Overkill

‘Of course. I like to know what goes on in my name. I have a collection of tapes recorded at several terminal interrogations. I wouldn’t recommend them for bedtime viewing, but they are interesting, nevertheless.’ Trushenko picked up a biscuit and nibbled it delicately. ‘The Englishman was a disappointment,’ he continued. ‘He offered almost no resistance and obviously had a very low pain threshold. A wimp,’ he added, dismissively.

Modin still stared at him. He had been acquainted with the man for nearly four years, and had never suspected this streak of ghoulish, sadistic voyeurism.

‘To business,’ Trushenko said. ‘The Englishman—’ he rolled the word on his tongue, as if the mere act of speaking it gave him pleasure ‘—confirmed what I had suspected. He knew nothing of Podstava, which at least means that we will not be forced to implement the plan immediately. Obviously the Americans suspect something – or, to be more accurate, they have been told something – which is why they flew their spy-plane, but they have not shared their knowledge with the British.’

General Modin stopped thinking about the death of the Englishman and concentrated on what the Minister was saying. ‘You are certain that they were not simply investigating the weapon test in the tundra?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ Trushenko said, shaking his head decisively. ‘In the present political climate they would not have dared over-fly our landmass just to photograph a weapon test site. To risk the possible political implications, they must have had some overwhelming reason. However, the Americans cannot have detailed information about Podstava, otherwise they would not have had to risk the flight at all.’

Modin nodded again. What the Minister was saying exactly matched his own opinion. ‘I have already taken steps to try to identify the traitor, assuming that there is one.’

‘Oh, there is a traitor, General, of that I am sure. What have you done?’

‘I have instructed General Grigori Sokolov to review the files of everyone with a working knowledge of Podstava,’ Modin replied. ‘He has authorized mail intercepts and telephone taps, as well as physical surveillance.’

‘Do you expect that to yield anything?’ Trushenko asked quizzically.

‘Frankly, Minister, no,’ Modin said. ‘But it will effectively prevent the traitor from sending any further communications to the Americans. That is the best we can hope for.’

‘Agreed. Now, if the British had known about Podstava, we would have had to begin the immediate implementation of the plan. The leak to the Americans is less critical, as that component has already been completed. Nevertheless, I cannot risk letting Podstava run to the original timetable, in case the Americans do decide to confide in their European allies.’

‘You are advancing the schedule?’ Modin asked.

‘Yes,’ Trushenko replied. ‘Complete implementation of Operation Podstava will now take place on the eleventh of next month.’

‘That’s only twelve days from now,’ Modin said, glancing across at his desk calendar. ‘It leaves very little margin for error or delays.’

‘Actually, it leaves no margin at all for error or delays, General. As you know, I was tasked by the Politburo with the planning and execution of Operation Podstava, and until now I have been content to simply oversee the various phases. Now, because it is clear that some details of the operation have been leaked to the Americans, and because time is so short, I have decided to take over personal control of all aspects of Podstava, including supervision of the assembly of the final weapon and, of course, the actual implementation. Additional security measures will be imposed. No communications of any sort concerning Podstava are to be made to any person who has not already been fully indoctrinated. This includes your superiors and subordinates in the SVR, and even Politburo members.’

‘Your previous orders forbade any contact with all non-authorized personnel,’ Modin pointed out. ‘From the beginning of the project you instructed that all communications with the Politburo were to be channelled through you.’

‘Correct,’ the Minister replied. ‘The difference now is that with Podstava about to be implemented, any disclosure, of any sort, to anyone, will be regarded as treason. There will be no trial, and the penalty will be death.’ Trushenko paused, and smiled bleakly. ‘Death may not be immediate. I may take the opportunity to add to my video collection.’ Despite the warmth of the office, Modin felt a chill creep over him. ‘Finally, General,’ Trushenko said, ‘I want you to accompany the last weapon to London and oversee its placement.’

‘May I ask why?’ Modin asked, surprise evident in his voice.

‘Yes. You are the most senior SVR officer involved in Podstava, and you have my complete trust. The London weapon is in many ways the lynchpin of the European phase of the operation, and I want there to be no mistakes in its delivery or positioning. You have the rank and the ability to ensure that nothing goes wrong.’

‘I thank you, Minister, for your confidence.’

‘Just ensure that my confidence is not misplaced, General,’ Trushenko said, and opened his briefcase.

Hammersmith, London

‘Why did we get involved in this?’ Richter asked. ‘Why didn’t SIS get one of their men to investigate it?’

‘Simple. Vauxhall Cross didn’t want a known “face” poking around over there if this turned out to be anything other than a simple road accident, which – thanks to you – we now know that it wasn’t.’ Simpson looked down at the file again, then back at Richter. ‘Why are you so sure he’s dead?’

Richter sighed. Simpson seemed particularly obtuse that morning. That, however, was nothing new. He often appeared slow to grasp what seemed patently obvious to everyone else, but from bitter experience Richter knew that this was just his naturally devious nature manifesting itself. He always wanted to be absolutely certain that an operative making a proposition had considered every aspect of the matter.

‘He’s got to be, hasn’t he?’ Richter said. ‘They’ve presented us with a dead body that almost everyone accepts as being the remains of Graham Newman. If they were going to ignore his diplomatic immunity and put him on show, they certainly wouldn’t have done that. It would have been a mysterious disappearance, followed a few days later by a cautious leak from TASS, then the usual diplomatic charge and denial that we all know and love. That would have been followed by a trial at which Newman would make a “voluntary” confession to whatever the Russians had in mind. And if it had been a defection, they’d be shouting about it in the world’s press, and there wouldn’t be a mangled stiff in a Moscow basement.

‘No, the only possible reason for giving us a body called Newman is that Newman is dead somewhere, and the only reason for giving us a body that looks like Newman but isn’t, is that Graham Newman’s remains are not fit for public consumption.’ Richter stopped and looked over at Simpson. ‘If you want my guess, Newman’s in the Lubyanka, and he won’t be coming out. They’ve snatched him for terminal questioning.’

Simpson nodded in a preoccupied fashion a couple of times, then stood up and walked back to the window and fiddled with the cacti on the sill.

‘And there’s something else,’ Richter said.

‘What?’

‘I picked up tails everywhere I went in Moscow, and I had an exchange of views with one of them at the airport.’

‘Who was he?’

‘I didn’t bother getting his name, but he was carrying an SVR identity card and waving a PSM pistol in my face. The SVR had obviously issued a kill order against me.’

Simpson nodded, returned to his desk, and depressed a button. ‘Coffee,’ he said.

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door, and Richter got up and opened it. Simpson’s secretary was standing outside, a metal tray in her hands. On it were two cups of black coffee, a small jug of milk, a plate with three digestive biscuits, and a bowl of sugar.

‘Thank you, Sheila.’

She put the tray down on Simpson’s desk and left the office. Simpson reached across, added milk to his coffee and watched Richter take two of the three biscuits. ‘It may interest you to know that your appreciation of the situation tallies almost exactly with the Intelligence Director’s assessment, given that the body is not Newman.’