Olga Balan coloured, at the reminder of superior authority. She said: ‘Do you think everyone at the embassy has been identified now?’
‘I am not sure,’ said Irena. ‘I think it’s possible, which is why I intend putting another proposal to Moscow.’
‘What!’ demanded the security officer.
‘That we should extend, to do the same with the British.’
‘I do not think that is a good idea,’ said the other woman.
‘I have the right of direct approach, to Moscow,’ said Irena, in direct confrontation.
Olga Balan accepted it as such. ‘I will oppose it,’ she announced.
‘That is your right,’ said Irena. It was ridiculous the way people — grown men, even Filiatov — practically wet themselves at the thought of an encounter with this woman. Irena knew she was handling things quite correctly, in opposing her; to show the slightest fear, at this stage, would be disastrous.
‘Which I shall utilize to the full,’ said Olga Balan, matching the arrogant opposition.
‘Is there anything further?’ said Irena, wanting the end of the encounter to come from her.
‘Have you ever made contact with a member of a Western intelligence organization?’ asked the security officer, formally.
‘What!’ The question fortunately emerged as outrage, covering Irena’s uncertainty. It was right not to show fear but she was unsure that she had not overplayed her part.
‘Made contact with a member of a Western intelligence Organization?’ repeated Olga Balan. There was a wearing-down relentlessness at the way she conducted an interrogation.
‘Of course not!’ said Irena. ‘The question is preposterous!’
‘I shall also recommend to Moscow that this American surveillance is terminated,’ declared the other woman. ‘I consider enough has been achieved and that to continue any longer is pointless.’
‘There is a need to continue,’ insisted Irena.
An hour later, in the security of the Shinbashi apartment, Irena said: ‘Damn the woman! Cow!’
‘There is a definite time limit now,’ accepted Kozlov.
‘She’s suspicious,’ agreed the woman. ‘I think Filiatov, too.’
‘It’s her job to suspect,’ said Kozlov, soothingly. ‘We made the allowance, by getting Moscow to approve the surveillance. For headquarters to terminate would be an admission that they made a mistake in the first place. When have you ever known them admit a mistake?’
Irena smiled a big-toothed smile at him. ‘I told her I was going to suggest isolating the intelligence officers in the British embassy.’
‘What did she say?’
‘That she’d oppose it.’
‘Hayashi made contact, while you were with her,’ announced Kozlov.
‘Why did you wait to tell me!’
‘Wanted it to be the good news, after the bad,’ said Kozlov. ‘London have filed a flight plan, for a military arrival.’
‘That’s got to be it,’ she said.
‘I only hope we can hold Olga Balan off long enough.’
‘Of course we can,’ said Irena, in impatient confidence. ‘Olga Balan is an irritation, nothing more. And Filiatov is a fool.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Kozlov.
‘I’m always right,’ said the woman. She looked pointedly in the direction of the bedroom and said: ‘I like the illicit of it here. Let’s make love. A lot of love.’
Chapter Eight
Charlie was as objective as Sir Alistair Wilson — perhaps more so where his personal safety was concerned — and accepted at once the need for the incoming commando squad. He just hoped they wouldn’t start clumping about in their bloody great army boots and get in the way. Childish thought, he corrected himself at once. On the occasions he’d worked with the specialized military groups he’d found them shit-hot. It would still have been nice if Wilson had trusted him to blow the whistle but that — like thinking too much about the first night — was a reaction of pride rather than professionalism. Charlie continued transcribing the message, alone in the locked and secure embassy code room, nodding gratefully when he read that Wilson was sending copies of the identifying photographs and the passport by diplomatic pouch and not with the arriving squad. The diplomatic mail was quicker and not subject to any Japanese customs search. The men were coming in on a military-passenger aircraft, officially described as a unit on its way to exercise in Australia, and so they would have to go through all the usual entry formalities. Charlie’s mind moved immediately to the practicalities. To come in wasn’t the problem; it was leaving, with everything they wanted and no one getting in the way. Would it be possible, to take Kozlov and his wife, at the same time? That was the ideal and clearly a reason in the Director’s mind for sending in commandos. But here in Tokyo, at the actual moment of crossing, was where the American protection would be at its height: more than likely with trained soldiers of their own, as well as their CIA circus. Every potential for disaster then, an attention-grabbing tug of war between the two groups, risking the intrusion of the Japanese or, worse, the Russians, ending up with neither of them getting who or what they wanted. Security would be tight during the conjugal visits, of course, but they’d be competing then on their own ground — wherever that might be — without the possibility at least of Japanese or Russian involvement mucking everything up. Better to get one rather than neither and to try the dirty stuff later. By herself, Irena would be a good enough catch. And … Charlie sat back positively in his chair, stopping the run of thought. He was ahead of himself; too far ahead. London might be happy enough with the identification and it certainly gave him the sort of advantage he always liked to have, but there was a long way to go before the uncertainties were resolved in Charlie’s mind.
He sent the formal acknowledgement of receipt, read Wilson’s transcribed cable a second time, to memorize it, and then shredded and burned it.
Cartright was in the outer office, apparently working on some documents, when Charlie emerged. Charlie said: ‘There is quite a lot of stuff coming for me in the diplomatic bag.’
‘I’ll warn Dispatch,’ said the Resident.
‘It’s important,’ stressed Charlie.
‘Do you want it at the hotel?’
Charlie was about to say yes and then stopped, recognizing the pitfall; definitely a trick question. ‘Probably safer here,’ he said instead.
Cartright was hot with discomfort. He said: ‘I’ll be glad when this is all over.’
‘So will I,’ said Charlie. ‘I usually am.’ Until three or four days after the return to London, boring desk work and poisonous meat pies, he thought.
Charlie remained observant on his return to the hotel, although accepting — objectively again — that so varied and so many nationalities gathered up in a complex this large made any proper sort of incoming surveillance check impossible. He gave up after half a dozen possibilities, because it didn’t matter. He’d make a definite check tomorrow: Charlie knew he had to get Fredericks and his merry men off his back before things got serious. Definitely before he got into any sort of negotiation with Irena: if he got into negotiation with Irena. Still a long way to go: miles, in fact. Keeping things in their order of importance when he reached his room, he first removed his spread-apart Hush Puppies, flexing his toes and feet against the day’s incarceration, and he was looking towards the efficiently re-stocked refrigerator and bar when the telephone rang.
‘Wondered what you were doing?’ said a voice he recognized as that of Fredericks.
Not necessary to check surveillance tomorrow, Charlie accepted, knowing they’d covered his return to the hoteclass="underline" Fredericks was an asshole. He said: ‘Exercising my feet.’
‘What!’
‘Nothing important,’ said Charlie.
‘Thought maybe we might eat?’ invited Fredericks.