“Of course I’m not,” denied Monsford, his disappointment at the antagonism slightly eased by the first wisp of the so-far-eluded idea. “I was, though, worried when my officer in Paris told me that Andrei initially refused to come.”
“You are accusing them!”
“What I am doing, Maxim Mikhailovich, is being subjective. We do not yet know how the French interception was instigated. Which shouldn’t, though, be our immediate focus. That has to be getting them released and safely here.” Monsford was surprised at what little effect the already consumed vodka had upon the Russian, watching him refill his glass.
Radtsic frowned. “That’s what I’m waiting for you to tell me, how and when they’re getting here!”
“They’re not, not today,” declared Monsford, positively. “Our problem is the kidnap allegation. And the association of my officers in that allegation. Because of that the British government are being refused access: any contact whatsoever…”
“What the hell’s your point!” demanded Radtsic, seizing the intentionally allowed pause.
“You, the husband and father,” said Monsford, simply, the concept complete in his mind. “There can be no legal prevention against your being allowed contact. Nor does your being here contravene French law. I’ve obviously held back from publicly announcing your being here, because of what’s happened to Elana and Andrei. Now I want to announce it, publicize it. And at the same time connect you by a visual TV conference link not just to Elana and Andrei but simultaneously to French officials. If you can persuade Elana or Andrei to withdraw the allegation they’ll have to be released, to continue here to join you.”
For several moments Radtsic remained unspeaking, all truculence gone. “Is it technically possible?”
“Yes,” insisted Monsford. “I can have technicians here in hours, setting it up, as well as French-speaking lawyers to argue the law on your behalf.”
Once more Radtsic considered the idea, topping up what little could be added to Monsford’s scarcely touched glass and refilling his, which he held out to Monsford. “I have not behaved as I should. I apologize.”
“It is totally understandable,” accepted Monsford, as their glasses touched. “I drink to your reunion.”
Shakespeare had been right, as he always was, thought Monsford: sweet are the uses of adversity. And from where better could the sentiment come than As You Like It, which he did like, very much indeed.
“You are sure?” insisted Aubrey Smith.
“Absolutely positive,” said Jane Ambersom.
“And you can get hold of it?”
“Yes,” she risked.
“There’s still the self-incriminating problem,” accepted Smith.
“I think there’s a way around that,” said Jane.
“Does it tie in with what Wilkinson’s relayed from Moscow about Charlie’s refusal to work with MI6?” asked John Passmore, joining the review.
“I haven’t the slightest idea what Charlie’s uncovered,” said Smith. “But Jane’s story seems to support what Charlie’s demanding.” He smiled, humorlessly. “I can hardly wait for Palmer and Bland’s reaction.”
“From what little we think we know, Charlie and our three aren’t just confronting the Russians to get Natalia and Sasha out. They’re opposed by Monsford and three of his people already in Moscow and completely briefed on the intended extraction,” cautioned Passmore.
“Go back to Straughan,” the Director-General told Jane. “Promise him every protection, whatever he wants, to get whatever he’s got. Tell him I’ll meet him personally if it’ll help.”
“He’s terrified,” warned Jane.
“So am I,” said Smith.
27
By the time he entered the Foreign Office every uncertainty was perfectly resolved in Gerald Monsford’s mind, the creaking ice hardened into a solid conviction that he was unassailable. Even Straughan’s message during the return from Hertfordshire of Charlie Muffin’s reappearance hadn’t unsettled him. The man and his family were no longer of any practical use, easily discarded encumbrances.
Monsford intentionally avoided Vauxhall Cross to arrive early but wasn’t concerned, either, at finding Aubrey Smith ahead of him, alone with Geoffrey Palmer. “Congratulations upon the return of your prodigal son,” he greeted the blank-faced MI5 Director-General.
“I hope you’ve equally good news of your errant mother and offspring,” Smith mocked back, as Sir Archibald Bland came into the room to complete their quorum.
“Is the long-awaited emergence of Charlie Muffin good news?” questioned Monsford, setting the stage for his intended lead.
“That’ll have to be judged on the outcome of both extractions,” suggested Smith.
“And we’re here to examine the more immediate difficulties of Maxim Radtsic,” halted Bland, impatiently. “Which is dominating the cabinet, who want it concluded in the shortest time possible with absolutely no further problems. I’m authorized to tell you both that you are losing the confidence of this government effectively to continue in the positions you currently hold.”
For the briefest moment Geoffrey Palmer appeared as shocked as the two directors. It was the confidently prepared Gerald Monsford who recovered first. “Then it’s clearly important that on behalf of MI6 I restore that confidence.”
“That’s precisely what we expect you to do,” said Palmer, his stiffness the only indication of his anger at not being warned in advance of the cabinet secretary’s threat.
The drive back from Hertfordshire had allowed Monsford not only to formulate his proposals but mentally to rehearse their presentation, which he did flawlessly. “It will overwhelm all the Charlie Muffin embarrassment,” Monsford concluded, delivering his patronizing coup de grace to Aubrey Smith, “We can warn Russia through back channels that any retaliation will be met with public expose of their Lvov disaster.” Unable to stop himself, Monsford went on: “Which is, perhaps, some mitigation against the directorship changes you’ve indicated towards my MI5 colleague.”
“That’s an extremely convincing proposal, supported by an equally convincing argument,” cautiously acknowledged Bland, looking to the Intelligence Committee liaison for agreement.
“Providing the kidnap allegations are withdrawn,” qualified Palmer, equally cautious.
“My proposals also make it impossible for Moscow to impose any coercion upon France,” insisted Monsford. “They’ll be neutered.”
“I am grateful to my MI6 colleague for his concern at my professional future,” said Smith, anxious to match Monsford’s condescension. “I also want to make it clear that I am not playing devil’s advocate. But getting the accusation of kidnap withdrawn isn’t the only hurdle. There’s mollifying bruised French pride at MI6 mounting an espionage-linked operation on its sovereign soil. There’s the danger of detained MI6 officers having made incriminating admissions, too. And we don’t know what’s passed between Moscow and Paris. There is absolutely nothing to suggest that this will produce any of the speculated success.”
“None of my officers will have admitted anything, so I won’t bother addressing that canard,” dismissed Monsford, contemptuously, “Nowhere in my proposals have I discounted or minimized our difficulties. What I have done, to confront them, is bring to this country the highest-ranking Russian intelligence executive ever to defect and already have his agreement personally to persuade his family to deny they are kidnap victims, removing any criminal justification for France to detain them. France’s precious pride can go to hell. Moscow’s, too. We hold the better hand for whatever poker game they choose to play. We can’t lose.”
None of the others spoke, each of the three waiting for one of the others to comment or commit first. Monsford, too, lapsed into quiet, self-satisfied reflection, amused at how persuasively he’d utilized so much of Charlie Muffin’s arguments to justify his personal involvement at their original Buckinghamshire discussions. He’d started out properly confident, Monsford admitted to himself, but he’d never imagined gaining such an overwhelming victory. Even the condescension he’d directed at Aubrey Smith, a finger snap, unprepared decision, had worked. He was the rule maker, the motivator: the others, Aubrey Smith their leading supplicant, had obediently to follow.