signifies?’
‘I don’t
‘What do you guess it to signify?’
‘The operative,’ said Novikov.
Charlie nodded. ‘That’s what I think, too,’ he said. ‘One last thing: you worked from Dzerzhinsky Square?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Novikov.
‘But the cipher division is not general, is it?’
‘I’ve never suggested it was.’
‘I think other people made wrong assumptions,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s compartmented?’
‘Of course. Everything is. That is the system.’
Charlie nodded again, in agreement. ‘So for which department of the First Chief Directorate did you work?’
‘The Third,’ agreed Novikov.
Charlie sat back, satisfied, refilling both their glasses. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It had to be that, didn’t it?’
‘Is it significant?’
‘Who knows?’ said Charlie.
‘Do you play chess?’
‘No,’ said Charlie.
‘I’m surprised,’ said the Russian. ‘I would have thought with a mind like yours that you would have done. I was going to suggest a game, if we met again.’
‘Maybe darts,’ said Charlie.
‘Darts?’
‘It’s an English game. Played in pubs.’
‘Maybe I could learn.’
‘Be quicker than me trying to learn chess,’ said Charlie.
‘I don’t think that is necessarily so,’ said Novikov.
Charlie encountered Hubert Witherspoon in the entrance hall, a cavernous place of wood-panelled walls around a black and white marbled floor. The man’s face was flushed with his recent exertion and for once his hair was stuck down, still wet from the shower.
‘I got a hole-in-one and two birdies,’ announced Witherspoon, triumphantly.
‘Terrific,’ said Charlie.
‘That hole-in-one cost me a fortune in the bar afterwards. It’s a tradition to treat everyone, you know.’
‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘I didn’t know.’
Witherspoon nodded in the direction of the drawing room and said: ‘Nothing I hadn’t got, was there?’
Jesus! thought Charlie. He said: ‘Hardly a thing.’
‘Wasted journey then?’
Caught by Witherspoon’s complaint at having to buy drinks in the club-house and remembering the forgotten lunchtime receipt, Charlie said: ‘You wouldn’t by chance have a spare restaurant bill from anywhere around here, would you?’
Witherspoon’s face coloured. He said: ‘You don’t imagine I am going to get caught up in your petty little deceits, do you!’
‘No,’ said Charlie, wearily, ‘of course not.’
When he got to the Mercedes Charlie found the red communication light burning, indicating a priority summons. He was patched directly through to the Director’s office and recognized Alison Bing’s strained-through- a-sieve voice at once.
‘The bomb’s gone off right beneath you,’ said the Director’s secretary. ‘I don’t think there’s going to be enough pieces to bury.’
Arrival security – Special Branch and immigration and Customs checks – at all the Scottish fishing ports is ridiculously inefficient, so lamentable that the KGB regard them as open doorways into Europe.
Vasili Nikolaevich Zenin arrived at Ullapool on a Russian trawler but did not go ashore that first night, letting the genuine Russian seamen attract what little attention there might be. He went with them the second day, but not to drink. In a pub lavatory he stripped off the sweater and leggings that covered his suit, for one of the seamen to carry back to the trawler, and caught a meandering bus to Glasgow, arriving in time for the overnight sleeper to London.
He collected the waiting suitcase from the left luggage locker at King’s Cross station and went directly to the Ennis Hotel, in Bayswater.
‘You have a reservation for me: the name’s Smale,’ he said.
‘Travelled far, Mr Smale?’ asked the girl, politely.
‘A long way,’ said Zenin, which was so very true.
Chapter Four
The KGB exercise the greatest care in the selection of operatives for Department 8 of Directorate S of its First Chief Directorate, devoting more time to their instruction than to any other agent in any other division of its service.
A prime consideration is one of mental attitude because the most essential requirement in a department in which men are trained to kill is that they do not
Vasili Zenin graduated from that as he graduated from every course at Balashikha, with a maximum assessment which confirmed his accolade as the most outstanding recruit of the year. The only way to fail the ultimate test was to die.
A Ukrainian serving a life sentence in Gulag 16 in the Potma complex for killing three people – one his mother – was not immediately shot after cutting the throat of a fellow prisoner while he slept in order to steal the man’s boots. Instead, having psychiatricly been found to be insane he was offered the choice of entering a kill-or-be-killed situation, assured that if he were the victor he would be granted his freedom. Which was, of course, a lie. Had he killed Zenin the delayed execution would have been carried out anyway, but warning the man he was to be hunted tilted the odds against Zenin; in a proper operation a true victim is usually unaware of being a target. Additionally, Zenin was not told the Ukrainian was expecting an attack.
Balashikha is a huge but frequently divided complex. Areas are separated according to their instructional needs sometimes by barbed and electrified wire and occasionally with high concrete walls the tops of which are again electrically guarded. The concreted sections are those of maximum secrecy and it was in one, located at the very centre of the camp, that the contest was staged. Here there had been re-created in a vast, aircraft-type hanger a typical European city street – because Zenin was selected to operate in Europe – with shops and a cafe and apartment houses. Every part of it was monitored and surveyed by television cameras, so that the movements and behaviour of both men was relayed to a control room in which sat the panel of assessors.
Zenin was slightly built and small featured with the dark colouring of a man born in Azerbaijan, which was a further reason for his being selected for the specific mission already then being planned for him. He moved with the quiet but assured confidence of someone sure – but without conceit – of his own abilities, which had been one of the first qualities isolated by the assassin division recruiters when the man had been accepted into the Kirovabad office of the KGB. He spoke four languages, English and French with a fluency that betrayed no accent, and had no moral difficulty with killing, satisfied assassination was justified because his victims were legally judged enemies of the state before he was entrusted with the responsibility of carrying out the sentence imposed upon them. The