“It is a pretty day,” Ryan noted as they walked up Westminster Bridge Road towards Parliament. It was a rare early-winter English day with a blue, cloudless sky. A brisk wind swept down the Thames, but Ryan didn't mind. He had on a heavy coat and a scarf around his neck, and the frigid blast on his face woke him up. “Trouble at the office, Bas?”
“Found a bug, a bloody bug, two floors down from my office! The whole building's being swept.”
“Things are tough all over. KGB?”
“Not sure,” Charleston said as they crossed the bridge. “Trouble with the façade, you see, bloody thing began crumbling — same as happened to Scotland Yard a few years ago. The workers replacing it found an unexplained wire, and followed it … Our Russian friends have not cut back on their activities, and there are other services as well. See anything like that in your shop?”
“No. It helps that we're more isolated than Century House.” Jack meant that the British Secret Intelligence Service was in so densely populated an area — there was a nearby apartment block, for example — that a very low-power bug could get data out. That was less likely at the Agency's Langley headquarters, which sat alone on a large wooded campus. In addition to that, the newer construction had allowed installation of elaborate protections against internal radio sources. “You should do what we've done and install waveguides.”
“That would cost a bloody fortune, which we do not have at the moment.”
“What the hell, it gives us a chance to take a walk. If anyone can bug us out here, we've already lost.”
“It never ends, does it? We win the Cold War, but it never, ever ends.”
“Which Greek was it? The one whose personal hell was rolling a big rock up a hill, and every time he got it there the son-of-a-bitch rolled down the other side.”
“Sisyphus…? Tantalus, perhaps? Long time since I bade farewell to Oxford, Sir John. In either case, you're right. Get to the top of one hill and all you see is another damned hill.” They continued walking down the embankment, away from Parliament, but towards lunch. Meetings like this one had rules. You couldn't get down to business until after the small talk and a pregnant pause. In this case, there were some off-season American tourists snapping pictures. Charleston and Ryan walked around to avoid them.
“We have a problem, Bas.”
“What's that?” Charleston said, without turning. Behind them were three security officers. Two more preceded them.
Jack didn't turn either. “We have a guy inside the Kremlin. Spends some time with Narmonov. Says Andrey Il'ych is worried about a military/KGB coup. Says that they might renege on the strategic-arms treaty. Also says that some tactical nuclear devices may be missing from their inventories in Germany.”
“Indeed? That's cheery news. How good is your source?”
“Extremely good.”
“Well, I can say it's news to me, Dr. Ryan.”
“How good is your guy?” Jack asked.
“Quite good.”
“Nothing like this?”
“Some rumbles, of course. I mean, Narmonov does have a full plate, doesn't he? Ever since that dreadful affair with the Balts, and the Georgians, and his Muslims. What is it you Yanks say, 'one-armed paper hanger'? He's that busy and more. He's had to make a deal with his security forces, but a coup d'état?” Charleston shook his head. “No. The tea leaves don't appear that way to us.”
That's precisely what our agent is telling us. What about the nuclear thing?"
“I'm afraid our chap isn't well-placed for that sort of information. More the civilian side, you see.” And that, Jack knew, was as far as Basil would go. “How seriously are you taking this?”
“Very seriously. I have to. This agent has been giving us good stuff for a lot of years.”
“One of Mrs. Foley's recruits?” Charleston asked with a chuckle. “What a marvelous young lady. I understand she recently delivered another child?”
“Little girl, Emily Sarah, looks just like her mom.” Jack thought he'd dodged the first question rather adroitly. “Mary Pat will be back at work right after New Year.”
“Ah, yes, you do have that fortress nursery on your grounds, don't you?”
“One of the smartest investments we ever made. Wish I'd thought of it.”
“You Americans!” Sir Basil laughed. “Missing nuclear weapons. Yes, I suppose one must take that very seriously indeed. Possible collusion between the army and KGB and a tactical-nuclear trump. Quite frightening, I must say, but we have not heard a whisper. Rather a difficult secret to keep, wouldn't you say? I mean, blackmail doesn't work terribly well unless people know they're being blackmailed.”
“We've also caught a rumble that KGB is running some nuclear-oriented operation in Germany. That's all, just a rumble.”
“Yes, we've heard that too,” Charleston said, as they turned to walk down the brow to the Tattersall Castle, an old paddle steamer long since converted to a restaurant.
“And?”
“And we've run our own op. It seems that Erich Honecker had his own little Manhattan Project underway. Fortunately, it died in the womb. Ivan was quite upset to learn of it. The DDR returned a goodly supply of plutonium to their former socialist colleagues just before the change. I speculate that KGB is investigating the same thing.”
“Why didn't you tell us?” Jesus, Bas. Jack thought. You guys just don't forget, do you?
“Nothing to tell, Jack.” Charleston nodded at the headwaiter, who took them to a table well aft. The security officers situated themselves between their charges and the rest of luncheoning humanity. “Our German friends have been very forthcoming. The project, they say, has been quashed, completely and for all time. We've had our technical people over everything, and they confirmed everything our German colleagues told us.”
“When was this?”
“Several months ago. Ever eat here, Jack?” Charleston asked, as the waiter appeared.
“Not this one, a few of the other ferry boats.” Basil ordered a pint of bitter. Jack decided on a lager. They watched the waiter withdraw. “The KGB op is more recent.”
“Interesting. Could be the same thing, you know, could be that they had the same interests we had and were just a little slower to move.”
“On nukes?” Ryan shook his head. “Our Russian friends are pretty smart, Bas, and they pay much closer attention to nuclear issues than we do. It's one of the things I admire about them.”
“Yes, they did learn their lesson from China, didn't they?” Charleston set his menu down and waved for the waiter to bring the drinks. “You think this is a serious matter, then?”
“Sure do.”
“Your judgment is generally rather good, Jack. Thank you,” Basil told the waiter. Both men made their orders. “You think we should poke about?”
“I think that might be a good idea.”
“Very well. What else can you tell me?”
“I'm afraid that's it, Bas.”
“Your source must be very good indeed.” Sir Basil sipped at his beer. “I think you have reservations.”
“I do, but… hell, Basil, when do we not have reservations?”
“Any contrary data?”
“None, just that we've been totally unable to confirm. Our source is good enough that we may not be able to confirm elsewhere. That's why I came over. Your guy must be pretty good, too, judging by what you've sent us. Whoever he is, he might be the best chance to back our guy up.”
“And if we can't confirm?”
“Then probably we'll go with it anyway.” Ryan didn't like that.
“And your reservations?”
“Probably don't matter. Two reasons. Number one, I'm not sure myself whether to sign off on this or not. Number two, not everyone cares what I think.”
“And that's why you've not received credit for your work on the treaty?”