“Does Moscow give you leads to these people?”
“With people like Maguire-Barton—yes. But people like Holloway they get in touch with the embassy and if they’re not interested they pass them on to me.”
“What do they expect from you?”
Grushko sighed. “Free trips to Moscow, cash, moral support—whatever feeds their little power struggles.”
“Would Lonsdale be interested in coming over to us?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know him all that well. I shouldn’t think so. He’s got a family. And he’d rather play the hero. If you put him in court he’ll love it. Every minute of it.”
“Did he have much contact with Maguire-Barton?”
“I’m not sure. They’re rather like one another in a lot of ways so they disliked each other.”
Shapiro said quietly, “Find a reason for going back to Moscow in about six months, Grigor. You’ll be quite safe. There’ll be no leaks from us. But no more silly games. Stick to the journalism.”
“You give me your word there will be no leaks?”
“Absolutely. Only two other people in SIS even know that I’ve been here. There will be no written record.”
“And you’ve not bugged this place?”
Shapiro smiled. “Grigor. What a thing to say.”
Sir Peter interviewed Maguire-Barton personally. There was just about enough on the MP for the DPP to mount a court case against him but it was not much more than a long list of contacts with suspect people. Courts didn’t like circumstantial evidence in treason charges unless there was at least an attempt to provide actual hard evidence of information being passed that could be considered to endanger the security of the State. A nod from certain quarters of the Establishment was as good as a wink even in the High Court, but there had to be some underlying evidence especially when the MP concerned was a member of the Labour Party, whose left-wing militants would claim that one of the brotherhood was being deliberately harassed in carrying out his normal parliamentary duties.
It was an occasion for the black jacket, pin-striped trousers and a black tie. And the panelled office.
Maguire-Barton was tall, with a quite handsome face, sallow complexion, soft brown eyes and considerable charm. The kind of charm that most men instinctively dislike. Professional and indiscriminate charm. He was mentioned frequently in the gossip diaries, generally as the escort of some minor film actress or debutante. Like any other minor public figure who was unmarried, there were rumours of homosexuality and hints of unprintable predilections, but nobody had ever provided even the faintest substance for such rumours. He was adored by the female contingent who dominated his constituency party and disliked and envied by most of his colleagues in the House of Commons. Disliked by Tories as a social-climbing, self-publicising nonentity, and envied by his fellow Labour MPs for much the same reasons. For a short period he had been the opposition’s spokesman on trade and industry but his ill-concealed indifference to the subject had made it a short-lived appointment.
Sir Peter had long years of experience in putting quite senior civil servants and administrators in their place. And he knew from experience that it was the lightweights who were always the most difficult to deal with. The heavyweights mounted a well-argued defence that he was well capable of destroying piece by piece, but lightweights blustered or were indifferent because they didn’t know any other way.
When Maguire-Barton was shown in Sir Peter walked from his desk to greet him and show him to the armchair by the marble fireplace. He settled himself comfortably into its twin and looked across at the MP, taking an instant dislike to the brown suit and the flamboyant MCC tie.
“Mr. Maguire-Barton. I thought we should have a chat.”
Maguire-Barton smiled. “Honoured, I’m sure. Please make it Jack. I hate formality.”
“Don’t we all. But although this is an informal chat it nevertheless has some formal aspects.”
“Sounds ominous, Sir Peter.”
“Let’s talk first about Mr. Grushko.”
“Mr. Grushko?”
“Yes. Grigor Grushko. A Russian. Calls himself a freelance journalist.”
“Ah yes. A very talented man. And with considerable influence in Moscow I understand.”
“You see a lot of him, don’t you?”
“I see him from time to time, as I do a number of members of the press.”
“What other members of the press have you met a couple of dozen times in the last six months?”
The spaniel eyes looked at Sir Peter for several moments before Maguire-Barton replied. “Are you telling me that I’ve been watched?” he said softly.
“Observed, let us say.”
“You mean that your people have been checking on the comings and goings of a Member of Parliament?”
“Yes. We keep a protective eye on any MP who has regular contacts with Russians or any other Warsaw Pact people.”
“Have you received any authorisation to do this in my case?”
“I don’t need any authorisation to do this, it’s part of our standard practice.”
“You mean you waste your people’s time on watching an MP who in the normal course of his duties happens to meet foreigners?”
“Depends on the foreigners, Mr. Maguire-Barton. And on what they’re up to.”
“I shall have to report this to the Prime Minister and I shall certainly ask questions in the House.”
“The Foreign Secretary and the PM already know that I’m interviewing you. And why. And you would be very unwise to raise any questions in Parliament.”
“It happens to be one of my privileges as an MP, Sir Peter.”
“Are you suggesting that regular meetings, both public and private, with a Russian who is a close working associate and collaborator of a senior officer of the KGB in this country, are the privilege of a man just because he’s an MP? And that such meetings should be treated differently than they would be if they were by a member of the public?”
“Who says that he’s anything to do with the KGB?”
“I say so, Mr. Maguire-Barton.”
“You’d have to prove that.”
“I wouldn’t. My opinion would be enough.”
“Not for me it wouldn’t.”
Sir Peter smiled acidly and said quietly, “Grushko has already been interviewed. We should be happy to publish the statement he’s
