Brian Freemantle - Comrade Charlie

‘I refute that absolutely…’ started Harkness but Charlie refused the man the escape: now, maybe not completeling today but certainly starting today, was the win-or-lose confrontation between himself and this carping, manoeuvring bastard. And Charlie didn’t intend to lose. He said: ‘So where’s the warrant! Where’s a proper warrant signed by a magistrate satisfied by evidence already laid before him that there is evidence to justify my arrest?’

Harkness shifted, looking to Witherspoon and then the two men by the door as if expecting rescue from them, and said: ‘Under internal regulations governing the conduct of this department I have every authority to seize and detain an officer I suspect of being an agent of a hostile power.’

Got him, thought Charlie, satisfied at the admission. He said ‘But we weren’t talking about internal regulations governing the department, were we? We were talking about claims of legal warrants and hopes of full confessions and of hostile agents laughing at you.’

‘There is authority under internal regulations,’ came in Wilson. ‘An exaggeration may have been made, but isn’t it rather academic?’

‘I don’t think so, sir,’ argued Charlie relentlessly. ‘I think it indicates the slapdash, inefficient way this inquiry has been conducted: the sort of slapdash, inefficient way that can’t be allowed to continue.’

Wilson’s head dropped over the table, so that it was impossible to see the expression on his face: Charlie regretted that he couldn’t. Wilson said: ‘Point noted. Proceed.’

In what order should he proceed? wondered Charlie. The overriding essential was to prove his innocence. And there could still be a hitch in the way he’d set out to establish that. He said: ‘What was the date of transmission of the message about reactivating by payment of one thousand?’

Harkness hesitated, looking across the room to Witherspoon and his dossier-cluttered table. The deputy director said: ‘Mr Witherspoon, upon my instructions, was nominally in charge of the day-to-day running of the investigation and has the evidence before him. Could I suggest to the committee that Mr Witherspoon responds to the questions?’

The asshole! thought Charlie. Already Harkness was trying to back away from the responsibility and off-load the mistakes and oversights on to someone else. Charlie looked at the angularly tall man. He wasn’t languid and self-assured today. Witherspoon was red-faced, like the policemen, moving his hands nervously among the files, not able to find what he wanted and becoming more flustered. At last he said: ‘The twenty-sixth.’

The relief warmed through Charlie. ‘You’re sure of that?’ he insisted.

‘Positive,’ replied Witherspoon. ‘I had already been appointed case officer of the communication intercepts. I logged the date personally.’

‘Transmitted from Moscow to the Soviet embassy here in Kensington Palace Gardens?’

‘That was where our technical division located the receiver.’

Charlie went back to Harkness, determined against the man evading any culpability. ‘And it is your contention that the message was a signal for me to receive, somewhen between the twenty-sixth and your rummage search of my apartment three or four days ago, a payment of one thousand pounds from some KGB officer at the Soviet embassy? The thousand pounds subsequently discovered in a hiding place in my apartment?’

‘It’s the only possible, damning conclusion,’ said Harkness.

‘It’s damning, all right,’ agreed Charlie. Looking at Witherspoon he said: ‘The cipher pad concealed elsewhere was subjected to forensic examination?’

‘Which proved it to be of Russian manufacture,’ confirmed the man.

‘What about the money?’

‘Of course.’

‘What did that show?’

‘A substantial number of fingerprints which, when compared to yours on your service and personnel file, proved to be identical.’

Harkness smiled sideways along the table at the other men and said: ‘I’m sorry. That was a fact I omitted earlier.’

Still addressing Witherspoon, Charlie said: ‘Anything else?’

‘There was another set of fingerprints. It has so far been impossible to match them with anyone in our existing files of hostile East bloc personnel…’ Wanting to impress with his thoroughness, Witherspoon added: ‘Every record upon our files is being checked: those of friendly Allied countries as well. You’ll understand it is a very large undertaking.’

‘Staggering, I would imagine,’ said Charlie. ‘But I wouldn’t think she works for any hostile East bloc government. I thought she was a nice little girl.’

‘What!’ asked Harkness, dry-throated again.

‘Sally Dickenson,’ said Charlie. ‘That was what was on the name-plate, at least. Like I said, nice little girl. Bites her fingernails, though.’

‘Charlie, you’re not making sense,’ protested Wilson.

‘I will, sir. I will,’ promised Charlie. Wilson had used his first name, he isolated. ‘Nothing else?’ he demanded from Witherspoon.

Witherspoon’s confusion was increasing. He stared imploringly towards Harkness and then down at his files and then back up at Charlie. He shook his head and said unevenly: ‘No. No, nothing.’

‘Let’s try some letters and figures,’ suggested Charlie. ‘How about B77 345113 and B78 345114 and B79 235115 and so on.’

Witherspoon shook his head, baffled. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

‘Then look at the forensic report!’ said Charlie remorselessly. ‘They’re experts. They don’t make the sort of mistakes that you do. There is something else, isn’t there? There’s got to be because it’s standard procedure when any sum of money likely to be used as evidence is counted. It’s got to be counted. And each note recorded by number, hasn’t it!’

‘Oh yes. Yes, I’m sorry,’ agreed Witherspoon at once. ‘I didn’t think you meant that…I didn’t…’

‘No,’ seized Charlie. ‘You didn’t think, did you! No one’s thought, from the very beginning.’

‘What’s this proving, except your undeniable guilt?’ intruded Harkness in a weak attempt to help his protege.

Charlie chose to ignore the question, openly showing his contempt. ‘So!’ he pressed on. ‘The numbers of the notes are listed, aren’t they? And they’re consecutive, aren’t they?’

‘Yes,’ said Witherspoon. ‘Yes, they are.’

‘Are we soon getting to the point of this?’ sighed Wilson.

‘Please, sir!’ pleaded Charlie. ‘Not long now. Just let me have a few more minutes.’

‘A very few more minutes,’ cautioned Wilson.

Charlie turned back to Harkness. ‘Some time ago — months ago, in fact — you made me the subject of an official internal inquiry?’

‘I have already referred to that. And given my reasons for initiating it.’

‘There was a period of surveillance?’

‘Naturally.’

Charlie had to turn, to encompass Smedley and Abbott, before coming back to the deputy director. ‘My mother, who is senile and confined to a nursing home, was even subjected to interrogation?’

Harkness couldn’t withstand Charlie’s unblinking stare. The deputy director looked away and said: ‘There was considered proper reason.’

‘Considered by whom?’

‘Do I really have to undergo this sort of questioning!’ protested Harkness.

‘I’d appreciate your cooperation,’ said Wilson. ‘There appears to be a great deal here that needs explanation.’

‘Considered by me,’ admitted Harkness.

‘Why?’ persisted Charlie.

‘I have always been suspicious of your time in Moscow, although you were supposed to be on assignment on behalf of this department, and you were subsequently allowed to return to it. To which I have already made reference. It was conceivable you might have discussed something of that visit — something incriminating — with your mother.’