‘Proof, Charlie: where’s the proof? This conversation never took place. You know that.’
‘Bastard!’
‘You already said that,’ reminded the Israeli. ‘Let’s just say that this time I won.’
Like fuck, thought Charlie.
*
The preliminary enquiry had been in one of the small committee chambers of the Praesidium building of the Kremlin and afterwards Berenkov and Kalenin drove back to Dzerzhinsky Square in the same car, the KGB chairman’s Zil. They travelled with the curtains drawn and the separating window raised between themselves and the driver.
‘They were right,’ said Kalenin, ‘it’s an unmitigated disaster.’
‘It was a wise precaution for Comrade Lvov to be so openly acknowledged as the architect of the entire operation,’ said Berenkov. ‘And personally regrettable for him to be recognized as the strongest opponent of it being cancelled.’
‘We’ll have to deny Zenin, of course.’
‘He carried nothing connecting him to Russia,’ said Berenkov.
‘What if he confesses?’
Berenkov shook his head. ‘His entire training is against that.’
‘I’d feel happier if he were eliminated.’
‘It would be difficult, in jail. And a lot of people would regard it as confirmation of his being a Soviet agent if he were killed,’ suggested Berenkov.
Kalenin nodded, accepting the argument, looking expectantly towards the yellow-stucco front of the approaching KGB headquarters. He said: ‘There’s still the British.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Berenkov.
‘There’s no way of assessing how much they know?’
‘Absolutely none.’
‘The greatest uncertainty then?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘What about Charlie Muffin?’
‘It was definitely him,’ disclosed Berenkov. ‘Remember we stepped up the intercepts to the British embassy here?’
‘Of course.’
‘We managed a computer break on one of the codes we had not previously been able to read,’ said Berenkov. ‘Charlie Muffin sent queries concerning Novikov to a man here called Gale: we had not positively identified Gale as the rezident at the embassy, so it was a double bonus.’
‘You are right,’ said Kalenin. ‘Charlie Muffin has to be eliminated: he’s a recurring nuisance.’
‘I’m handling it personally.’
‘Have you devised a way yet?’
‘Not yet,’ conceded Berenkov. ‘I’m considering one possibility.’
‘No more mistakes,’ warned Kalenin. ‘It would not be wise if either of us were associated with another mistake.’ It was fortunate, Kalenin thought, that he possessed all those incriminating biographies of so many men in positions of power and importance.
‘I won’t make any move until I’m sure,’ said Berenkov.
‘You liked Charlie Muffin, didn’t you?’ said Kalenin, aware of the background of his friend, like he was aware of all the other backgrounds.
‘He was a very clever operator,’ said Berenkov.
‘Regrettable in some ways that he has to be removed.’
‘Unavoidable,’ said Berenkov.
Chapter Thirty-eight
The polygraph test was the final part of Charlie’s positive vetting and he entered the technician’s room satisfied that so far he had done pretty well. He would know soon enough, he supposed: the appointment with the Director was scheduled for that afternoon. He was wearing the bank interview shirt that he’d had laundered at the Beau-Rivage.
‘Long time since I had one of these,’ he said to the technician.
‘You know the rules then?’ He was a doleful, long-faced man so accustomed to uncovering human frailties that he could no longer be shocked.
‘Yes or no answers to everything with a lot of sexy stuff at the beginning to see if I’m telling the truth,’ said Charlie. ‘Tell you what, why don’t we try to speed things up a bit? I’ve masturbated since I was nine, try to get my leg over as often as possible and I’ve never had a homosexual relationship but I’ve always been curious.’
The man sighed, wearily. ‘Let’s just do it my way, shall we?’
Charlie let himself be hooked up to the sensors that would monitor his sweat, pulse and heart beats and said: ‘Whenever you’re ready.’
It took two hours. Throughout Charlie sat quite relaxed, Hush Puppies extended before him, his legs crossed at the ankles, part of his mind not concentrating upon the examination but what he still wanted to do about Switzerland. That afternoon’s appointment was at Sir Alistair Wilson’s demand but if it had not come Charlie would have sought a meeting anyway. He hoped Wilson would agree. What was the greater spur, he asked himself objectively. His hurt pride or his offended sensibilities over what had happened in Geneva? It didn’t really matter. Getting the Director’s approval was all that mattered. Charlie was damned if he were going to be beaten.
Charlie was almost surprised when the test ended. As the technician unhooked him Charlie said: ‘How did I do?’
‘Well enough,’ said the man.
‘Mum always said that honesty was the best policy,’ said Charlie.
‘I’m not impressed,’ said the man. ‘Why don’t you save the independence bullshit for elsewhere?’
Arseholes, thought Charlie. His inclination was to go to the pub at lunchtime but he resisted it, remaining instead in his office to complete his Swiss expenses, smiling at the confetti of receipts and bills he had amassed. Keep Harkness happy for hours, he thought. Charlie squinted through the opaque glass, trying to see if Witherspoon were in his office. It appeared to be empty. Charlie wondered if the man had been switched back to Novikov or put on something else: school crossing warden, for instance.
Charlie arrived at the Director’s office promptly on time and was admitted at once, immediately conscious of something being different but not initially able to recognize what it was. And then he became aware that the room was devoid of roses.
Wilson saw Charlie looking curiously around the room and said: ‘Some sort of aphid: chafer grub seems the most likely.’
‘Sorry to hear it,’ said Charlie.
‘Causing havoc,’ said the Director.
‘I’ve heard that it does.’
‘Some of the stems will die.’ The Director, at the windowsill, leaned absent-mindedly downwards, massaging his stiff leg.
‘Sorry,’ said Charlie again, unable to think of anything else.
‘It’s Islay malt, isn’t it?’ said the Director, limping towards the drink cabinet, enclosed behind a bureau door.
‘For preference,’ accepted Charlie.
‘Never could acquire a taste for whisky,’ said Wilson, with the sadness of someone confessing a failing. ‘Pink gin man, myself. The Russian isn’t saying anything, you know.’
‘I didn’t expect him to.’
‘The photograph of Koretsky’s surveillance that day in Primrose Hill is a positive link to Moscow,’ said Wilson. ‘And there is the corroborative affidavit from Novikov.’
‘We’d have to move against Koretsky, if he were identified as the London rezident,’ reminded Charlie.
The Director nodded. ‘That’s the bugger: means MI5 would have to spend a lot of time identifying his replacement. But the Cabinet feeling is that causing as big a sensation in Switzerland as possible is worth the sacrifice.’
‘Probably,’ concurred Charlie.
‘If you hadn’t got him, the whole thing would have been put down to a suicide assault by a Palestinian zealot: there would not have been any proof of Soviet involvement because all the hollow-nosed ammunition flattens out and is impossible to differentiate forensically.’ Wilson hesitated and said in begrudgingly professional acknowledgement: ‘You’ve got to give them credit, the bloody Russians are nothing if not devious.’