’s promise to relieve him during the night. The other man came curiously into the room, frowning at Irena’s obvious distress and the dishevelled, littered bed and at Charlie, who realized for the first time that there was a large wet patch on the front of his shirt, where she’d cried against him.

‘It’s been Truth and Consequences time,’ said Charlie, obscurely. ‘I know a lot of the truth now …’

Irena came in, before he could finish. ‘And I know what the consequence is,’ she finished. And started to cry again.

Misunderstanding the cause of the woman’s distress, Cartright said: ‘I think I’ve come up with another way of getting out.’

All in all it was turning out to be a pretty productive night, thought Charlie.

Sir Alistair Wilson stumped into the office and Harkness knew at once how angry the Director was and thought that although it had taken long enough, it had finally happened. He remembered wondering – although not precisely when – how long Wilson’s loyalty would last, once Charlie Muffin was positively caught out. He’d never imagined – hoped – it was going to be quite so complete as this: despise the man as he did, Harkness had still believed Charlie Muffin possessed more native cunning than to make quite so many mistakes.

‘Bad?’ prompted the deputy.

‘Bloody awful,’ said Wilson. ‘A full session of the Intelligence Committee. Actually chaired by the Prime Minister. Foreign Secretary moaning about the issuing of passports and entry documents, Army Minister insisting upon an enquiry into the plane crash and Electronic Intelligence demanding what right we’ve got to use their facilities like a public telephone box. And I had to sit and take it because I know bugger all about what’s going on: not even if anything is going on.’

‘I warned you about the confounded man’s arrogance: the insubordination,’ reminded Harkness.

Wilson ignored the direct invitation. ‘Where is the bloody man!’ he said, getting up from his desk to find more comfort for the stiff leg.

‘I briefed Cartright very fully,’ said Harkness.

‘It had better be a good explanation!’ said Wilson. ‘It had better be the best explanation that Charlie Muffin has ever given, for anything he’s ever done in his awkward, bloody life.’

Chapter Twenty-Six

Which it was, although not at first. The news of Harry Lu’s killing stopped the Director’s tirade and before Wilson could recover, to continue the furious demands, Charlie talked hurriedly on, setting out what he knew – and even exaggerating what he thought he knew – from his confrontation with Irena, anxious because of Wilson’s obvious attitude to justify all the short cuts. There was no immediate reaction when he stopped speaking and Charlie briefly thought that despite the electronic expertise of the signal station to which he had crossed on the first available ferry from the mainland the connection had been broken. Then Wilson said, obviously unconvinced, ‘You telling me you believe that!’

‘It fits all the inconsistencies and uncertainties better than anything else.’

‘It’s preposterous!’

‘Why?’

Again there was a long pause from London. Eventually Wilson said, less sure of his own assessment: ‘It has to be preposterous.’

‘Explain it another way?’ invited Charlie.

‘Good God!’ said the Director. Then, with gradual conviction, he said: it would have been very effective, wouldn’t it? Had she been aboard the plane, we would have had the embarrassment of explaining the presence of someone attached to the Soviet embassy travelling in a British military aircraft and the Russians would have had the internal warning they like so much to any other would-be defectors.’

‘And Yuri Kozlov, who appears to spend a lot of time waving his dick in the air, would have been home free with Olga Balan,’ finished Charlie.

There was another pause and then the Director said: ‘Except that you stopped it, if indeed that were the way it was supposed to happen. Which doesn’t matter any more, now that you’ve discovered the telephone contact and blocked it. We’re still ahead, Charlie. Well done.’

Umbrella up just in time to keep off the nasty smelling brown stuff, thought Charlie. He said: ‘I haven’t finished.’

‘Getting – and keeping – Irena Kozlov is enough,’ said Wilson.

‘I can do better than that,’ insisted Charlie.

‘Like what?’

It took a long time for Charlie to explain, setting out what he considered had developed into a practical, feasible idea during the remainder of the previous night. When he had finished, Wilson said: ‘You could never carry that off, not completely.’

‘You’ve wrapped up Herbert Bell?’ asked Charlie, at once. Everything depended upon their known spy still being in place.

‘No,’ said Wilson, at once.

‘So we could use him as the conduit?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then it could succeed in stages, couldn’t it?’ pressed Charlie. ‘Every stage that comes off is a benefit: if it goes wrong, it goes wrong. We don’t – we can’t – suffer.’

‘It’s very clever,’ conceded Wilson, reluctantly. ‘Ingenious.’

‘Soldiers died,’ reminded Charlie, adding to the pressure. ‘Harry Lu, too. Someone I liked.’

‘Someone could suffer,’ disputed Wilson. ‘You.’

‘Not now,’ said Charlie. ‘Not now I think I know what’s happening.’

‘Have you got a name?’

‘Boris Filiatov,’ listed Charlie. ‘He’s the Rezident: that alone makes it worthwhile.’

‘What’s he supposed to have done?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Charlie. ‘Anything you like.’

‘It would be marvellous, if it all came off,’ said Wilson, reflectively.

‘I think it can,’ said Charlie. ‘Just like I think we can get Cartright and the woman out.’

‘How?’

Charlie told the Director, who said at once: ‘Whose idea was that?’

‘Cartright’s,’ said Charlie, who refused to take other people’s credit like he refused to be responsible for their mistakes. ‘I suppose it was obvious why it didn’t occur to Harry Lu but I should have thought of it.’

‘When will you know?’

‘They’re seeing if it’s possible now.’

‘What about Commander Clarke?’

‘I left the military until we’d talked,’ said Charlie. ‘I wanted your agreement, first.’

‘You’re right, I suppose; about losing nothing.’

‘So I can go ahead?’

There was the now familiar pause. ‘Boris Filiatov?’ Wilson said.

‘That’s the name.’

‘I’ll do it today.’