the Mont Blanc bridge, making for the area where he was to meet Sulafeh Nabulsi. And almost at once isolated the first mistake. Kuchino had shown the Quai du Mont-Blanc to be a continuous thoroughfare, without the obligatory turn into the Rue des Alpes, and there had been no indication that the Rue Phillippe Plantamour was a oneway system. It was – horrifyingly – the lack of attention to detail which could have got him trapped and caught, if he had chosen to use any sort of vehicle when he made his eventual meeting with the woman and she had been under suspicion. In a rough square that took him as high as the Notre Dame church, to the Voltaire museum and then back in the direction of the lake again, Zenin encountered two more obstructive road systems. He was too highly trained actually to become emotionally angry, but as he had earlier in London he resolved to complain about the information that had been relayed from the Bern embassy and upon which the Kuchino model would have been based.
There was a pavement cafe on the corner of the Adhemar-Fabri from which he could gaze across the water, regretting that so late in the year the Jet d’Eau had been turned off. Which had been another mistake, although not a dangerous one: the Kuchino model had shown the decorative water plume in operation. Zenin twisted in his seat, looking towards the unseen area of the Botanical Gardens. Moscow had given him estimates of walking times from various approaches but Zenin resolved to check them all himself, later: there had been too many discrepancies so far in the information provided by the embassy, so everything had to be confirmed and reconfirmed. He hoped the rented room would have the overview that had been demanded for him to get an unobstructed shot.
Zenin was allowed to make his own choice of meeting places with the girl and chose three possibilities for the initial encounter, the first the cafe at which he was already sitting, because it was on a corner with three possible escape routes. Smiling at the irony, he decided upon the other two by utilizing the oversight of the Bern embassy, choosing one restaurant on the Rue des Alpes and another on the Rue des Terreaux du Temple: the entrapping imprisonment of a one-way system could as easily be reversed into an escape route and both were restricted highways. He hoped no frantic escape would be necessary because if it were it would mean that the woman was blown and with it the operation. And failed operations – even if they were no fault whatsoever of the operative – always looked bad on the record.
Precautions, of course, had to be taken. And precautions unknown to anyone but himself because Zenin only really trusted himself.
Because it was so conveniently near, actually on the
At the Hertz office on the Rue de Bern he hired for three weeks a medium-sized Peugeot on the English driving licence issued in the name of Henry Smale, paying the deposit in sterling. With time to spare he drove around the immediate border towns, uncertain whether eventually to abandon it for later discovery in Switzerland or France. Perly, in the south, was a possibility. Or Meryin, further north.
He got back into the city by early evening and reconnoitred by road this time the area he had that morning explored on foot, at once conscious of the road-blocked restrictions, even though the heaviest traffic of the day was over. The car could certainly be parked nearby but the first and subsequent meeting places needed to be somewhere where he had easier freedom of movement to dodge. It was a pity the jogging and bicycle routine could not be repeated: it had worked very well in London, despite being so unnecessary.
Zenin finished the initial reconnaissance earlier than he’d anticipated, realizing it would be possible for him to drive to Bern to establish himself as he should have done the previous day. And at once abandoned the idea. It would mean checking out unexpectedly from the auberge where he had reserved for two nights and any unexpected and identifying action had to be avoided.
Instead, because it was a cuisine with which he was not familiar, he ate Chinese at the Auberge des Trois Bonheurs, after which he attempted a walk along the shore of the lake but found it too cold, so he went back to the auberge. The clerk who had registered him was on duty again and Zenin reminded the man that he was booking out the following morning.
‘A short stay, Herr Schmidt?’ said the man.
‘Off to New York in the morning,’ said Zenin, completing the carefully prepared false trail.
The relationship between the KGB chief Kalenin and Alexei Berenkov went beyond that of Dzerzhinsky Square to that of long friendship. It had become their custom to alternate dinner invitations and that night it had been Kalenin’s turn, at his bachelor Kutuzovsky apartment. He’d served roasted venison with red cabbage and Georgian wine. He knew nothing about wine and had taken Berenkov’s advice that it was good: during his London posting the man had become the connoisseur his cover required. Afterwards they had French brandy with coffee and then Valentina, Berenkov’s wife, cleared the table and busied herself tidying and washing up in the kitchen, because that was customary too. The men always talked and having been married to Berenkov for twenty years Valentina knew precisely when to absent herself.
‘There is definitely increased surveillance in London?’ asked Kalenin.
‘No doubt about it.’
‘London was identifiable in the communications Novikov handled,’ said Kalenin. ‘It was to be expected.’
‘Not of this intensity,’ insisted Berenkov.
‘But the embassy in Bern are adamant there is no increase there,’ reminded Kalenin. ‘There surely would have been if Novikov knew more than we believe and had been able to identify Switzerland. And if the drop had been picked up.’
‘I don’t want to take anything for granted.’
‘At the moment it is insufficient to consider cancellation.’
‘Are you using it for some other purposes I don’t know about?’ challenged Berenkov, openly.
‘If I’m protected then so are you,’ replied Kalenin, obtusely.
Berenkov allowed the pause, hoping the other man would continue but he did not. Berenkov said: ‘Is that your promise?’
‘What else would it be?’ demanded Kalenin.
‘Let’s build up at the Bern embassy!’ urged Berenkov. ‘Blanket the place with additional people of our own, so that we’ll detect the moment anything changes there.’
‘That would probably be wise,’ agreed Kalenin. ‘What about the British communication codes to their embassy here?’
‘We can decipher all of them.’
‘Let’s order a concentration on that: build up the intercepts as well.’
‘Have there been any further protests from Lvov?’ asked Berenkov.
‘Not to me,’ said Kalenin.
‘What about elsewhere?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘He could be a dangerous man,’ said Berenkov.
‘So could I,’ said Kalenin.
Chapter Nine
Charlie Muffin was irritated, for more than one reason. The most obvious cause was the forthcoming encounter with Harkness but the greater feeling came from the frustration of not being able to do anything but sit and wait and rely on others. Charlie didn’t like sitting and waiting: most definitely not on an operation like this, one with a time limit. And he never liked relying on others because it was far too easy to slip on their dropped banana skins. Which was perhaps an unfair reflection on this particular job. He’d had re-run the one half-face picture of
