“Cut out, we don’t know what he’s saying, putting in our names, or making us appear responsible,” warned Straughan. “We can’t afford to overlook how much of what he did to get into the Lvov affair was dumped onto Jane Ambersom the moment it all went wrong.”
“She didn’t have what we’ve got.”
“He does know everything the three of us have discussed up to now, even if he’s been selectively recording it all,” reminded Straughan, unconvinced.
“You keep running around in fear circles, you’re going to disappear up your own ass,” derided Rebecca.
“It would be safer there than where I believe myself to be now,” said Straughan, self-pityingly.
On this occasion Gerald Monsford got to the Foreign Office ahead of the other three, his quick irritation at being relegated to an anteroom to wait for the government liaison compounded by Aubrey Smith’s arriving next. The M15 Director-General nodded curtly but didn’t speak. Monsford didn’t bother with any response. Sir Archibald Bland and Palmer were fifteen minutes late. Neither one apologized or explained their delay. As they sat, Bland said: “The French have agreed to a visual conference exchange between Radtsic and his family but they’re insisting upon conditions, as we are.…” He looked directly at Monsford. “How much time will you need to set it up?”
“No time at all,” responded the MI6 Director. “My security-cleared engineers are already in Hertfordshire, waiting. Being a permanent safe house, all the technology is already there, too. They’ll only want the French technical information to make the two-way communication connection.”
“Did you prepare it all ahead of the diplomatic agreement?” queried Palmer.
“I thought I’d made it clear that I’m working proactively. It didn’t require a great deal of preparation.”
“How involved are the Russians?” questioned Aubrey Smith.
“One of the French insistences is that Russia has full access, through their Paris embassy,” said Bland.
“You mean a simultaneous, live tie-in to everything that’s said?” pressed Smith.
“Yes,” confirmed the cabinet secretary.
“Radtsic’s in a safe house,” Smith pointed out. “Isn’t there an obvious danger of the Russians technically pinpointing his whereabouts to mount a recovery operation?”
“I’ve anticipated that possibility with my technicians.” Monsford smiled: he’d hoped for an intervention he could mock. “It will be a satellite transmission which, for the recipient, begins and ends at the satellite. But as an added safeguard against the Russians’ having the scientific capability to overcome that cutout, the connection will not be direct from Hertfordshire. It will be routed through a booster station just outside Ashford, in Kent. That cutout totally precludes anything being traced back to where Radtsic is.”
“Admirable forethought,” congratulated Bland. “We’re interpreting Russian constraints in some of the French conditions. Their major insistence is that there should be no pressure or threatening accusations: that it is all conducted unemotionally.”
“What about pressure or threats that the Russian diplomats will have already made upon Elana and the boy?” asked Smith, professionalism overcoming his personal antipathy toward the M16 Director.
“There’s no way we can discover the extent of that, nor counter it,” said Palmer. “We’re actually surprised, astonished almost, that they’ve agreed at all.”
“Weren’t our strengths made clear?” demanded Monsford, belligerently.
“I have no knowledge of the actual negotiations,” avoided Palmer, unconvincingly.
“Radtsic’s strong-minded, to the point of arrogance: I’ve already told you that, several times,” said Monsford. “I’ll spell it out again but there can’t be any guarantee.”
“Spell out something even more clearly,” urged Bland. “The moment it degenerates into a shouting match the French will disconnect from their end and it’ll all be over.”
“The Russians are orchestrating it,” judged Smith, quickly. “Their simultaneous access enables them to make a complete transcript. It’s a preposterous insistence that it won’t be emotional. They’ll let the exchange between the family continue for as long as serves their purpose but at some stage, whether or not Radtsic loses control, they’ll cut the link and have a recording they can edit to whatever benefit they choose.…”
“That’s a wild hypothesis prompted by nothing more than the despair of a counterespionage service that’s proved itself incapable of performing its function or controlling its officers,” accused Monsford.
Aubrey Smith ignored the outburst as well as the man, continuing to address the cabinet secretary. “The entire encounter will obviously be in Russian, won’t it?”
“With simultaneous English and French translation,” confirmed Bland.
“In what other language would a conversation be conducted between a Russian family?” demanded the M16 Director.
Once more Smith ignored the other director. “It will somehow be manipulated into a Russian propaganda coup, most definitely within the country itself: my guess is that it’ll be turned into apparent proof that we’ve kidnapped Radtsic and are holding him here against his will.”
“So what, if it’s only for internal consumption!” demanded Monsford.
“What spin do you imagine the French will put upon it?” asked Smith, speaking at last to his counterpart. “Certainly not that they’re under Russian duress. And their version-remember, they hold the European presidency-will get a strong play throughout the Union.…” He went back to the other two men. “And our problem has been counteracting Russian publicity and public perception, hasn’t it?”
“Has everyone forgotten my suggestion how to counteract that?” dismissed Monsford.
Aubrey Smith waited, hopefully.
“Aren’t there several points there?” questioned Bland, in cautious agreement.
“No,” rejected Smith, satisfied. “We can’t anticipate the publicity this will generate until it’s happened. So we’ll be following their lead, with each and every rebuttal we attempt: appearing that we have to defend ourselves.”
“What, then, are you suggesting?” demanded Palmer.
“That the conference connection is established, that Maxim Radtsic is warned as strongly as possible of the potential traps, and that we all pray that he manages to persuade his wife and son to continue on here,” said Smith, establishing his reservations. “If, that is, the kidnap allegations are withdrawn and the French agree to release them into our protection and not Moscow’s. If we get them here we achieve the defection. If we don’t, it’ll be unmitigated professional disasters.”
“I’m sure we all of us defer to your knowledge of professional disasters,” said Monsford.
“Your favorite, Shakespeare, had a view of professional disasters, didn’t he?” said Smith. “Something along the lines of how he was wearied by them: the first murderer in Macbeth, I seem to remember.”
The 986 circle line service hissed into Komsomolskaya more slowly than it had at Paveletsky, which Charlie assumed to be dictated by platform length, making it easier to identify Beckindale and Warren in their respective carriages. Both were standing, as if to get off, but which Charlie guessed made it easier for them to scour the arrival platform, taking it as confirmation of their surveillance realization. Wilkinson snatched to answer Charlie’s call as the train squealed to a final halt. Charlie said: “Appear to be getting off the train but don’t,” and disconnected, watching Warren and Beckindale move separately in their respective carriages toward the opening doors for a closer platform search.
Warren must have had his cell phone in his hand, from the awkwardness with which he answered it getting off the train. Charlie said: “Beckindale’s with you. Lose him. I’m at the top of the escalator. I’ll make the contact.”
Warren’s reaction was better than Charlie had expected. There was no startled backward look. Warren continued purposefully on as Beckindale got off, appearing surprised at the sight of the other man ahead of him. Beckindale hesitated, uncertainly looking between Warren and the train, edging just close enough to see Wilkinson getting up from his seat. Beckindale remained momentarily undecided before hurrying after Warren. Charlie moved, too, having to thrust his outstretched arms between the closing doors for them to reopen to admit him.