See Charlie Run cm-7

by Brian Freemantle

  Charlie decided he’d spent too much time in word games with Fredericks and not enough on the elementary who-does-what-and-where-and-how planning for this encounter. So he had the advantage of the London identification: apart from which, Charlie decided, in sudden frustration, he was still being held very much on the outside of this sodding affair. Tonight was when it stopped. Which meant not being left standing on the pavement like a runny-nosed kid who hadn’t been invited to the party. Charlie’s uncertain movement became positive, and he was actually making towards the vehicle — prepared to run to it if Fredericks’ door started to close in positive abandonment — when instead the American turned, looking for him.

  ‘What the …!’ began the man.

  ‘If I’m in, I’m in,’ announced Charlie. And he was.

  Winslow Elliott, who had been the bookshop observer, was at the pavement edge before the Russian’s car properly entered the traffic stream. He stood momentarily uncertain and then hurried to his own car, congratulating himself on having parked it so conveniently close. He pulled out in pursuit, with the Toyota comfortably in view.

  Still in the bookshop, Irena Kozlov watched the American take off, shaking her head at the obviousness of it. That hurried entry into Yuri’s car of the man she assumed to be the Englishman had been too abrupt, as well. Useful, though. He’d hidden himself well and until he’d moved she’d had difficulty in isolating him. Which had, after, all been an additional — actually the main — reason for her monitoring the meeting place tonight. She hoped Yuri’s encounter would be as successful.

  Filiatov looked across his desk at Olga Balan, the apprehension obvious.

  ‘You can’t be serious!’ he said.

  ‘There is a pattern,’ insisted the woman. She nodded to the documentation she had assembled. ‘Everything is there. As a matter of courtesy I felt I should show you, before communicating directly with Moscow.’

  Filiatov swallowed, the sweat bubbled on his forehead. ‘It’s a courtesy I appreciate. Very much indeed,’ he said. Maybe the rumours about Olga Balan’s single-minded pursuit of personal success were misplaced.

  Chapter Nine

  An odd — almost embarrassed — silence developed inside the car, each man awaiting the lead from someone else. It was the Russian who spoke. With barely a movement of his head towards Charlie in the rear, Kozlov said: ‘I appreciate your coming.’

  ‘Hardly likely we wouldn’t,’ said Charlie. The man’s English was very good, as Fredericks had said.

  There was a small lift of the shoulders. ‘One can never be sure.’

  Charlie was conscious of Kozlov’s eyes upon him, in the rear view mirror, and also of the Russian’s alertness to the traffic following and around him. Charlie said: ‘Always important, being sure.’

  Kozlov’s mirrored attention was briefly concentrated and for a moment their gaze met and held. Although the impression was distorted by the lights of passing vehicles and street illuminations, Charlie saw clear, untroubled eyes — maybe blue, as Fredericks had reported — and an open, unlined face. Being a killer didn’t seem a strain.

  ‘Everything has been explained?’ questioned the Russian.

  Charlie saw Kozlov had abandoned the circular route and was driving away from the centre of the city. He said: ‘Yes. Which is why I am surprised.’

  ‘Surprised?’ Kozlov’s full attention was on Charlie.

  ‘Why are we all together?’ demanded Charlie. He saw Kozlov’s half smile as Fredericks turned in the seat in front and began ‘What the …?’ but Charlie talked on: ‘I understood your wife was coming separately, to the British?’

  ‘Now wait a minute …’ tried the American again, realizing what was happening. ‘We arranged …’

  ‘Nothing beyond this introduction,’ stopped Charlie, maintaining the pressure. ‘From here on, British involvement is a matter between the two of us. America has no part.’

  A filter road came up on the right and Kozlov drove off Hongodori Avenue and abruptly took two more quick turns, until the traffic quietened about them. He pulled into the side of the road and said to Fredericks: ‘He’s right. You must leave now.’

