‘Need any help in the code room?’ asked the man.
‘No thanks,’ said Charlie. Had it been a polite question or one from a man given an over-the-shoulder brief?
‘London have reacted predictably, I’m afraid,’ said Cartright. ‘Can’t really say I’m surprised.’
Neither was Charlie, in absolute honesty. Cartright’s office was antiseptically clean – there was actually a smell of some chemical cleanser – with the desk and cupboard tops clear and the filing baskets empty.
‘Just like home,’ said Charlie. ‘Can I see the traffic?’
Cartright went through the ritual of opening a double-security key and combination safe and handed across the manilla folder. Charlie saw it was marked ‘Confidential’ and thought at this stage that was an exaggeration, like his colour designation that morning in the code room. Cartright had set out the passport request very simply, not intruding any local objections, and Wilson’s response was a one-line message demanding personal contact.
‘Not exactly an outright refusal,’ qualified Charlie.
‘Not approval, either,’ said the local man.
‘Ever worked out of London?’ asked Charlie.
‘No.’
‘Try to avoid it,’ advised Charlie. ‘Full of wankers.’
‘Always treated me all right,’ said Cartright.
‘Matter of personality, I guess,’ said Charlie.
‘How’s everything going?’ queried Cartright, openly.
Definitely a too direct, entrapping question, gauged Charlie. ‘Who knows?’ he said, as awkwardly as possible.
Cartright wondered what irregularities Harkness expected from this man: at the moment he was behaving and operating quite properly.
In the code room, with the door security slide showing red this time, Charlie sent London the notification of his presence with the request that they open up the photo-transmission line while he encoded his material. The response was immediate and Charlie worked concentratedly, breaking away from his hotel room notes only when one picture had been completed and needed replacing with another on the revolving drum. When the picture wiring was finished he opened up the separate transmission line and began sending his impressions of the encounter with Fredericks, checking as the message was relayed against his original reminders. At the end there was the formal acknowledgement from London and at once an instruction to stand by. While he waited, Charlie fed his notes through the shredder and then burned them: just like the hammer and sickle books, he thought again.
The telephone ring jarred, making Charlie jump. He picked up the red receiver, switched on the scrambling device which would distort his voice to anyone except the person at the other end whose telephone had the antidote scrambler, and said: ‘Hello?’
‘You seem to have got quite a bit,’ said Wilson. The Director’s voice was clear and unaffected by the electronic protection.
‘It will mean a lot of work, for the analysts,’ said Charlie.
‘That’s what they’re employed for,’ said the Director. ‘The Americans are being helpful?’
‘No,’ corrected Charlie at once. ‘Suspicious and difficult.’
‘So we shouldn’t channel any of this checking officially through Langley?’ said Wilson, just as quickly.
‘Definitely not,’ said Charlie. ‘I don’t want them to know what we’re doing.’
‘Or the West Germans?’
‘No.’
‘Able to reach any impression?’ asked the Director.
‘Not yet,’ replied Charlie. ‘As I said in the message, some things fit, others don’t. It’s still too early.’
‘Do you think you’ll get your own meeting?’
‘I warned the Americans I wouldn’t continue without one: told them to make that clear to Kozlov, as well …’
‘I would have liked some warning about that,’ broke in the Director.
‘Sorry,’ said Charlie. There wasn’t time.’ Thank God Wilson would never know how Fredericks had scooped him up and blown him out in bubbles that first night. He added: ‘Thanks for backing me up.’
‘I wouldn’t like it to happen too often: not without some prior contact.’
‘It won’t,’ promised Charlie.
‘Why a passport?’
‘Giving myself options,’ said Charlie.
‘I told you I’d send a squad in,’ reminded Wilson. ‘Rather have trained men with our own transport than any civilian aircraft.’
Military preferences emerging, thought Charlie. He said: ‘Just covering eventualities. I don’t like getting boxed in, with only one choice.’
‘Makes sense,’ conceded the Director. ‘But I want to keep the local embassy at a safe distance, apart from necessities. Passports are numbered: be easily traceable back to Tokyo if there were some sort of problem and it got into the wrong hands.’
‘Any meeting with Kozlov won’t be immediate,’ pointed out Charlie. ‘There’s a contact procedure, which causes delays. You could pouch one out from London.’
‘It would be better,’ accepted Wilson. ‘Foreign Office will raise hell, of course.’
‘Tell them I’ll be careful.’
‘They wouldn’t believe me.’
‘What about Cartright?’ asked Charlie, directly.
‘I don’t understand the question.’
‘Any change of heart, about his involvement?’
‘We discussed it before you left,’ said Wilson.
If Cartright did have a watching brief, it didn’t come from the Director! Charlie said: ‘So Cartright is out?’
‘Restricted to the barest minimum,’ confirmed the Director.
‘I believe the Americans are heavy on the ground,’ said Charlie.
‘If you confirm, you’ll get all the help you want,’ insisted Wilson. ‘And don’t you take any chances yourself.’
‘I never do,’ said Charlie, sincerely.
‘Sometimes, Charlie, sometimes,’ disputed the Director.
‘Don’t forget the passport,’ said Charlie, anxious to move what he knew to be a London-recorded conversation beyond the point where the refusal might later prove to be a positive order.
‘I won’t,’ undertook Wilson, who was as anxious as Charlie to progress, not wanting to restrict the man either. ‘And pouch the original photographs of Kozlov from your end. The quality of those you’ve wired is good but the originals will be better.’
‘I’d like to get something, before I meet Kozlov,’ said Charlie.
‘It’s been a good start,’ praised Wilson. ‘And there’s something else. Herbert Bell was positive. Well done.’
‘Brought him in?’
‘Better as a conduit at the moment,’ said Wilson. ‘Do as well on this. But be careful.’
‘It’s the same thing as not taking chances.’
After breaking the London connection Charlie packaged and sealed the photographs that Fredericks had supplied and signalled his emergence to the waiting Cartright.
‘London want this in the diplomatic bag,’ he said.
‘It’ll go tonight,’ guaranteed Cartright. Pointedly, the man said: ‘No problems?’
‘I asked London if there had been any change of heart about your involvement. Wilson forbade it,’ said Charlie. If the man were playing Sneaky Pete on Harkness’s instruction, invoking the Director’s authority might reduce his enthusiasm.
‘Why did you do that?’ asked Cartright.
‘Thought maybe that things should be re-clarified,’ said Charlie. He hoped Cartright got the message. He wondered if the man would attempt to open the sealed envelope of Kozlov’s pictures, to see what was inside. That’s what he would have done, in Cartright’s position. He knew Harry Lu would have opened it, as well.
Kozlov thoroughly swept his car electronically for any listening devices with Irena watching, but she was dissatisfied and insisted upon carrying out a second, independent check. When she was finally sure, they drove aimlessly around the streets of the darkened city, feeling safe to talk about Irena’s weekly encounter with Olga Balan.