Brian Freemantle - Kings of Many Castles

Jocelyn Hamilton clearly wasn’t aware of the profound Russian belief in clairvoyants and superstition, Charlie decided. Ignoring theridicule, he said, “I’m hoping to get some sort of psychiatric or psychological report within twenty-four hours.”

“We accept a conspiracy,” conceded the director-general, slowly. “There’s forensic proof, at least, of that. It succeeded in removing the Russian president from the political scene, possibly forever, if it didn’t actually kill him. Hurt-in one instance killed-others. Why should a well organized group in any way involve someone as unstable as Bendall who, if you’re right, will eventually expose them? It doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s my point!” pleaded Charlie, only just avoiding the exasperation being obvious. “Not yet it doesn’t make sense, far too little does. It might when the Russians trace Bendall’s army medical records … find evidence of a special group in the units in which Bendall served. And there’s a proper investigation into the death of the NTV cameraman Vasili Isakov.”

“But then again, it might not,” sneered Hamilton.

Every other face remained blank, unconvinced, and unimpressed. Patrick Pacey, whose function as political officer was to liaise with the Home Office and Downing Street, said, “I want a positive answer. Is there any possibility of another Briton being involved in this?”

“I can’t give a positive answer,” apologized Charlie. “I don’t know.”

“Is there any possibility of the mother being found to be involved?”

“I don’t personally believe she was, but again I can’t give a positive answer.” Charlie couldn’t remember any debriefing being as bad, as humiliating, as this.

There was an echoing silence.

The permanently red-faced political officer said, “There was an overnight Note from Sir Michael Parnell that the Russians are furious at the leak about a second gunman. That makes it an official diplomatic enquiry.”

“I wanted it kept back as much as they did,” said Charlie.

“So it didn’t come from you?” persisted Hamilton.

“Of course it didn’t!” said Charlie, careless of the indignation.

“What about from someone you’re dealing with in Moscow, one of your sources?” asked Dean.

It was more of a strident klaxon than a warning bell that sounded in Charlie’s mind. If there’d been a diplomatic enquiry it was official. And could easily become annexed to the presidential commission into the missing intelligence dossiers. “It would not have come from any of my sources.”

“How good is liaison between you, the Americans and the Russians?” persisted Hamilton.

Would Donald Morrison have told MI6 across the river of being lied to, by the CIA’s Burt Jordan? Charlie said, “Good enough, I think. Everything’s fully computerized in the American incident room.”

“Which means that anything one or the other-or both-doesn’t want put on the computer isn’t logged in the first place,” dismissed Hamilton. “Have you been totally open, with whatever you’ve obtained independently?”

“Those were my instructions, from here,” reminded Charlie.

“Which isn’t the answer to my question,” said Hamilton.

“Yes, I’ve shared everything.” It was more or less true: the qualification came down to timing.

“If the leak didn’t come from you-or any of your contactsand it didn’t come from the Russians, then the Americans must be the source,” said Jeremy Simpson. “What’s their benefit in doing that?”

“There isn’t one, as far as I can see,” said Charlie. When the hell was there going to be a question to which he did have an answer! Addressing Patrick Pacey, he said, “I’m surprised-perhaps even more curious-that so quickly there’s been diplomatic traffic from Moscow about a criminal investigation, certainly about something that happened less than twenty-four hours ago. Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” agreed the political officer, reflectively. “What’s your point?”

“Something along the lines of protesting too much.”

“More convolution,” sighed Hamilton.

“I think it’s a valid observation,” contradicted the director-general.“But the question remains, why? What’s the Russian benefit?”

“There’s going to be an investigation by a presidential commission into the missing KGB files,” reminded Charlie, reminding himself in turn of the possible personal implications. “This could deflect some of the pressure on their successors, the FSB. A lot of whose senior officers-Dimitri Spassky most definitely- are former KGB.”

“There’s a logic there,” agreed Dean.

“A rare commodity!” derided Hamilton.

“We need a lot more to move this discussion on,” said the director-general.

“I could make some calls,” offered Charlie. Donald Morrison would obviously be first-maybe even Brooking-but dare he risk telephoning Natalia?

“I think we’d benefit from a group discussion, too,” said Hamilton, balefully.

Spence was waiting when Charlie emerged into the outer office. “Woolwich Arsenal say it’ll take three days for the ballistic confirmation you want. They’re miffed at being caught out on the acoustical assessment. And three days is the earliest for any psychological profile. The blood tests will be ready by tomorrow.”

“What I can’t take back with me will have to be sent in the diplomatic bag,” said Charlie.

The formidable woman shook a permed head. “The psychologist didn’t want to do it at all; called it working from a distance. He wants to see you to answer whatever questions he might have.”

He wouldn’t be back to take Sasha to the circus, Charlie realized.

“That was appalling!” pounced Jocelyn Hamilton, at once. “Muffin’s clearly out of his depth, unable to handle this.”

“He proved there was a second gunman,” Simpson pointed out.

“It would have come out through ballistics,” insisted the deputy director.

“But he suspected it first,” said Simpson, equally insistent. “And he was the first to learn of Bendall’s involvement.”

“If we keep him on the investigation-which I personally don’t think we should-Mufin needs to be supervised,” argued Hamilton. “Somebody else definitely should be put in charge.”

“That would look as if we believed he was the source of the second gunman disclosure,” said Pacey.

“Are you sure he wasn’t?” demanded Hamilton.

Sir Rupert Dean said, “I prefer Muffin’s theory of it being an FSB leak. They’re the only beneficiaries, although not by much.”

“So do I,” said Simpson.

“I propose that Muffin is taken off the case entirely,” said Hamilton. “And that we send in better qualified investigators from here.”

“What do you imagine someone from here could have achieved better than Charlie Muffin in just five days!” demanded Simpson. “We’re not in fantasyland-your yellow brick road-we’re in murderous reality, maybe even more murderous than we yet know.”

“That’s theatrical!” protested Hamilton.

“No!” refused Simpson. “It’s what I called it, murderous reality. Charlie lives there, knows the place. Speaks the language. And as he’s proved, has got useful contacts. Sending someone from here at this stage, cold, would be stupid.”

“Quite apart from the reason I’ve already given, I see no purpose whatsoever in side-tracking Charlie Muffin, supervising him,” agreed Pacey. “There’s nothing to show Muffin isn’t doing everything he should be doing. There’s no reason to replace him.”

“How many times did he say, in answer to anything he was asked, ‘I don’t know’?” demanded Hamilton.

“Probably not as many times as the Russians or the Americans with whom he’s working,” said Simpson.