  ‘I think we should talk about it …’ Fredericks tried to persist but Charlie overrode him yet again. He said: ‘OK! Fine! You going to involve me in all the discussions and planning on your side?’

  Although it was semi-dark inside the car, the American’s look was obvious and Charlie thought I don’t like your guts either. The hesitation continued for a few moments and then Fredericks felt behind him, releasing the door catch.

  ‘I’d like you in the front,’ Kozlov said to Charlie.

  The effect of the transfer was to have Fredericks holding the door open for Charlie. Fredericks said: ‘Remember it’s your ass.’

  As Kozlov drove off, leaving the American at the kerbside, the Russian said: ‘I was worried, briefly.’

  ‘Worried?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure you were going to protest: that it might have been some sort of complicated double cross, your pretending to be British but in reality working with them, so that they’d get myself and Irena together, with a trick.’

  Kozlov was good, thought Charlie. ‘It still could be,’ he said.

  There was another brief smile from the man. Kozlov said: ‘I don’t think so. I don’t believe Fredericks is a good enough actor to feign the dislike he just showed.’

  Having proved himself once, Charlie continued: ‘I have nothing to do with the surveillances the Americans are imposing.’

  ‘I accept that,’ said Kozlov. They’re really quite silly …’ He looked fleetingly at Charlie. ‘Fredericks has already been picked up,’ he said. ‘Their car is about three vehicles behind.’

  ‘Why do you want to come across?’ said Charlie, abruptly.

  The intention was to off-balance the man into a flustered reply. It failed. Kozlov rejoined Hongodori but in the reverse direction, going back towards the heart of the city, and instead of reply, said: ‘You can get Irena out safely?’

  ‘If I’m satisfied about everything,’ said Charlie, making his own refusal. ‘I want to know a lot more.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘My safety,’ said Charlie, honestly. ‘So why defect?’

  ‘You are aware of my department?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I do not wish to continue any longer,’ said Kozlov, shortly.

  Charlie thought back to the first night’s meeting with Art Fredericks and the American’s assessment that Kozlov was frightened; Charlie’s initial impression wasn’t of fear. He said: ‘Why not?’ It was an interrogator’s trick to keep the questions as short as possible, making the other person do all the talking.

  Kozlov hesitated, as if unsure how to say it. ‘I have carried out too many operations. Soon I will get caught. I know I couldn’t stand any sort of incarceration, for a long time.’

  Charlie, who had endured imprisonment and at one time thought it would send him mad, recognized the fear at once and reversed just as quickly his earlier doubts. He found that explanation absolutely understandable. It also made other things understandable. The reference to Kozlov’s strange calmness, for example: the man was calm — and superbly professional — because his trained nerve had not broken, which was the erroneous inference Charlie had reached. He said: ‘Your people will come after you.’

  There was another quick exchange of looks. ‘I know,’ said Kozlov. ‘I’ve pursued others myself. That’s why everything has got to be right, from the beginning.’

  Charlie made a note to have Wilson check unexplained or unusual defector deaths beyond Valeri Solomatin, the exiled Ukrainian writer. He said: ‘Are you sure you can trust the Americans?’

  ‘No,’ said Kozlov. ‘That’s why you are involved.’

  ‘I did not mean immediately, here,’ expanded Charlie. ‘I meant later when …’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ interrupted Kozlov. ‘Just as I know you’ve got to make the effort and why I
am not annoyed; indeed, it would have been something else that would have worried me if you hadn’t attempted to cheat the Americans. Fredericks has tried to keep Irena and I together, at every meeting I’ve had with him. Says I can’t trust you.’

  You can’t, thought Charlie. He saw they were on the park-encircling highway again and decided the car was as secure a place as any, once the checks for surveillance had been carried out. Reminded, and not yet completely abandoning the persuasion, Charlie said: ‘They have monitored every meeting, despite your insisting they shouldn’t.’

  ‘I told you I knew that,’ said the Russian.

