Brian Freemantle - Kings of Many Castles

“I’ll see,” postured Bendall. “Go now. I want to think.”

Charlie had to stand to reach across Anne again for their tape machine and as he did so he saw Nicholai Badim in the outer corridor. Olga Melnik was expressionless beside him.

They needed the large waiting room, not Badim’s smaller office. From the way Olga went through the ritual of introduction to Arkadi Noskov, Charlie guessed she knew of the man’s reputation, even if she hadn’t met him before. Olga’s attitude towards Anne Abbott was cursory to the point of being dismissive. No one sat. The hospital surgeon-administrator looked hopefully for guidance between everyone else in the room but was disappointed. Agayan sat quietly in a corner.

Charlie told Olga “I’ve been trying to reach you.” He wondered what he could conjure from this encounter.

Olga said, “I got the message, that’s why I’m here.”

“You and I have a lot of operational things to discuss, apart from today,” said Charlie.

“Those ‘operational things’ have changed.”

“Not between you and I, our two countries.”

“The investigation has moved on,”

“To what?” It was encouraging. Charlie thought.

“It’s officially-legally-under the direction of the Justice Ministry.”

“How can that be?” Noskov’s voice was like a thunder roll.

“The facts have been laid for an official arraignment.”

The declaration removed the restrictive frustration between himself and the two lawyers, but as always part of Charlie’s mind was way ahead of the current conversation, looking for darkened alleys and hidden side tracks. He didn’t believe Olga’s being there was in direct response to his earlier attempted contact, although his messages was that he would be at Burdenko. Was she trying to separate him further from the Americans by the premature announcement? If she were there was every reason to go along with the invitation, even though he was sure by now that Natalia was not keeping anything back. As pivotal though they both imagined her to be, a lot could be withheld from Natalia: if not positive information, attitudes and intentions it was important for them personally, always protectively, to get indications of before they were instigated.

Noskov’s attention was on the doctor. “Is Bendall fit enough to go to court?”

“For an initial arraignment,” confirmed the man.

“And mentally he’s capable,” added Agayan. “He simply mustn’t be crowded, pushed.”

Responding to Anne’s whispered aside, Noskov said, “I’ll seek independent medical advice on that.”

“There are restrictions on access,” said Olga.

“I’ll want those examinations to be in the presence of this doctor, a hospital panel if necessary.”

“You can make your application,” condescended Olga.

“I don’t see how Bendall can be arraigned on what I understand so far to be the available evidence,” protested Noskov.

“That’s a matter for legal judgment and interpretation,” avoided Olga, easily.

“What are the formal court charges going to be?” demanded Noskov, imperious voiced again.

Olga wasn’t as cowed as the ward guards. “Again, a decision for the Justice Ministry and the federal prosecutor. The militia function has been to present the evidence.”

Charlie saw the opening. “Evidence it is officially agreed between our two countries-between London and Moscow-should be shared. I know you have withdrawn material from the American incident room but I expect that agreement still to exist between the two of us.”

“Again that is no longer a matter for me,” said Olga. “All the evidence has been passed over to the federal prosecutor. It has to be his-and the ministry’s-decision if the arrangement still exists.”

“We will make formal, diplomatic requests,” said Anne.

“Of course you will,” patronized Olga.

Charlie gestured back along the corridor. “You have just duplicated the recording of a conversation between Bendall and his legal advisors.”

“There is no legal prohibition upon our doing that.”

Noskov nodding his head, in agreement. Charlie said, “Has there been any further interrogation-Russian interrogation-since the claimed injection.”

“Medically proven injection,” corrected the woman.

“Medical proven injections,” gritted Charlie and waited.

“There may have been.”

It was her first overconfident lapse. “Olga Ivanova! You are the chief investigating officer. You would personally have conducted any subsequent interviews!”

Color spread up from the Russian detective’s throat. “Any subsequent interviews would form part of the evidence already filed on record and held by the federal prosecutor.”

“And forbidden to us?” demanded Anne.

“I’ve no way of knowing what the ministry or prosecution response would be to an official request for access.”

“Which will be legally filed,” promised Noskov.

“And diplomatically made as well, according to the terms of our agreement,” supported Anne.

Olga Melnik was a messenger boy-or girl-Charlie realized, answering his earlier uncertainty. But well briefed. By whom? he wondered.Don’t get sore, get even, he reminded himself, invoking one of the axioms of life. “As our professional cooperation appears to be over you can’t expect me to pass on the evidence that’s been gathered in London?”

Olga’s hesitation was so long it was as if the breath had been taken from her. At last she managed. “I most certainly would if it contributed to the further progress of the investigation!”

“Which I thought was being pursued independently now?” goaded Charlie. There’d been a miscalculation, he guessed. Briskly he said to the lawyers, “Let’s go to make those representations as quickly as we can. Hopefully get things back on course. There’s a lot else for us to do, as you know.”

In the car Noskov said, “It’s political.”

Anne said, “But stupid.”

“Or something,” said Charlie. His feet throbbed, to a metronome beat. Espionage had been a fucking sight easier than this.

Charlie arrived at the American embassy just before noon, dropped off at Novinskij Bul’var by the two lawyers on their way back to their respective offices to file their respective protests, promising both as he got out of the car that he’d call if he thought there was anything relevant from the now isolated American investigation. The FBI station chief was waiting in the incident room, closely flanked by Donald Morrison. After the younger man’s back-up during his London absence Charlie didn’t have the heart to exclude the man now that he’d returned.

Charlie anticipated some sort of outburst from the crumpled, cigar-perfumed American at the news of the impending court appearance but John Kayley remained reflectively silent. He didn’t initially interrupt, either, when Charlie began outlining the Bendall bullet disparity but then abruptly held up a stopping hand to lead the way through the linking corridor to the improvised laboratory and the American ballistics scientist.

Willie Ying said at once, “We’ve been waiting for your corroboration.”

“Is that why it isn’t computerized yet?” angrily demanded the ignored MI6 man.

“It’s your defense, against a murder charge,” said Kayley, in a smooth defense of his own. “You wouldn’t have wanted the Russians knowing about it in advance if it had only been a temporary walkout, would you?”

The don’t get sore, get even philosophy was American, remembered Charlie: it would be good somehow to give Morrison his personal chance. But not now. And the man was soon going to learn how things were eked out. “Did you get actual test firings, before the rifle was removed?”