See Charlie Run

informants! Charlie snorted, in loud derision. Harry Lu was a damned good agent who’d worked Asia for twenty years as a contract freelance without even the scant protection of a Foreign Office or embassy: probably forgotten more about intelligence than Harkness had ever learned. Bloody daft, not to use him: too late to call Hong Kong, but he’d do it first thing tomorrow, to open up a line of communication. Be good to see Harry again: good drinker, Harry Lu. Reminded, Charlie helped himself to another miniature bottle of local whisky, coming to more immediate considerations. Getting literally to know the ins and outs of the hotel was the initial priority. See what the bars looked like, maybe. Then an early night, for tomorrow’s meeting with an American named Art Fredericks: certainly didn’t want to eat again, after all that First Class grub on the plane. Charlie smiled happily at the thought of Harkness’s reaction. Serve the parsimonious bugger right.

Charlie took the elevator to explore the garden lounge area on the main floor. It was packed with intense never-say-no Japanese exchanging business cards in place of handshakes, anxious to sell a computer and a car to everyone in the world. Charlie checked out the foyer and then returned to the secondary elevators serving the shopping floors. He went down to the ground level and wandered around, feigning interest in the stores, and then did the same on the four remaining floors before he got back to the main hotel area, recording the service stairs and then the fire escape feeding each. A right little rabbit warren, Charlie judged; it had been a good choice.

On the first walk-through reconnaissance Charlie had noted the piano bar. A nightcap, he decided: perhaps two. It would, after all, be the last time he could relax for he didn’t know how long. He was offered a seat at the bar but refused, preferring a table with a better view of the room and more importantly the door. He stayed with Suntory, which didn’t compare in any way with single malt but wasn’t bad, looking casually around. There were two Japanese girls seemingly by themselves at the bar and a European sitting alone at a table. He caught the eye of the girl at the table and smiled and she half smiled back. A pleasant end to a pleasant day? It was an attractive thought, but Charlie decided against it. He couldn’t afford any encumbrances. The reflection led naturally to his reason for being there. What would Irena Kozlov be like? he wondered. Not that he was considering the Russian as he was considering the still hopefully smiling girl a few tables away, of course. Never mixed business with pleasure; well, not often, anyway. And definitely not this time. Too much he still didn’t understand or know, and he didn’t intend to try to find it out between the sheets: keep the best friend firmly zipped. He’d never brought a woman defector across before. He wondered if he would this time; be satisfied, Wilson had said. And Charlie was determined to be just that, as satisfied as he could possibly be before putting even a usually aching toe into the water. Hell of a catch, if it were genuine.

Predominantly because of his size, Charlie was particularly conscious of the man’s entry into the bar, before he directly approached the table. He stood with hair-matted hands against the back of the empty chair and said: ‘Charlie Muffin?’

‘Sorry,’ denied Charlie, instinctively protective. ‘You’ve got the wrong man.’

‘You may be right,’ said the man, heavily. ‘We checked you off the plane at Haneda, followed you here, saw you book into room 1015 and covered you every step of the way while you cased the hotel. Which was the first remotely professional thing you did since arriving …’ Uninvited he sat with difficulty in the small chair and said: ‘I’m Art Fredericks.’

Shit, thought Charlie. It had been unprofessional, not troubling to clear his path from the moment of arrival. Trying to recover, Charlie stared obviously around the crowded bar. Fredericks saw the look and smiled at the attempt. Nodding to the piano area, where a small bass, guitar and drums group had replaced the single pianist who had been performing when Charlie first entered, the American said: ‘The music overlays any listening device. They always come on at eight; that’s why I waited until now.’

Shit again, thought Charlie. He said: ‘Very textbook.’

‘No,’ said Fredericks, disdaining the mockery. ‘Properly done – the way it should be. And always is.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Charlie, foundering and knowing it. ‘I wouldn’t like to be involved in anything amateur.’

‘Neither would I,’ said Fredericks. ‘That’s why I’m worried. So far I’m not very impressed.’

