James Barrington - Overkill

Hicks held up a finger. ‘Got it,’ he said. ‘This is source AE/RAVEN, right?’

‘Right,’ Muldoon replied. All CIA agents and operations are identified by a two-letter prefix indicating the country involved – AE for Russia, DI for Czechoslovakia and so on – followed by a randomly generated code-name.

‘And the other two pictures on the film?’ Hicks asked. ‘What did they show?’

‘Mainly that our source had a sense of humour, and that he is very near the top. He took one picture of the Meeting Room in the Kremlin, and one of the Walnut Room – that’s the room that adjoins it. The documents were impressive enough, but those pictures had Rigby dancing in the street.’

‘Yeah,’ said Hicks, ‘I can see why. There are what, a dozen or so SVR and GRU officers who have access to those two rooms, and they’re all right at the top of the tree. OK, all I hear so far is good news. What’s the catch?’

‘Perhaps I’d better first—’ Muldoon broke off as a rap sounded on the door. It opened and Jayne ushered in a middle-aged woman carrying a tray of coffee. Nobody spoke until the two women had gone and the door closed. When everyone had poured their coffee, Muldoon continued. ‘Let me first outline the way the relationship developed. Rigby has never seen the contact, and has never made any obvious effort to do so, for fear of alarming him. What he did was to continue visiting shops, cafés and restaurants and generally making himself visible. He would routinely leave his coat or jacket on his chair, or hanging on a hook while he went to the john or to make a phone call or whatever. And, about once a month, an undeveloped film would appear in one of his pockets—’

‘Did he attempt to establish any kind of dialogue?’ Hicks interrupted.

‘Yes. He began putting messages into his pockets, concealed in suitable containers, of course, but the source has never taken one, so it’s been a pure one-way traffic flow so far. This continued until about three weeks ago. Then Rigby found another film canister in a pocket – but this time it was the glove pocket of his car. Rigby thought he had left the vehicle locked while he did some shopping, but he can’t be sure. Whatever, when he returned to it the driver’s door was unlocked, which was why he checked the car.’

Hicks tapped ash from the end of his cigar into the ashtray. ‘Why the change in his routine, I wonder?’ he murmured. ‘OK, what was on that film?’

‘Nothing,’ Muldoon replied. ‘It wasn’t a film. When the embassy technician opened the film canister, it contained a small piece of paper bearing a short message.’

‘And?’

‘You’d better read it,’ Muldoon said. ‘Ron?’

Ronald Hughes opened the folder in front of him, selected two sheets of paper and passed them over to Hicks. ‘That’s a photostat of the original, Director,’ Hughes said, ‘enlarged by a factor of four, and the second sheet is a typed translation of the Russian.’

Hicks took the first sheet of paper and glanced at it, then read the translation of the message. When he’d finished he looked up at Muldoon. Then he read the translation again. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said.

Friday

Hammersmith, London

Richter walked into his office on the second floor and pushed the door shut behind him. The room was, like Richter, compact and slightly scruffy. It was small, measuring about twelve feet by ten with an off-white ceiling and a light green emulsion on the walls; the colour was described by Simpson as ‘vulture-vomit green’, and Richter had to agree he had a point. The single window, triple-glazed and barred, looked southwest, but only provided a view of the wall of an adjacent building and the top branches of an elderly sycamore tree that just about managed to eke out an existence in the side street.

The desk and office chair were next to the window, facing the door, and against the opposite wall was a grey filing cabinet with a non-functioning lock. Richter kept nothing in it but a small kettle, a jar of instant coffee, a container of powdered milk, a spoon and two cups. Next to the filing cabinet, and bolted to a steel plate cemented into the wall, was a large ministry-issue safe fitted with a combination lock. On the desk were ‘In’ and ‘Out’ trays, a desk calendar, and two telephones. One had level-nine access which meant that Richter could ring up anyone entirely at the British tax-payers’ expense. That was the grey phone. The other one was black, and was a direct line that communicated only with Simpson.

As usual, all the document trays on the desk were empty. Like the Secret Intelligence Service, the Foreign Operations Executive operated a ‘clear-desks’ policy, which meant that nothing was ever left on a desk in an unattended office. Even if the occupant was only going to the loo, all the files, document trays and even diaries had to be locked in the safe first. It was an irritating, but fundamentally secure, system.

Richter span the safe’s combination lock. He reached in and pulled out three documents that had been delivered just before he had left for Moscow. As he did so, the black phone rang.

‘Come up, please,’ Simpson instructed. He sounded preoccupied.

Office of the Director of Operations (Clandestine Services), Central Intelligence Agency Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

Walter Hicks stood up, walked over to his desk and pressed the button on the intercom. ‘Jayne,’ he said, ‘this is going to take some time. Cancel all my appointments for the rest of the morning, and only put calls through if you can’t sort them out yourself.’ This meant they wouldn’t be disturbed – Jayne was very good at handling callers. ‘OK,’ he said, as he sat down again at the conference table, ‘you people are the experts. I can read what it says, but I need you to tell me what it means.’

Muldoon glanced across the table towards Ronald Hughes. ‘This is probably more your field than mine, Ron.’

‘The message was apparently written in a hurry, Director,’ Hughes said, ‘as it’s brief and cryptic. But it contains three very specific pieces of information.’ He held up his left hand, fingers extended, and counted them off. ‘First, RAVEN states that there is a bilateral covert offensive in progress, one part directed against Europe and the other against the States. I emphasize that he says “in progress”, not “planned” or “future” or anything like that.’

‘My Russian isn’t that good,’ Hicks interrupted, ‘but we must be very clear on this. I presume you’ve checked the translation with our in-house specialists?’

‘Yes. Four separate analyst/translators have studied the wording of this section of the document, and they all agree. There is no doubt about the translation.’

‘Go on.’

‘Second, he provides a date – the second of this month. Third, a map reference.’ Hicks looked at him expectantly. Hughes rubbed a hand over his forehead and looked down at his papers. ‘Let me take the three items in order. First, the offensive. As soon as the Espionage Division had this translation to hand, Cliff Masters directed me to run a high-priority check on all military activity within the CIS, looking for any signs of increased readiness. I also checked our current DEFCON status with NORAD at Cheyenne Mountain, and ran a check through all allied intelligence services, concentrating on Europe.’

‘That should have covered all the bases,’ Hicks said. ‘The results were negative, obviously, or I would have known about it.’

‘Yes,’ Hughes replied. ‘We were aware that the RAVEN message specified a covert offensive, but for any type of offensive it would be reasonable to assume that there would be some evidence of heightened military activity. We found nothing. Now, the date and the map reference. The second of the month came and went, and nothing seemed to happen. The position is nowhere. It’s just a spot way up in the Bolshezemel’skaya Tundra, pretty much in the foothills of the Urals, and a long way from any sites of strategic interest or importance.’