‘I’ll have a flight plan filed from here for two,’ said Sampson.
‘That should be more than enough time,’ agreed Charlie.
‘Sorry not to have been able to help more,’ said the man.
‘You’re doing everything that’s necessary,’ said Charlie.
Charlie had held the taxi and as it left the airport complex and rejoined the multi-laned highway back into the city, Levine said from the watching car: ‘Checking the escape route. Very professional.’
‘So we know it is going to be from here,’ said Elliott. ‘And how to stop it. We’ve got him, Hank: really got him! The woman, too.’
‘It’s looking good,’ agreed Levine. ‘Very good indeed.’
Charlie turned back into his seat, in the car in front. This had been the easy part: he hoped the dutifully following CIA men had been lulled into believing it was going to continue just as easily.
They had. On the outskirts of Tokyo, Levine — the more cautious of the two — argued they should pass on to the others the departure arrangements they had confirmed for Irena Kozlov. And when Charlie’s taxi pulled into the shopping arcade entrance leading directly into the tower block in which they knew his room to be, Elliott agreed they had time.
Which they didn’t. Charlie went to the elevator, stayed in it until the first-floor stop and then left, going quickly back down the fire-escape stairs. It could have still gone wrong for him, but for Levine’s second mistake. The American was actually on the lobby telephone to Yamada, the liaison man, when he saw Charlie hurry across the short space from the emergency exit into the corridor to the main exit. Levine slammed the receiver down and instead of following alone decided instead to go back to Elliott in the waiting car. The lapse allowed Charlie to get to the exit, feign a movement towards the waiting taxis to check there was no dark-coloured Nissan carrying two non-Japanese, and then double around behind the loading tourist bus to lose himself among the boarding crowd. Done it! he congratulated himself: left them foundering.
The euphoria was very brief. He looked expectantly around the bus and then, abruptly, checked a second time. Irena Kozlov, whose picture he carried in the waiting passport, wasn’t there.
Fredericks and Harry Fish were still at the American embassy, waiting for the meeting instructions with Kozlov, when the liaison message came through and Fredericks said, triumphantly: ‘We can’t lose!’
‘Doesn’t look like it,’ agreed Fish.
The supervisor shook his head at the other man’s caution. ‘We’ve got the bastard! There’s no way he can get the woman out.’
‘Still can’t make up my mind whether we shouldn’t wait: it’s going to be proof to Kozlov from the word go that we are cheating them,’ said Fish.
‘So what the hell can they do about it!’ demanded Fredericks. ‘Say no, they’ve changed their minds and want to go back! We’ve played footsie long enough with a guy who’s killed one Agency man at least. Once he’s aboard the plane, there’s fuck all protest he or the woman can make. And they know it. From then on, we dictate the game plan.’
‘You know Elliott intends to kill Charlie Muffin, don’t you?’ demanded Fish. ‘How do you think the British are going to react to that, losing an agent as well as a defector?’
‘I don’t give a fuck about how they feel,’ said Fredericks. ‘It was an intentional insult, for London to assign the man in the first place. So everyone gets taught a lesson; so what!’
Fredericks saw personal promotion in this, realized the other American. He said: ‘So let’s hope nothing fouls-up.’
‘You worry too much,’ said Fredericks, confidently. He looked at his watch. ‘Kozlov should be making contact any time now.’
Kozlov let himself into the Shinbashi apartment and sighed, a release of tension. Seized by an abrupt thought he lifted the receiver, to hear that the dialling tone was there and that the instrument was functioning; the best conceived plans could be wrecked by the most inconsequential of things, like suddenly out-of-order telephones. It purred reassuringly in his ear. He sighed again. Now that everything was so close, he was held by an overwhelming feeling of anticlimax. Ridiculous, he thought: far too soon to imagine that nothing could go wrong. He checked the time. The Americans would be expecting him to call soon now.
Chapter Thirteen
There was a shoving pressure from behind, pushing him further into the bus, and Charlie moved, hollow-stomached. He took a seat on the side furthest from the hotel entrance, instinctively hiding from any pursuit, spreading his shoulder bag across the adjoining place to prevent it being taken. Don’t panic, he thought; another Charlie Muffin Survival Rule. A mistake to expect her to be sitting there, waiting. He’d chosen the tour bus because of the intermediary stops, knowingly adopting Kozlov’s own pattern. More than possible she’d use it, like her husband. No alternative but to take the ride and hope to Christ she didn’t string out her moment of boarding too long: there wasn’t much flexibility. In fact, if she waited …
Irena Kozlov came unhurriedly on to the bus, ensuring she was the last, muttering what had to be an apology to the guide and making her way further inside. She didn’t look in Charlie’s direction or take the available spot next to him, instead settling three seats in front and on the opposite side. Charlie felt the anxiety go from him, a physical release, annoyed at the quickness of his unnecessary concern.
