Brian Freemantle - Red Star Burning

“No!” objected Monsford, loudly. His mind blanked, refusing orderly words, and all he could again manage was “No.” It was a physical strain to recover, to pull himself up to confront them. “Why haven’t I been told? Properly informed … I mean…”

“You are being informed now, sir.”

“What’s the reliable source?”

“I can’t disclose that at this stage,” refused Timpson. “Our investigation has to be total, from the very top to the absolute bottom, until proper safeguards are established.”

“You can’t suspect me!” insisted Monsford, new outrage hovering.

“You could be compromised,” Timpson pointed out, calmly. He indicated those behind him. “Initially, until those safeguards are in place, you’ll have one of my senior officers with you at all times, as will your deputy and division directors.”

“This is absurd: ridiculous!” persisted Monsford. “I can’t have … won’t allow … people wandering about the building, looking wherever they choose. Have you forgotten where we are?”

“People will not wander unsupervised around the building, looking wherever they choose,” corrected Timpson. “I and those with me have the same level of security clearance as yourself and your deputy.”

“It’s the Straughan business…” started Monsford but was stopped by the ringing of his personal phone. Briddle, from Moscow! he thought at once, staring down at the receiver, which blinked its red light as well as rang.

“Shouldn’t you answer that?” suggested Timpson.

Monsford did so tentatively, said: “Yes?” and held the receiver tightly to his ear so that only he could hear.

“Glad I caught you before you left,” said Harry Jacobson. “Radtsic doesn’t want to see you or those you were bringing down until you’ve got something about Andrei.”

“Here we go!” announced Briddle, as Flood and the other man emerged from the Savoy. To Halliday he said: “Your job is to make sure he doesn’t see us behind him.”

“Go fuck yourself,” echoed Halliday. To Denning, who’d pulled forward to look through the windshield, he said: “Get back. You’re in the way of my rearview mirror.”

Halliday waited until the second Hertz car turned in line behind Flood and allowed two vehicles to intervene before following. Beckindale came directly behind.

As Flood took a left turn Briddle twisted to the rear of their vehicle and said to Denning: “You following the route on the map?”

Denning broke wind but didn’t reply. Halliday said: “East, maybe. The beltway would be better for Sheremetyevo.”

“They’ve got pickups to make, haven’t they?” said Briddle.

“You all right?” asked Charlie.

“Yes,” said Natalia, tightly.

“Sasha?”

“She’s excited. She was awake early.”

“What have you told her?”

“That it’s a surprise holiday.”

“You didn’t tell her I’d be with you, did you?” questioned Charlie, the possibility of Sasha’s recognizing him in his mind.

“Of course not. Where are you? I can hear traffic.”

“On the street,” said Charlie, “looking for a taxi.” There was a grunt. “I’ve just flagged one down. I’ll be outside the terminal but not obvious.”

“I’m leaving in fifteen minutes.”

“I love you. It’s all going to go as I told you it would.”

“I’ll look for you.”

Beckindale overtook the others but pulled directly in front, leaving the barrier of the four other vehicles that had built up between them and the MI5 men.

From the rear, Denning said: “Pecatnikov is three streets away.”

“They’re picking up Natalia and the child,” decided Briddle, his voice catching. He coughed, to clear the nervousness, one hand over the other, glad there was no tremor. The Makarov suddenly felt heavy in its holster, hard against his ribs.

“Charlie could be with them,” suggested Denning.

“Call Beckindale: warn him to be careful,” ordered Briddle. “Charlie won’t take the slightest chance.” Would it be possible here, outside Natalia’s apartment? If Charlie tried to resist it would provide the excuse but he’d planned to do it close, the Makarov hidden as much as possible and not with the others as witnesses. Nor in front of Natalia and certainly not Sasha. There’d be panic, hysteria: the child could get in the way, get hurt. Killed even. He didn’t want to shoot a child: wouldn’t shoot a child.

The log had switched from night to day registration by the time they got to the gate house and there was further delay going back to the security office inside the embassy to retrieve it to discover all three MI6 officers were recorded leaving the legation at 2:00 A.M., with the MI6 resident, David Halliday. All three were in Halliday’s embassy car. None of the names was listed on any of that morning’s flights, direct or transfer connections, from Sheremetyevo to London.

“And they wouldn’t have needed to leave at two A.M. to catch a plane,” said Warren.

“So where have they gone?” demanded Preston, rhetorically.

“I think I should tell London,” said Wilkinson.

“What’s there to tell them?” said Warren.

“We’re in enough shit already, according to what you’ve told us,” agreed Preston. “You really think it’s a good idea for London to know we’ve lost everyone we’re supposed to be leading all over Moscow?”

“I think it’s better than waiting until London hear it some other way,” said Wilkinson. “We were supposed to mislead them: we couldn’t physically stop them, could we?”

“You’ve got a point,” conceded Preston.

“I think we should tell London,” capitulated Warren.

“It’s definitely Pecatnikov,” declared Halliday. “It’s the next turning and Flood’s indicating.”

“I agree,” said Denning.

Briddle could feel the tremor now, not just in his hand but trembling through his arms, and he had to press his left leg hard against the floor to stop it pumping.

“Beckindale’s signaling,” said Halliday, unnecessarily.

“Stay back,” ordered Briddle. “Let’s not screw everything getting too close.”

“What are we supposed to do, if they’re all together?” complained Halliday.

“Leave it all to me,” said Briddle. “That goes for you, too, Jeremy. I make the approach alone. You stay back, guard against my being intercepted.”

“We should have gone through all this earlier,” said Denning.

“I’ll approach alone,” insisted Briddle. “But not here.” Even if Charlie was with them, he couldn’t shoot here. They’d have to halt way back from Natalia’s apartment to avoid being seen. Charlie would be warned by their driving up fast.

Beckindale had stopped just after the turn into the road, at least one hundred meters from Natalia’s known address.

“Stop here,” ordered Briddle, waving Halliday in about ten meters farther on. To Denning he said: “Tell Jeremy to keep out of the way: to leave me alone.”

“There’s a taxi pulling up outside,” said Halliday, straining through binoculars. “And there’s Natalia: must have been waiting just inside. Just Natalia and the girl. No sign of Charlie.”

“You all right?” Denning asked Briddle, from behind. “You’re shaking.”

“They haven’t any idea!” exclaimed Aubrey Smith, passing the printed message slip to Jane Ambersom, whom he’d summoned after Passmore’s alert.

“None. Nor any chance of finding out,” said Passmore, to whom Wilkinson had confessed.

“And we haven’t heard from Flood?”

“It’s all being done away from the embassy, away from secure lines,” reminded the operations director. “It’s all at Charlie’s lead. That’s the arrangement.”