“Are you sure?” Control asked him. “You understand the gravity of your decision.”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely. And I am sure—I would like that very much.”
“Excellent. Then you are now Number Twelve.” He put out his hand. “Welcome to Group Fifteen.”
Callan took his hand and shook it. Control found his grip surprisingly loose. His fingers were long, almost feminine, and his flesh was cold. Control removed his hand. He needed to move things along.
“I have something for you to do today, as it happens.”
Callan nodded, then sat quietly and listened.
“You’re aware of the news, I’m sure.”
“Southwold?”
“Indeed. An almighty mess, but we’re getting to the bottom of it. Two Russian sleepers are suspected of carrying out the murders. We tracked them back to a property near Winchester, but they were able to escape. They’ve been recalled to Moscow where, I’m sure, the president will fête them as returning heroes. We can’t have that, Number Twelve. We can’t have that at all.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“We intend to move against the assassins this evening. Number Five is in Moscow now, planning the operation. I want you to join him. There’s a car downstairs that will take you to Heathrow. There’s an Aeroflot flight to Sheremetyevo in ninety minutes. You’re booked on it. Tanner will ride in the car with you to the airport and brief you on your legend.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
“The Russians killed Aleksandrov the way they did to send a message to us—to us and to anyone else who might be thinking of working against them. We’re going to show them that we were listening.”
Moscow
51
Milton, Pope and Ross had spent the morning preparing for the operation. Milton had planned to go ahead that evening. Pope was responsible for making contact with the cut-out and it was decided that Ross would accompany him to the rendezvous, leaving the embassy after lunch in order to allow for an extended SDR. In the meantime, Milton would make the preparations for the hit and their exfiltration immediately afterwards.
Planning the operation had made Milton uncomfortable. The dream felt close; he saw glimpses of Callaghan out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look there was nothing there. He would have to add two more victims to his tally. He didn’t want to do it, but he knew he couldn’t easily say no. He felt deadlocked, caught between his fear of the dream and the consequences of insubordination. He found, to his surprise, that he wanted to go to another meeting.
They had a working lunch of sandwiches and coffee and pressed on. Ross seemed to have come to terms with the nature of the operation and had stifled any further objections. Pope had spread a map out over the table and Ross helped him plan the SDR, a long route with extensive switches and double-backs that would bring them to a vegetable warehouse in the Biryulyovo district where the cut-out had agreed to meet. Ross was evidently familiar with the city from her previous time here, and she suggested an alteration to the dry-cleaning run that Pope approved.
“What do we know about the cut-out?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Milton said. “That’s the point.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“It’s just how it is,” Pope said. “He’s the only one who has contact with the source and with us. If we get into trouble, the only person we can give up is the cut-out. The same goes for the source. It’s insulation.”
“I know how it works,” she replied. “It’s just… wouldn’t you rather go straight to BLUEBIRD?”
“That’s never going to happen,” Milton said.
“Do we know anything about them?”
“No. And I don’t want to know. Neither do you.”
COS McCartney had returned to the secure room. “How far have you got?”
“It’s coming along,” Pope said. “Depending on what we learn this afternoon, I think we’ll be ready to go tonight.”
She sat down at the table. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to adjust things a little. There’s been a development.”
Milton looked up. “What?”
“Potential change of plan. We know a little more about Southwold.”
“Go on,” Milton said.
“Aleksandrov was killed because of his daughter.”
“Why?”
“Her name is Anastasiya Romanov. She wants to defect. She’s offered British intelligence a cache of restricted information in return for safe harbour.”
“Information?” Ross asked.
“Plans for a new Russian fighter aircraft. I’m no expert, but it’s got everyone in the River House sitting up and paying attention. Aleksandrov was arranging the transaction, going through Geggel. The Russians must have found out what he was offering and decided that it was important enough to send two of their most valuable agents to deal with it. They killed them both for it.”
“But not the daughter?”
“No,” McCartney said. “Because she’s still in Russia. That’s where the plans need to change. We’re researching her at the moment, but she’s made contact directly. And we don’t think the Russians know where she is.”
“But we do?” Milton said.
“She couriered a package to the consulate at Vladivostok this morning. It was a message—the deal stands if we can get her out. She’s going to be waiting at the railway station in Komsomolsk-on-Amur in two days’ time, and then again on the following day.”
“I don’t know where that is,” Pope admitted.
“No reason why you should,” Ross said. “It’s in the east. A thousand miles north of Vladivostok. It’s the arse-end of nowhere. Not the sort of place you’d ever be expected to visit.”
“But you’ve been?”
“I have,” she said. “When I was a student. I did the Trans-Siberian. I wandered around when I got to the Far East. Komsomolsk has got to be one of the strangest places I’ve ever been to. It’s basically two cities—one grew up around the shipyard and the other around the Sukhoi factory. And this is in a place that is minus-twenty in the winter and plus-thirty in summer.”
Milton turned to McCartney. “What does London want us to do?”
“They want to get Anastasiya out, but it’s going to have to be done quickly and discreetly. You’re already on the ground. You can move fast. London wants you to go and collect her, then get her out of the country.” She turned to Ross. “They want you to go, too, Ms. Ross. It’s Smith’s operation, but there needs to be a Russian speaker and you’ve been there before.”
“A long time ago,” she protested.
“You speak the language and you know the region. Smith will need assistance, and that’s the best we can do at short notice.”
Pope drummed his fingers on the table. “And what about the assassins? We forget about them?”
“We do not,” McCartney said. “But we have to decide whether you can still make it work. Smith?”
Milton found, with a mixture of relief and shame, that he was relieved to have had the responsibility of eliminating Timoshev and Kuznetsov taken from him.