The commentary began from the guide as the bus descended the now familiar ramp, the palaces to the left being individually identified. Charlie closed his mind to the litany, concentrating upon Irena Kozlov. The first and most immediate impression was of her size: she was clearly visible above the high-back seats, dwarfing everyone around her. Quickly there followed an admiration for her expertise; she actually appeared to be listening, twisting and turning to the land-marks, covering herself brilliantly. Irena didn’t make her move until the tour got to Shinjuhu Gyoen Garden and then still brilliantly, because the garden was on the right-hand side of the bus, enabling her to pretend difficulty in seeing and to look obviously around for a better vantage point. Even the approach, when it came, was absolutely right: a polite enquiry if the seat were free and smiled thanks when Charlie moved the place-keeping bag. She was big, he decided, pulling himself towards the window to allow room: her bum was tight against his. She went through the charade of looking at the park, justifying her move, and entered into the necessary conversation by offering Charlie the map she carried, as if she were pointing out a place he couldn’t locate on his own guide.
‘I was worried, when you weren’t on the bus,’ he said.
‘I needed to be sure,’ she said.
‘I lost them,’ he said.
‘You didn’t,’ she contradicted at once. ‘There are two. One is named Levine, the other Elliott.’
Charlie curbed the impulse to swing around, to examine the other tourists. ‘Where!’
‘Not here; following,’ she said. ‘It’s a dark Nissan, blue I think.’
Charlie realized he’d overlooked Kozlov’s boast that they knew every CIA officer on station in Tokyo. He said: ‘I did not agree or plant it. They followed me to the airport.’
‘They were panicked at the hotel,’ said Irena. ‘They only located you aboard at the very last moment; I saw their reaction.’
‘No one on the bus?’ insisted Charlie, using her knowledge.
‘If there had been, I wouldn’t be here,’ she said.
Charlie swivelled in his seat. The Nissan was four vehicles behind. From where they were, the Americans wouldn’t be able to see with whom he was sitting: it still meant he had to hurry, before the first stop. Charlie employed his own map, for the benefit of those in the bus whom the Americans might later question, apparently consulting her. Irena responded superbly, taking from within its folds the passport and dropping it into her own bag.
‘Rose Adams,’ he said. ‘That’s the name.’
‘Easy to remember,’ she said.
Charlie thought he detected
an arrogance about the woman. He hoped it would translate into confidence; she was going to need a lot of that in next few hours. He said: ‘That’s why I chose it.’
He entered into the performance with the map again and this time her reaction was more hesitant. Irena dropped the contents into the same bag as the passport and said: ‘What is that?’
‘Your airline ticket,’ said Charlie. ‘At six o’clock tonight there’s a Japanese Airline flight from Osaka to Hong Kong …’ Charlie glanced at his watch, glad once more that she had got on at the beginning of the tour. ‘You’ll make it easily. There’s a Bullet train at three: the reservation is with your airline ticket …’
‘But …’ the woman started to protest, and Charlie was immediately doubtful about the confidence, after all.
‘But nothing,’ stopped Charlie, in turn. ‘Yuri is going to the Americans today?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘They’re taking him out too,’ announced Charlie.
‘I have not packed,’ groped the woman.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ said Charlie. ‘You didn’t think you were going to walk out of the Soviet embassy carrying a suitcase!’
‘Small things. Personal. Mementoes …’ she tried.
Charlie shook his head. ‘It’s over, Irena. New life for the old: No mementoes, no nothing.’ It was astonishing, how often they asked.
‘I thought we’d go from here, from Tokyo. A military plane.’
‘This way is better,’ insisted Charlie.
‘You’re coming with me?’ she said.
Charlie shook his head. ‘The Americans haven’t left me, from the moment I arrived. You know they’re behind, now. That’s how they expect to identify you, through me. Then snatch. Get the train, go to the airport and catch the flight. You’ll be met in Hong Kong by a man named Anthony Sampson. He knows your assumed name and what you look like. Just go with him.’
‘Where?’
‘To England.’
‘I thought I would be escorted.’
She meant protected: maybe the confidence was not so assured as he’d imagined. ‘You will be, from Hong Kong,’ he said. ‘A whole squad of men, all trained.’
‘When will I see Yuri again?’
‘A month,’ said Charlie. That’s the agreed arrangement, isn’t it?’
‘I didn’t expect …’ She stopped, unhappy with the word. ‘Think,’ she picked up, ‘that it would be like this.’
‘It’s important to do what no one expects, for it to succeed,’ said Charlie. ‘Didn’t Yuri warn you that the Americans would try to cheat?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘That’s what I am insuring against,’ he said.
‘Yuri will be protected?’
‘The Americans are ready.’
‘Yuri didn’t expect it to be as quick as this.’
‘The important thing — the only thing — is getting you both safely across,’ said Charlie.
‘I know that,’ she said.
‘And this is the way,’ he insisted.
‘You’re sure what the Americans intend?’