  ‘So why didn’t you withdraw?’ demanded Charlie, coming to another of his worries.

  ‘Because it didn’t please me to,’ said Kozlov. ‘Every meeting has been like that tonight, a series of places where they’ve no idea when or how I’ll make the contact. Every time we’ve seen what they are doing and how they are doing it. If there had at any time been a concentration of people, indicating a kidnap attempt, then everything would have been off.’

  Charlie digested what the man said, filtering the important points. ‘“We”,’ he quoted. ‘You said every time we’ve seen what they are doing it. Has your wife been involved, in the checks?’

  ‘Fredericks needs protectors: so do I,’ said Kozlov.

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Particularly tonight. I wanted her to see what you looked like.’

  Charlie stirred, discomfited: yet further surveillance he hadn’t identified. It was happening too bloody often. He forced his mind on, to the more important points. Kozlov clearly expected a snatch: a further reason for not attempting one, here in Japan. Another impression came to him and he said: ‘If you’ve watched, like you say you have, for the four meetings, you must have a pretty good file on the CIA staff here?’

  ‘Every one,’ confirmed Kozlov. ‘That’s my cover, if there are any questions from my own people.’

  So Kozlov’s hadn’t been an empty boast, to Fredericks. Charlie’s mind stayed on the American. The man had been right about one thing: the Russian was professional in everything he seemed to say or do. Charlie glanced outside, realizing they had done one complete circle of the park.

  Kozlov saw the look and said: ‘Yes, it’s time to alter the route. I wasn’t becoming careless.’

  ‘I didn’t think you were,’ said Charlie, honestly.

  Kozlov took the car off the circular road, going in the direction of the docks, and said: ‘You haven’t told me officially how your people feel?’

  ‘Of course we will accept you,’ said Charlie, at once.

  ‘Irena,’ qualified Kozlov. ‘It’s Irena you’re taking.’

  ‘I still don’t completely understand how you intend making this work,’ said Charlie.

  ‘I am valuable, yes?’ demanded Kozlov.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Charlie. If there were to be a slip — a mistake to show him things weren’t right — it was most likely to come now.

  ‘Irena, too?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Charlie again. Stick to one word responses, let the other man talk, he thought.

  ‘And you — and the Americans — plan to try to grab us for yourselves once we’re safely out of Japan?’ completed Kozlov. He looked across the car once more, smiling triumphantly.

  Charlie realized that a lot — perhaps everything — hinged upon his answer. He hoped to Christ he was going to get it right. He said: ‘Yes, that is exactly what we’ll try to do.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Kozlov. ‘I’m glad you didn’t lie: most people would have done. You’re proving yourself to me as much as I am to you, don’t forget.’

  There was a jump of satisfaction, but Charlie curbed it at once: another interrogation technique was trying to confuse a questioner with praise. Charlie thought, I’m not forgetting anything, my son. ‘I still don’t understand,’ he persisted.

  Kozlov nodded, and Charlie didn’t know whether the gesture was one of approval or something else. ‘So the Americans will guard and protect me, absolutely. And your people will guard and protect Irena absolutely.’

  Time to attempt some deflection of his own, Charlie decided. ‘From what?’ he said.

  ‘Broken promises,’ said Kozlov. ‘At the moment you and the Americans will give any undertaking, just to get us. I want to be confident they will be kept.’

  The rehearsed story, Charlie recognized. He said: The only way to guarantee that, then, will be for you and Irena to live permanently apart? Once you’re together, your guarantee goes.’

  ‘No,’ argued Kozlov. ‘Before we come together permanently we want the full arrangements made, for income and pensions and changes of identity. Houses, too, of course … and going public. Did Fredericks tell you of that insistence?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Charlie. He’d led the Russian along perfectly, he decided. Time to spring the trap. ‘It won’t work, though, will it?’ he challenged. ‘You gave me the reason yourself, a few moments ago.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ demanded Kozlov. He looked straight across the car, ignoring the road.