A waiter hovered and Fredericks said: ‘Club soda, with ice.’ The man looked enquiringly at Charlie who nodded for another whisky. Charlie finished the one he had and said to the American: ‘You want to know something! I couldn’t give a fuck whether I impress you or not. That’s not what I’m here for.’

‘I know why you’re here because I started all this,’ said Fredericks. ‘And if you screw up then the whole thing becomes a disaster. So I need to be impressed.’

‘So do I,’ fought back Charlie. ‘I’m not yet convinced that this is a big deal; is anything at all. So I need convincing, about a lot of things.’

‘I’ve had four meetings,’ said Fredericks. ‘It looks right to me. Every way.’

Both men pulled back for the drinks to be served. When the waiter left, Charlie said: ‘You made any arrangements for me?’

Fredericks stopped with his glass halfway to his lips, frowning. ‘Arrangements for what?’

‘To meet Kozlov. And the woman.’

Fredericks put down the glass, without drinking. ‘It obviously hasn’t been properly explained to you,’ he said, patiently. ‘Kozlov is ours. You’re babysitting the woman.’

Thank Christ the chance had come, thought Charlie. He said: ‘I thought I was getting a lecture on professionalism from a professional.’

‘What are you talking about?’ demanded the American.

‘Are you seriously suggesting that I go into this without seeing the man himself … assessing things for myself. Without seeing the woman, too … come on, Sunshine!’ Although the bar was dark, Charlie was aware of the pinpricks of colour on the man’s face, showing the anger. Charlie was glad he’d finally managed to unsettle the American.

‘This is our show,’ insisted Fredericks. ‘He came to us. He stays with us. You get the woman. I’ll tell you where and when.’

‘Bollocks,’ said Charlie.

‘What’s bollocks?’

‘You. The operation. Everything,’ said Charlie. He sighed, drinking deeply from his glass. ‘Pity,’ he said. ‘I really enjoy Japan. Would have liked it to have lasted longer.’

‘You want to say something, why don’t you say it straight out?’ said Fredericks.

‘Sure,’ said Charlie. ‘The British just withdrew.’

Charlie spoke intent upon the other man, alert for the signs, and he saw them. If there had been any other way of getting the Kozlovs out, Washington would not have approached London. So the fact that Fredericks was meeting him – within hours of arrival, and trying to impose himself as the controller from the world go – meant not only that the British participation was essential but that the Americans were desperate for it.

‘You haven’t got the authority to withdraw,’ challenged Fredericks.

‘I have,’ said Charlie. ‘And that’s what I’ve just done …’ Dismissively, the action of someone bringing an encounter to a close with a gesture of politeness, Charlie said: ‘Would you like another drink? Maybe something stronger? I’m going to have the last one.’ As he turned to catch the waiter, Charlie saw that the smiling girl on the adjoining table was deep in conversation with a blonde-haired man who used his hands a lot when he spoke. Lucky bugger, Charlie thought: she looked like she might have been a goer.

‘What do you want?’ demanded Fredericks.

‘I thought I told you,’ said Charlie. ‘I want to see Kozlov and satisfy myself. And then – myself, again not through you – I want to arrange a meeting with the woman and be satisfied about her, as well. And I want you and I to get together and go through everything you’ve done, from the very first moment of contact. And when I’m satisfied about that, we’ll start making plans …’

The waiter’s return prevented Fredericks’ immediate reaction, which was probably fortunate. This time he ordered whisky – imported, not local – and when they were alone he said: ‘I know all about you: what you did. I don’t buy that crap, your getting even, for being set up. You cost us a director and your people a director. In my book, that makes you a traitor. I don’t know how – can’t believe how – you managed to convince your own people you’re loyal. You haven’t impressed us. We think you should have stayed in jail and rotted there …’ The drinks came and the American had to stop. ‘I did everything I could to stop your coming,’ resumed Fredericks. ‘I don’t want you to be a part of anything …’

It was impressive bluster, but Charlie guessed he’d won. He said: ‘You got a point?’