can I help?’
The Russian diplomat paused briefly. When he spoke, he sounded almost embarrassed. ‘Mr President, we have, as you know, bilateral agreements which require each of our countries to inform the other in advance of any planned major military exercises or operations. Despite this, our technical surveillance systems indicate that you have ordered your armed forces to a higher alert state than normal – what you refer to, I believe, as Defence Condition Four – and there appears to be significant activity at many of your military establishments. Have your staff, perhaps, forgotten to inform us of some exercise you have planned?’ Karasin stopped and waited.
The President looked at him levelly. ‘We have no exercise planned, Mr Ambassador,’ he replied. ‘It is true that we have moved our forces to a higher alert state, but this is just a precautionary measure.’
‘A precaution against what, Mr President?’ Karasin asked sharply.
The President waited a few moments before replying. ‘I was hoping,’ he said finally, ‘that you might be able to tell me.’
When Richter had finished, Simpson got up and poured himself another Scotch. ‘Are you sure? It sounds bloody unlikely to me.’
‘I’m as sure as I can be,’ Richter said. ‘In any case, as far as I can see, it’s the only explanation that covers all the facts we have. If you’ve any better theories, let’s hear them. All I’m saying is that the explanation I’ve just advanced seems to me to be the simplest and most likely, and until a simpler and more likely one comes along, I’m going to work on the assumption that it’s correct.’
Simpson paced up and down in front of the coal-effect electric fire. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Assuming that your hypothesis is right, why are the Russians trying to hit you, and what are they going to do next?’
Richter took a mouthful of coffee. ‘I don’t know for certain, but I can guess. Follow the sequence of events. They snatch and torture to death the Head of Moscow Station. I turn up to investigate, ostensibly as an insurance company representative. Either somebody in Moscow recognized me or they guessed I wasn’t an insurance rep, hence the attack at Sheremetievo. Then my picture is relayed to London, to the Russian Embassy, with watch orders. Perhaps I was tailed from Heathrow when I landed. Perhaps they’ve even tapped my telephone – I wouldn’t put it past them to have someone at Tinkerbell.’
Tinkerbell is an anonymous grey building in Ebury Bridge Road, opposite Chelsea Barracks, which is responsible for tapping telephones in Britain. It was the subject of controversy in January 1980 when it was alleged on excellent authority (in fact by the people employed there to carry out the work) that illegal tapping of telephone lines was common. Tinkerbell’s equipment can monitor and record well over a million lines at any one time. The building is officially used by the Post Office for equipment development, which is true, but tells only half the story.
‘What I am sure,’ Richter continued, ‘is that they found out where I lived and worked. The next thing I did was turn up at JARIC, which is a place that very few insurance company investigators have ever heard of, far less been to. The Russians know – obviously – about the Blackbird flight, and having seen that I’ve been involved both with Newman’s death and the photographic intelligence centre, they must have assumed I was getting too close.’
Richter swallowed the last of his coffee and put the cup down. ‘Now I’m guessing. The kill directive must have been included in the Moscow Centre orders, because they tried to hit me as soon as I came out of JARIC, and presumably intended me not to have the opportunity to pass on anything I’d learned to you or whoever they think I work for. That attempt failed, and the two low-lifes they sent after me when I went to Cambridge didn’t do any better. I guess they’ve been waiting for another opportunity, but it’s not all that easy to carry out a hit in London, with the traffic and the crowds. And they don’t know which route I’d be taking to and from Hammersmith, or how I’d be travelling – I’ve been constantly altering my timing, method and route as a precaution, and there are three separate exits from my apartment block to confuse them as well.’
Simpson interrupted. ‘But they must know – or at least assume – that by now you have passed on what you know to me or to SIS, so why are they still trying to eliminate you?’
‘The oldest reason in the world,’ Richter said. ‘Revenge. Two Cultural Attaches, or whatever they were calling themselves, came back in boxes from East Anglia, and I can’t believe that the Russians don’t think it was my fault.’
‘OK,’ Simpson said, after a moment. ‘That does make sense, but it still doesn’t answer the question. Why was there a kill directive? What is so desperately important to them that they’re prepared to break all the rules and risk the consequences?’
‘I don’t know for certain,’ Richter replied, ‘but I believe that they’ve got something really big building and they can’t, under any circumstances, allow any word of it to reach government level.’
‘I don’t buy all this covert assault crap that the CIA is banging on about,’ Simpson said. ‘So what could be that big?’
‘I don’t know, but I think I can find out.’
‘How?’
‘I’m going to go and have a talk with Orlov,’ Richter said.
Simpson just stared at him. ‘You’re joking, of course.’
‘I was never more serious in my life. I’m fed up with sitting around and letting them take pot shots at me, and I’ve got Brian Jackson’s blood on my hands. Someone’s going to pay for that, and Orlov looks to me like the prime candidate.’
Simpson stood up. ‘For God’s sake, man, think of the consequences! You snatch – I presume that’s what you mean – Orlov, and as soon as the Russians realize he’s gone they’ll start yelling the place down. And think what’ll happen when he goes back to them. Think of the repercussions then.’
Richter sat back in the chair and looked up at him. ‘You misunderstand me, Simpson. Orlov isn’t going to go back to anyone. Once I’ve got him, that’s it.’
Karasin sat silent for a moment, his face pale in the light from the desk lamp. ‘How do you expect me to be able to tell you that, Mr President?’ he asked.
‘Because, Mr Ambassador, we have received definite information – and I regret that I cannot disclose the source – which suggests that an imminent assault is planned by your country upon mine.’
Karasin turned white. ‘What?’ he almost shouted, and stood up, protocol forgotten. ‘What? What do you mean – assault?’
‘I cannot be any more specific, Mr Ambassador,’ the President said smoothly, motioning Karasin back to his seat, ‘but we do have the information.’
The Russian sat down, slowly, his eyes never leaving the American’s face. ‘Mr President,’ he said, ‘I have no knowledge, no knowledge at all, of any such operation. The suggestion is—’ he searched for a word ‘—is simply monstrous. Relations with your country have, I believe, never been better. Why would we risk any conflict now?’
‘Why indeed, Mr Ambassador?’ the President said. ‘Nevertheless, that is the information we have.’
Karasin looked stunned. He shook his head and got to his feet. ‘I must take advice,’ he said. ‘Urgent advice. In the meantime, Mr President, I must urge you, in the strongest possible terms, to do nothing which would exacerbate this situation.’
The President looked at him. ‘We will do nothing that we do not need to do,’ he replied, ‘but this situation is, we believe, entirely of your country’s own making.’
Karasin shook his head. ‘I know nothing of this,’ he repeated. ‘Nothing. Thank you, Mr President. I will contact you as soon as possible.’ The Russian shook hands briefly, and walked briskly out of the room.
‘Well?’ the President asked.
Walter Hicks, who had been sitting silently at the back of the room facing the long windows throughout the meeting, rose and walked slowly towards the President’s desk. ‘You know him much better than I do, sir,’ he said. ‘What’s your impression?’
The President sat down again, this time behind the desk. ‘I’ve known Karasin for three years,’ he said.