  ‘You know your people will chase you: one of the conditions is to have your appearance altered, isn’t it?’ pressed Charlie.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Kozlov.

  ‘So from the moment of your first lecture, you’re an easy target,’ said Charlie. ‘Bad flaw there, isn’t there, Yuri?’

  ‘What lecture?’ said the Russian.

  ‘That’s going public,’ said Charlie. ‘Where you guys make all the money.’

  ‘No,’ said Kozlov. ‘There is no flaw, on my part. You’ve made assumptions and they’re wrong. The flaw is yours.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I know completely my value as a defector,’ said Kozlov. ‘It’s in the embarrassing disclosures that I can make, of what I’ve done for the Soviet Union. Before Irena and I are re-united I want a contractual agreement, for my account to be published …’ Kozlov smiled again. ‘The money is to be additional to anything that is agreed to be paid to us by either yourselves or the Americans, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Charlie. Greedy bastard, he thought. The reaction was largely personal irritation, at his misconceptions. Thank Christ no one knew. Trying to press his point, he went on: ‘I wasn’t talking about publishing a book …’ but Kozlov refused him.

  ‘I was,’ said the Russian. ‘And that’s all I was talking about. I will not undertake any lecture tours; neither will Irena. No personal publicity, either. Any meetings with publishers or writers will be before I undergo any appearance change. The same with Irena.’

  It was an explanation, decided Charlie. He felt uncomfortable with it. He said: ‘Separate book contracts, like separate defections?’

  ‘Listing all the promises that are broken,’ confirmed Kozlov.

  Charlie supposed it had some kind of rationale. He said: ‘Your wife is prepared to cooperate fully? She knows what’s involved?’

  ‘We’ve both considered it very fully.’

  ‘You’re worried about getting caught,’ said Charlie. ‘What’s her fear?’

  ‘The same,’ said the other man at once. ‘If I’m seized, she loses me. She is as worried at the possibility of an arrest as I am.’

  Time to move on, decided Charlie. ‘You used a word to describe yourself, to Fredericks. He couldn’t remember it,’ he prompted.

  ‘Cheka,’ responded Kozlov at once.

  Kozlov certainly wasn’t an imposter. An imposter would not have known the abbreviation of Vecheka, the name of the first intelligence organizations formed after the Russian Revolution and still how genuine KGB officers referred to themselves, as a term of pride.

  ‘It must be fascinating in Dzerzhinsky Square, knowing you’re in the very place where your service began,’ persisted Charlie.

  Kozlov laughed, openly. ‘You’re much more sceptical than the Americans,’ he said.

  The praise ploy again, thought Charlie. He stayed silent.

  Spacing his delivery, Kozl
ov said: ‘Gorokhovaia Street, in Petrograd, was actually the first headquarters. It didn’t move to Moscow until 1918. And even then not to where it is now: for two years it was at Bolshoi Lubyanka …’ He looked briefly at Charlie. ‘Right?’

  ‘No!’ said Charlie.

  ‘But that …!’ Kozlov began to protest and then stopped. ‘As a matter of fact it is, historically,’ he said. ‘But I see now. No part of my Chief Directorate is in Dzerzhinsky Square. We’re too big. Our building is on the Moscow ring road.’

  ‘What connects with Metrostroevskaya Street?’ said Charlie.

  Kozlov did not speak for several moments. Then he said: ‘I didn’t know the British service was that well informed.’

  As before, Charlie remained silent, refusing to be drawn, and Kozlov said, after a further pause: ‘Turnaninski Pereulok.’

  ‘And?’ urged Charlie.

  ‘Yes,’ said Kozlov. ‘I received initial training there: rifle and pistol shooting, unarmed combat … it’s the school.’

  ‘I want the other place,’ demanded Charlie.

  ‘Kuchino,’ said the Russian, at once.

  ‘What’s the specialization?’