‘I would have liked prior discussion, before the full alarm was initiated,’ blurted Harkness, just failing to stop the rise of anger in his voice.
I bet you would, you little shit, thought Charlie; so you could have contained everything. He said: ‘Your specific orders are to react without any delay, sir.’
‘Stop reminding me of regulations!’
Temper, temper, thought Charlie: I’ve hardly started yet. He said: ‘So what was it all about, sir?’
Colour was increasingly suffusing Harkness’ face, so that he looked like someone who’d fallen asleep in the sun. He said: ‘It would appear to have been a false alarm.’
No you don’t, decided Charlie. He said: ‘I don’t see how that could be, sir. Two men interrogated my mother and I categorically established that they were imposters.’
There was a prolonged silence and Charlie guessed the other man was trying to find the escape words and phrases. Stumble and thrash about, Charlie thought contentedly: there aren’t any.
‘There was an internal mistake,’ managed Harkness finally. ‘Men exceeded instructions.’
Charlie dropped his head to one side. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.’
‘A routine check that was taken too far.’
Now it was Charlie who let the quiet build up between them, conscious of Harkness’ discomfort rising with it. When the silence was on the point of going on too long Charlie said: ‘Routine check? By our own internal security, you mean?’
Harkness swallowed, nodding. ‘Yes.’
‘Are you telling me my mother was interrogated by members of
‘Questioned,’ Harkness tried to qualify. ‘Questioned, not interrogated.’
‘She’s seventy-seven years old,’ said Charlie, very softly, very controlled. ‘Seventy-seven years old and senile.’
Harkness looked away, unable to meet Charlie’s look. The man mumbled: ‘Internal mistake, like I said.’
‘There are operational memoranda,’ reminded Charlie. Still soft, still controlled: You’re going to roast until every little bit is cooked, ready to eat, Charlie promised himself.
‘Overlooked, I’m afraid.’
‘Overlooked by whom!’
‘Impossible case-load, trying to fulfil two functions during the Director General’s illness.’
That explanation had a said-before ring about it, isolated Charlie triumphantly. Determined to get a direct admission, Charlie said: ‘MI5’s involvement would automatically have brought the matter to the attention of the Joint Intelligence Committee, wouldn’t it?’ And the Prime Minister, who chairs it, Charlie concluded mentally.
In a life filled with more dislike and antagonism than a mongoose on a snake farm, Charlie had been subjected to a great many hate-filled stares but few equal to the one that came at that moment from Richard Harkness. The man said: ‘I think it right that I should extend to you the proper apology.’
Charlie tried to gauge how difficult, practically verging on the super-human, it would have been for Harkness to say that. And still I’m not satisfied, Charlie thought, relentlessly vindictive. He said: ‘I’ll pass that apology on to my mother, shall I? She was very unsettled by the episode.’
‘If you would,’ muttered Harkness. There was growing around the man an attitude of distraction, as if he found it difficult completely to concentrate.
Charlie felt neither pity nor sympathy. Neither was an easy attitude for him at the best of times and they were never likely to be extended to Harkness. Charlie made up rules, far less verbose and convoluted than those created by Harkness. One of the foremost was always shaft first the bastard trying to shaft you and with a blunter, hotter shafting machine. He said: ‘I gave permission at the spy school for you to access my personal file. The one that includes the medical records. You did get it, did you?’
Harkness nodded his head, awkwardly, as if he were punch drunk. ‘A further misunderstanding. I’ve returned it, of course.’
‘This routine investigation to which I have been subjected?’ persisted Charlie. ‘Is it concluded now?’
‘Yes,’ said Harkness.
‘I do have the right officially to be informed of that, don’t I?’ said Charlie.
‘I’ll let you have a memorandum today.’
‘My personnel record should also have an attachment to that effect too, shouldn’t it?’
‘I’ll ensure that it’s done,’ promised the other man.
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m very glad everything has been settled so satisfactorily.’ Enough, Charlie told himself; a time to shaft and a time to stop, enjoyable though it had been.
Laura was waiting apprehensively in the outer office, standing beside her desk. ‘He’s fired you, hasn’t he?’ she said.
‘Of course not,’ said Charlie, grinning. There’s inside knowledge here, my son, he reminded himself. He said: ‘Any chance of our getting together some time?’
‘I’d like that,’ said the girl.
Blackstone looked with disbelief at the other man, not immediately able to speak. Then he realized how stupid he must look and tried to recover, swallowing heavily. ‘I see,’ he said.
‘I thought you’d realize it would have to come to an end some time,’ said Losev.
‘I didn’t,’ admitted Blackstone. Desperately he said: ‘There’s nothing at all?’
Losev shook his head. ‘I can understand how awkward that is going to be for you, with two homes to support. That can’t be easy.’
Blackstone stood more open mouthed than before, his tongue moving over his bottom lip. He said: ‘Who are you?’
‘Your friend, Henry. Still your friend. You mustn’t worry.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You will, when we’ve had a little chat.’
13
Natalia had been away on the Australian visit when Eduard became eligible for leave, which therefore had to be postponed, so it had been almost six months since they were last together. Natalia was relieved that another overseas trip had not intruded to make this visit impossible. And pleased at how quickly permission had been granted for her to take leave herself, a Friday and a Monday, giving them a long weekend together.
Natalia tried hard to make everything right for her son’s homecoming. She planned a Saturday-night outing and shopped widely at the concessionary stores, where she hesitated uncertainly at the alcohol counter. Natalia hardly drank but believed, although she was not sure, there was a half bottle of vodka somewhere in the Mytninskaya apartment. Eduard was nineteen, living in an all-male, military environment, she reminded herself: a man, which had been a strangely abrupt realization when he’d been home for the last time. He’d expect her to have something in: consider it odd if she hadn’t. Still hesitant Natalia bought whisky, vodka and some imported Danish beers. As an afterthought she added four bottles of French wine, two white and two red. In a final touch Natalia displayed flowers in the hallway and the living room: she knew Eduard wouldn’t appreciate them – probably wouldn’t be aware of them – but Natalia thought flowers in a home were welcoming so it was really a gesture for her own benefit.
His letter had guessed at his reaching Moscow some time in the afternoon but she knew the risk of delay was too great for her to start preparing the homecoming meal in advance of his arrival. Natalia wandered about the flat, touching and moving things that didn’t need to be touched and spent time in Eduard’s bedroom, tidying things already tidied. Why – or of what – was she nervous? Natalia couldn’t decide. Just that she was nervous, which was ridiculous. What on earth was there to be nervous of, receiving home a soldier-son whom she had not seen for half a year? Nothing. Ridiculous, she told herself again.
