“What was the mission objective?”
“He was to try and stir up your end. We were aware that Morton had done some work on a group he’d found. Extreme right wing, we think – but thinkers, conservatives, not neo-Nazis. We had people working also. Then we began hitting walls. Every time our people followed a channel, it was blocked for them. Our mistake was one of priorities. We didn’t put sufficient resources on the problem at the time. By the time we realised the importance of the issue it was too late. We needed to see if we could trigger a reaction from your people, and maybe move Long Knives up on your priorities. A case of: if they have, maybe we should have…”
“There are other ways of getting other teams interested,” Quayle rebuffed. “Seems very convoluted.”
“What is this word?”
“Long and twisting.”
“Ah yes, the feeling in Centre was one of... how should I say this?” He thought about it, then said, “Too little too late. It was playing an ace. We knew that, if your people thought they’d extracted something significant, it would be given the right treatment.”
“It set off a witch-hunt,” Quayle said dryly.
“We thought that, once they had the girl, the investigation would swing to the other factor. The file. Long Knives. Credibility feeds on itself, yes?”
“So what is Long Knives?”
Kirov squatted, staring into the embers, the soft warm light flickering of his face. He pondered his answer for a second or two, and at that moment Gabriella came in from the small kitchen with a tray of sandwiches.
“Our name for a file. A group. Big. Powerful. Everywhere. Very wealthy, very influential. Extreme. That’s all I can tell you.”
“It’s not much.”
“It’s all we have.”
“I thought you said that you had an investigation running?”
“We did.”
“And?”
“We have a problem. The same as your people…”
Quayle was getting irritated. “What are you saying, man?”
“Both investigators died. Mysteriously. Our files have gone too.”
“From Moscow Centre?” Quayle’s eyes opened fractionally wider. “Jesus! The place is supposedly impregnable!”
“That’s what we thought. So... we were hoping Morton’s work was intact somewhere.”
“It will be,” Gabriella said firmly. “It will be.” Settling into the armchair, she held out a plate, offering him a sandwich.
“And they think I have it,” Quayle said, the words tinged with bitterness.
“Or Holly,” Gabriella corrected.
“Not Holly,” Quayle said firmly. “No way.”
“She may know without realising it,” Kirov suggested
“Unlikely. Teddy completely divorced his service life from his personal. Even more so with a thing like this. He would have known, back at the start, that he’d uncovered something very nasty. So you can go back and tell your masters that I don’t have the file and know nothing of it. Neither does Teddy Morton’s daughter.”
“I’m not going back until all this is over.”
“It is over,” Quayle uttered.
“Not for me. Not until the files are recovered. Either ours or Morton’s. It’s not over until we find out who’s killing our people. And it’s not over for you either. You wouldn’t walk away from this. It’s them and us, Quayle. MI6 and KGB, if you like.”
“Six? No thanks, I’m retired.”
“OK then. You and me.”
“Why?” he asked. “Even if I go for it, I don’t need you.”
“You were close to Morton. You knew the way he thought, the way he planned. If anyone can work out where he left his files. It’s you. Now, you may be good. But so am I, and I have the resources of Centre. That’s not a bad package.”
For a time there was silence in the room.
“Listen to me,” Kirov snapped. “The people who are after you are not the players any more. That order was rescinded last night. These people took out a safe house in Sussex and they took out an entire office in Moscow. There are about thirty people dead to date. They have resources and they have talent. They are dangerous. They are good. They are after you and the girl. You are the last links with the last hard evidence. Do you think they will stop? Eh? Because you want to be left alone? No,” he smiled warily, “you’re not giving in on this one, you just don’t want me getting in the way. Sorry, Tovarich. I’m on the job. Either with you or not, but I’m there. Now, you can muddy my water, or I can muddy yours. I say we’d be better together.”
Quayle gave up on the soft retired stance. “You’re sure about that? The metro order has been rescinded?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks for small mercies. The bastards. I’m going to find the files. You just stay out of my way.”
“And when you get them?”
“I’ll decide what is to be done with them.”
“We need access, Quayle. It’s a problem for your government and mine, maybe the Poles, the Americans… Everyone!”
“I’ll decide,” Quayle repeated.
“There’s a man in Moscow who knows more than me. If he can convince you, will you co-operate?”
“Who is it?”
“My boss. General in charge of the Fourth Directorate.”
“Bullshit. You’re a major. You report through to a section Colonel”
“Not any more. Head of Directorate. That’s how important this thing is. I have no controller. I’m free to do what I think best. Quayle, I think you should meet him.”
“How much does he know?”
“More than you and me,” he laughed, “but that’s not difficult.”
Quayle turned to Gabriella. It was time, he decided, to accomplish the very thing he’d first come to Ireland to do. “Tell me about Teddy before he went to Australia. Did you see him at all?”
“Yes. He came down to my flat twice the month before he left. We sat and talked about old times, but his mind was elsewhere.”
“How do you mean?”
“We played chess and he lost twice in a row. Unthinkable that he should do that! In all the years we played, I only ever beat him four
