Charlie’s Apprentice

Because she hadn’t embarked upon it as a meaningless routine, unnecessarily stirring old memories better left undisturbed. She’d studied the dossier with a very determined objective, and the disappointment she felt now was not that of lost chances in the past but of not finding what she had been looking for, in the future.

She’d been seeking the slightest clue from which she might have been able once more to find Charlie. But hadn’t found it.

Within twenty-four hours, in another part of the same building, Fyodor Tudin wondered if he had found the indication he had been seeking, when he learned from her signature against the withdrawal authority that Natalia had studied the file on the Englishman with whom she was linked, in her own personal files.

Was there a weak spot there after all, he wondered.

They’d considered all of Jeremy Snow’s material, working on Miller’s side of the desk with their chairs familiarly together but without any physical contact or even conversation as they went through each report and each photograph. Finally the Director-General said: ‘He did well: damn well.’

‘It’s unfortunate it has to turn out like this,’ agreed Patricia Elder.

‘Never forget the cardinal principle,’ reminded Miller. ‘The means always justifies the end.’

‘Let’s hope it does,’ said the woman.

Fifteen

‘Their separate accounts contradict each other, to a large degree, but it’s fairly obvious there is some suspicion.’ As he talked Peter Miller, who was concerned with neatness and order in all things, assembled in edge-to-edge stacks on his desk what had arrived overnight from Beijing. Snow’s information and opinion formed the larger pile, then the photographs, and finally Walter Foster’s account. The Director-General did so with his head habitually to the right, to benefit his better vision from that side.

Patricia Elder nodded, in agreement. ‘But just how much? We can’t get a single thing wrong, not now.’

Miller finished his assembly, finally reaching across for her hand. ‘Foster is clearly over-reacting, even this early.’

‘What’s the greater risk? Leaving Foster in place? Or bringing him out right away?’

‘If we bring him out, there can’t be any official accusation from the Chinese.’

‘The speed of it all is what surprises me,’ admitted the deputy. ‘I would have thought it would be much more gradual.’

Miller shook his head, in a warning gesture. ‘He was moving through closed areas. And maybe he hasn’t picked up the observation until now. Or not thought it important enough to report it, putting it down to the normal attention paid to Westerners permanently resident in China. Let’s not forget it’s Foster who is using phrases like “heightened surveillance” and marking everything urgent.’

‘Snow does concede that Li is probably a member of the Public Security Bureau,’ the woman pointed out. She rose from beside Miller, taking her chair with her.

‘Every official escort acts as an informer.’ The man paused. ‘I wish we could go back for more definite guidance.’

‘We can’t risk that,’ she said at once. ‘We’ve got to go blind: make the decisions from here.’

There was an interruption on the intercom, closed from Miller’s end from the frequent open communication. The Director ordered the promised tea in five minutes: by the time Julia Robb entered, the second chair was returned to its normal position on the other side of his desk and Patricia Elder was already sitting there. Neither spoke until the girl left the room. As Miller served he said: ‘The suddenness is surprising.’

The woman took the offered cup. ‘I’m not arguing against myself, but let’s remember just how little we’ve got to guide us on how and when the Chinese will react about anything. This isn’t any longer the Soviet Union and the KGB, which we spent all those years studying and thought we could anticipate.’ She gestured towards Miller’s tidily arranged piles. ‘No matter how well placed we might have thought ourselves, we’re still just scratching the surface as far as Chinese intelligence goes.’

‘I don’t think we panic, because of what Foster says,’ mused the Director. ‘Or stay complacent, which Snow appears to be.’

From their ten years of professionally working together, apart from their deeper relationship, Patricia recognized the move towards a decision. ‘We don’t bring Foster out at once?’

‘Not quite yet,’ decided Miller. ‘But we can’t have him keeping the meeting Snow’s demanded. That’s a stupid risk. We’ll send Snow a message, for a drop delivery. They will have to wait for an embassy excuse personally to talk. There’s the People’s Daily warnings. And what Liu Yin claimed, at the press conference.’

‘What about an emergency?’

The Director considered the demand. ‘We’ll tell Snow to wait, for our signal. But make it clear to Foster that he can take an on-ground decision personally if there’s no time to consult. He’s to warn Snow to be ready to get out, of course. And say so, in a message here.’

Miller began rearranging the Beijing information, like someone playing with worry beads. ‘As it is, we’ve got a tremendous amount to follow up …’ He hesitated, halted by an abrupt thought. ‘We must congratulate Snow. A personal cable, separate from the fresh instructions.’

‘I’ll get it all away tonight,’ promised Patricia. She remained looking pointedly at the man. ‘What about tonight?’

Miller smiled back at her across the table. ‘Ann’s taken two horses up to Newmarket. She’ll be there for at least three days, for the major part of the sale.’

‘Good,’ said Patricia. Jeremy Snow wasn’t the only one not prepared to tolerate an existing situation, she thought. She’d been very patient – stupidly and regrettably so – but Peter had to make a decision soon. He couldn’t go on evading things.

Charlie managed three contrived encounters – two in the lift, the other when she was heading for the basement dining-hall for lunch – but each time Julia Robb refused the persistent invitation. She agreed finally on his fourth attempt, surprising him: he’d been about to give up. They agreed on the Spaniards, on Hampstead Heath. He got there considerately early and had almost finished his first Islay malt before Julia arrived. She wore jeans and a sweater big enough to reach to mid-thigh, like a short coat, and she was shiny-faced, with only the vaguest suggestion of lipline. She chose beer, further surprising him. There were no vacant tables and Charlie was glad. Proper drinkers stood in pubs, they didn’t sit: one of Charlie’s few affectations was to consider himself a proper drinker. They found space near the corner of the bar.

‘This your local?’ He recognized the first-meeting uneasiness. It wasn’t work – not proper work, where deceit was all part of the business – and Charlie always felt a vague regret at cheating the innocent. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, he reassured himself. He liked John Wayne movies, looking out for reruns on television.

‘I come here occasionally.’

‘A long way from the office.’

‘That was a factor, too.’

‘Frightened of gossip?’

‘Misunderstandings.’

Charlie touched his glass to hers. ‘By two people in particular?’ Charlie didn’t want to go too fast but he didn’t want to waste time, either. This might be his only chance.

The woman looked steadily at him. ‘No shop talk, OK?’

‘Just talking generally.’

‘They probably wouldn’t like it,’ she conceded.

She was suspiciously cautious: he needed to ease back. ‘Why did you say yes, at last?’

There was a grin lurking at the corners of her mouth, but she was trying to control it. ‘You’ll be offended.’

‘Try me.’