“At last a face I recognize,” greeted Charlie.
John Passmore was respected within the counterintelligence agency for dropping the civilian entitlement of colonel after his transfer appointment from the SAS, although he continued to wear the regimental tie, which didn’t coordinate with the suit he was wearing today. He was a reserved, taciturn man who responded to Charlie with a curt, unsmiling nod and an immediate introduction to James Straughan.
“Why am I here, not across the river?” demanded Charlie, at once.
“Your own building will be under far tighter Russian surveillance than usual,” said Straughan, leading the way into a directly opposite, anonymously bare office. “And Thames House doesn’t have the separated entry facilities that we do.”
Bollocks, thought Charlie. “You should charge for the helter-skelter approach; sell candy floss to attract the customers.”
“Your proposal for getting Natalia and the girl out has been gone through in some detail,” picked up Passmore, the intended briskness slightly marred by an almost-suppressed stutter. “The instructions are to give you your head but personally I think your chances of success are extremely limited.”
“It’s difficult for them to be otherwise, knowing as little as we do so far,” defended Charlie. “It has to be governed by on-the-spot decisions according to the circumstances as they arise.”
“Which operations are invariably insufficiently prepared, inadequately planned, and blow up in your face,” argued the ex-soldier, feeling out with his remaining hand to the empty left sleeve of his jacket.
“It’s been sanctioned?” pressed Charlie.
“With reservations beyond the obvious,” confirmed Straughan.
“Which are?” queried Charlie, apprehensively.
“Shortly you’ll meet your backup group,” disclosed Straughan. “They’re not being told of your personal relationship to Natalia or that Sasha is your child.”
“It’s the weakest aspect of what you’ll be trying to do,” criticized Passmore, before Charlie could respond. “You’re team leader and because of who Natalia and Sasha are, you’ll take more risks than you should. They’ll know and distrust that if they’re told.”
“Is everything going to be independently monitored, above and beyond the people I’m about to meet?” asked Charlie, presciently. There could be gains, having so many distracting people milling about.
Passmore looked to the other operational director and Straughan momentarily hesitated. “No. But there’s another reservation. There’s to be no maverick bullshit from you. We accept there’s a lot that’s got to be worked out when you get there. But you don’t initiate anything without approval. And we want your acknowledgment, right now, that you understand what I’m saying. If we get the slightest suspicion you’re trying to perform as a one-man band, we abort everything and you’ll lose a wife and child.”
The bullshit was Straughan’s, for the benefit of the inevitable protective recording, Charlie knew. “I’m not going to do anything to put Natalia and Sasha at more risk than they already are. And I’ve already given the undertaking about diplomatic embarrassment.”
“Don’t, for a moment, forget it,” threatened the MI6 division chief, ending the encounter. “People are waiting for us.”
Waiting or scuttling underfoot to trip him? wondered Charlie.
The briefing room was four doors away on the same level, the six men already assembled at name-carded lecture desks in front of a slightly raised stage on the wall behind which were displayed the enlarged photographs of Natalia and Sasha. At the far end of the room were visible camera-projection facilities from which everything would be filmed.
After Straughan’s domination of their introductory meeting, Charlie was mildly curious at Passmore’s supervising the team briefing. This was an unusually linked combination between their two services because of the importance of what had to be achieved, opened the MI5 operations director, the stutter, strangely, no longer pronounced. Each of them had been provided with a individual pack that included the maximum available information upon Natalia Fedova and her background within the FSB. Those packs were to be familiarized until their departure for their Moscow flight that afternoon but would be retrieved before they left the building. Duplicate packs were already waiting for them at the British embassy, in the residential compound of which they were all to be accommodated. The duplicate packs-particularly the photographs of Natalia and the child-were never to be taken outside the embassy. Also awaiting their collection at the embassy were Russian mobile telephones through which they would liaise with their team supervisor, Charlie Muffin. That liaison had always to be through their cell phones: they should never initiate contact by calling his cell phone, the number of which would be in their Moscow documentation, from an embassy or outside landline. Charlie would not be accommodated at the embassy but would work from hotels, between which he would move, at his decision and choosing. It was, obviously, an extraction mission, the method, timing, and manner of which could not be decided until contact had been made with Natalia Fedova. Until the moment of extraction, their function was entirely one of support, at which announcement Passmore hesitated again, identifying those among the group responsible for finance, which was to be provided internally from embassy funds, and logistics. Those logistics were to be obtained through outside, Russian sources, paid for in cash and not traceable in any way to the embassy or to Britain. Each of the Moscow packs was nominated by name and contained Russian driving licenses in their Russian cover names, together with false Russian passports and other necessary identity documents. Each had been allocated an individual code designation signaling the mission’s cancellation, together with specific escape routes to be unquestioningly followed. Upon that alert they were immediately and separately to get out of the country. Under no circumstances whatsoever were they to risk identification or association among themselves and their team supervisor by attempting to contact Charlie Muffin: there had to be no evidential electronic-or any other-link whatsoever.
Throughout Passmore’s presentation Charlie’s attention was divided, dissecting the man’s every word and phrase while at the same time comparing his initial reaction as much as was visually possible against those before him. Patrick Wilkinson was the only one of the group Charlie recognized, from a brief encounter at the British embassy in Washington, D.C., which had been Wilkinson’s first MI5 overseas posting. The man showed no recognition, although throughout most of Passmore’s address he was looking directly at Charlie, as were most of the others. Charlie decided they were trying to assess him from his visible responses, as he was trying to assess them. They were uniformly bland featured, an essential attention-avoiding requirement, and dressed accordingly. There were occasional frowns, one or two nose blowings, a few seat rearrangements, but no nods of acceptance or head-shaking disapproval, nor expression of surprise or uncertainty. Throughout, no one had taken a single reminder note.
“You’ll have questions, in which your team leader will participate,” Passmore concluded, overly formal.
At once a balding man identified by his name card as Neil Preston, another MI5 man, said: “Is this woman an embedded asset?”
Both operational directors deferred to Charlie, who hurriedly replied: “She had the potential to have been.”
“I don’t understand that answer,” protested Preston. “She either is or she isn’t.”
“It’s a perfectly understandable answer,” refused Charlie. “She occupies a position within the FSB and before that the KGB that could provide invaluable intelligence.”
A man named by his place setting as Stephen Briddle, who’d been picked out by Passmore as the operational bag man, said: “Does that mean it’s uncertain whether she’ll provide it?”