Overkill

man in the corner with the bucket and wash-leather is a Russian Cultural Attache on assignment, and not Bob the window cleaner.

And like Bob the window cleaner, Richter couldn’t just walk into Vauxhall Cross. The Russian Embassy maintains a watch group whose sole function is to photograph everyone who enters or leaves the building. They have another group watching the US Embassy in Grosvenor Square, another across the road from Thames House, a substantial stone-built 1930s block north of Lambeth Bridge and the headquarters since the mid 1990s of MI5, others in South Audley Street, Grosvenor Street and Gower Street, where MI5 maintains offices. Further groups watch some of the covert addresses used by SIS elsewhere in London, and a large team monitors the SIS training establishment at Fort Monkton, near Gosport in Hampshire.

To return the favour, as it were, SIS has permanent watch teams in place outside the Russian Embassy at 13 Kensington Palace Gardens, the consular and trade section at 33 Highgate West Hill, and others covering the rest of the foreign Embassies in London.

The principal beneficiary of all this activity is of course Kodak, but it means that FOE operatives are forbidden to enter Vauxhall Cross, all other MI5 and SIS buildings, and the American Embassy, to prevent their pictures from appearing at SVR headquarters in Moscow. That in turn meant that any meetings between FOE operatives and SIS, MI5 or CIA officers had to take place elsewhere.

And that was why at three ten in the afternoon Richter was sitting in the lounge of the Sherlock Holmes Hotel in Baker Street, looking over a coffee pot, milk jug, sugar bowl, two cups and a small plate of assorted biscuits at the slightly vacant expression on Piers Taylor’s face. Richter had known Taylor for about eighteen months, and he knew that his expression was wholly deceiving. Taylor possessed one of the sharpest brains in SIS which was why, at only thirty-eight, he was the Deputy Head of Section Nine, responsible for Russian affairs.

Taylor absent-mindedly plucked a thread from the sleeve of his jacket, glanced round the lounge, which was empty apart from a group of American tourists loudly discussing their theatre-going of the previous evening, and leaned forward. ‘It was just routine,’ he said, softly.

‘Come on, Piers,’ Richter replied, just as quietly. ‘Deputy Head of Station Moscow doesn’t just wander off halfway across Russia with a bunch of European businessmen on a whim. He had a reason for going there.’

Taylor shook his head. ‘No, we know why he went there – Newman told him to – but he wasn’t tasked with anything very exciting. I had Payne flown back to London on Monday to introduce him to his new head and to give him a current briefing. He told me then about the trip to Sosnogorsk.’

‘What did he tell you? I mean, Newman must have given him some indication of what he expected him to do there.’

Taylor nodded. ‘Yes, he did. Newman told him that if anyone approached him and introduced himself as Karelin, Nicolai Karelin, Payne was to give him a one-word message and note the reply, which should also be a single word.’

Richter waited. Extracting information from Piers was sometimes a long and tiring process. ‘Is there any reason I shouldn’t know what Payne’s message was?’

‘No, no reason. It was Schtchit.’ Taylor looked at him. ‘Do you know what it means?’

‘Of course I know what it means,’ Richter said. ‘It’s Russian for “shield”, and it also means the type of double-exposure film sometimes used by GRU operatives.’ He took a sip of coffee and pondered for a moment. Taylor looked at him in silence.

‘Newman didn’t tell Payne what other action he should take if this Karelin turned up – or even if he didn’t turn up?’

‘No. Just the message he was to pass, and to note the reply. Nothing else.’

‘And did Karelin contact Payne?’

‘Yes.’

Blood out of a stone. ‘And?’ Richter said.

‘And what?’

‘And what was the message this Nicolai Karelin passed?’

‘Not one word, as Newman had briefed him to expect, but two – Stukach and Chernozhopy.’

Richter thought for a moment. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Do they mean anything to you, because they certainly don’t to me?’

‘Your Russian getting a little rusty, is it?’ Taylor asked, smiling.

‘Piers,’ Richter said, ‘I can read it and translate it, and speak it well enough to get by, but I’m not fluent, and probably never will be.’

‘Stukach is Russian slang for “secret informant” or “stool pigeon”, and Chernozhopy translates as “black-arses”. That’s a derogatory term applied to coloured people of all nationalities. About the only interesting thing about it is that the term is most often used by officers of the GRU.’

Richter opened his mouth, but Taylor held up a hand. ‘Before you ask, yes, we have checked them. We ran both words through the computers here. Stukach wasn’t listed and the only code-word Chernozhopy we found was the title of an aborted operation run by the Red Army as the Germans approached the gates of Moscow in the Second World War. We’re quite satisfied that the word was chosen precisely because it was effectively meaningless, but sufficiently unusual not to be mistaken for anything else.’

Piers sat back, as if satisfied. Richter wasn’t. ‘And when Payne got back to Moscow?’

‘Nothing. By the time Payne returned to the Embassy, Newman was already dead.’

‘What conclusion did you and your analysts draw from all this?’

Piers shrugged his shoulders. ‘Most of it was obvious. Payne was tasked with checking all Newman’s files and documents when he got back to Moscow, for obvious reasons. He found nothing significant, by the way. According to notes in Newman’s work diary and from the station files, Nicolai Karelin is the name of an established British source in the Sosnogorsk area. He’s a computer operator who used to work at the Pechora LPAR site and passed us some useful low-grade intelligence in the past. According to Newman’s notes, he’s now working on another project in the area, but we don’t yet know what.’

‘And the code-words?’ Richter asked.

‘That was simple enough as well, because it was in Newman’s work diary. Schtchit was Payne’s recognition signal to Karelin, and the response Stukach meant that Karelin had succeeded in identifying another potential source at Pechora, something Newman had asked him to do. Payne was just being used as a messenger boy.’ Taylor leaned back.

‘And Chernozhopy?’ Richter asked.

‘That,’ Taylor admitted, ‘is what we don’t know. Payne couldn’t find a reference to the word anywhere in Newman’s files or records. Our best guess is that the word was intended to be used as a recognition signal for the new agent Karelin was trying to recruit.’

‘OK, I’ll buy that,’ Richter said, after a moment. ‘One other question. According to Payne’s file, his French and German are nowhere near fluent, so how did he manage to translate for the group of businessmen he was with?’

‘No problems,’ Taylor replied. ‘Apparently the Frenchmen and the German understood English well enough to cope.’ Richter reached for the coffee pot and poured two more cups. ‘By the way,’ Taylor asked, his voice even quieter, ‘why are you tooled up?’

Richter’s jacket had swung open to reveal the substantial butt of the Smith and Wesson, and he hastily concealed it. ‘I’m having trouble with the bailiffs,’ he said.

Taylor grinned at him. ‘These would be Russian bailiffs, perhaps?’

‘Perhaps,’ Richter agreed. Taylor frowned slightly, and Richter leaned forward. ‘Yes?’ he said, encouragingly.

‘I’m not sure that it’s relevant,’ Taylor said, ‘but some of our Cousins were scrabbling around looking for favours this morning.’

‘The Company?’ Richter was surprised. ‘I thought it was usually the other way round. What were they