‘Positive,’ said Charlie. It wasn’t an exaggeration. Preparing the ground for later, he said: ‘I tried to explain to Yuri he would be safer if both of you came across to us, in the first place.’
‘We talked about it: it was a trick,’ she said dismissively.
‘I know what Yuri has done,’ said Charlie. ‘Don’t you think it’s naive, expecting the Americans to take no action?’
‘I will be his protection,’ she said. ‘That’s how we planned it.’
Charlie decided any further pressure would be wrong at this stage.
‘I never imagined it would be like this: the moment, I mean.’
‘It will be all right,’ insisted Charlie, encouraging now. ‘A train ride, a short flight and you’re safe. No one, apart from Sampson and myself, even knows the cover name.’
She sniggered, a nervous reaction. ‘Rose Adams,’ she said. It’s … it’s …’
Not big enough, thought Charlie, looking at her. ‘Easy to remember,’ he reminded. ‘And you will remember it; the name that took you out to a brand new life.’ He wished it hadn’t sounded like a commercial for soap powder or a laxative.
‘Thank you,’ she said, suddenly. ‘It’s a sensible arrangement: clever, too.’
‘And simple,’ Charlie said, as he’d agreed with Sampson. For an operation that in London had risked being one of the most difficult it had, in the event, turned out to be one of the easiest. He said: ‘In the wallet, with the airline ticket, there is some money. You shouldn’t need it. Just in case.’
‘You’ve been very thorough,’ she said.
‘So were you and Yuri,’ said Charlie.
‘It’s very important nothing goes wrong.’
‘It won’t!’ said Charlie. ‘Trust me when I say it won’t!’
‘I could be in England by tomorrow?’
‘There’s quite a wide time difference, but yes,’ agreed Charlie.
‘Will you be my case officer?’
The expertise was reasserting itself over the nervousness, Charlie decided. He said: ‘I’m not sure. Maybe. Maybe not.’
‘You’re normally operational then?’ she asked, appearing to want to prove herself.
‘I do all sorts of things,’ side-stepped Charlie. Tradecraft did not allow him to discuss his status or working life with her. Actually his was a pretty accurate self-description: a general dog’s-body.
‘There won’t be any misunderstandings about the conditions, if it’s someone else?’
It was developing into a rapid recovery. He said: ‘Of course not!’
She seemed to become aware of the tour and said: ‘I need to get off at the first stop?’
‘Yes,’ said Charlie at once. ‘Give yourself as much time as possible.’
‘I’m nervous,’ she admitted.
‘I’d be worried if you weren’t,’ said Charlie. ‘What else can you be? Everything is going to be all right.’
‘We spent months planning this. Now it’s all happening so quickly.’
‘The way it’s got to be done,’ insisted Charlie.
‘Sampson will be waiting at the airport?’
‘I guarantee it,’ said Charlie.
‘There’s nothing else?’
‘All very simple,’ reiterated Charlie.
‘It is,’ she agreed.
Charlie realized she was searching for words, not wanting to end the conversation. It was a symptom he knew, the reluctance to let go at the very moment of cutting adrift. It was fortunate the decision was being taken for her. He said: ‘We’re getting into Shibuya-Ku: the first stop is there, at an Olympic memorial and a shrine.’ With so many shrines, the gods should be on their side.
Irena breathed in, preparing herself, as the coach pulled off the highway into the car park. Remembering, Charlie swivelled in his seat, seeing the Nissan follow. Conscious of his movement, the woman turned too. As the Americans got out of the vehicle, she said: ‘Elliott is the fatter one, with the receding hair. Levine is the one driving, wearing the patterned sports jacket.’
‘Get away from me,’ warned Charlie.
She moved at once, slotting herself in with the disembarking tourists. Charlie waited in his seat, letting everyone else get off ahead of him, managing further delay by carefully looping the strap of the travel bag across his shoulders before getting off. The guide shepherded them into some sort of order and Charlie saw that Elliott and Levine had attached themselves. Irena was at the far side and Charlie recognized again how good she was, remaining with the group until the best opportunity arose and not attracting attention to herself by immediately splitting away. Dutifully they filed towards the Meiji Jingu temple and Charlie moved nearer to the guide, attentive to the commentary, totally ignoring Irena Kozlov. The two Americans closed up, clearly oblivious to her as well, and Charlie felt the jump of satisfaction.
Irena made her break
at the huge entrance gate and did it so well that for several moments Charlie himself wasn’t aware she was no longer one of the party. Still outwardly the rubber-necking tourist, he was tightly alert to Elliott and Levine. Both stayed within feet of him, and Charlie allowed the boast and thought, you’ve done it, my son: and come up smelling of violets. It was important for Charlie Muffin always to win: that’s what made him so good. He looked obviously at his watch, aware the gesture would register with the two shadowing men. Twelve forty-five. Sampson would soon be airborne, Fredericks would be linking up with Kozlov, and Irena had more than enough time to catch her train. Frequent as they were, Charlie guessed she might even be able to get an earlier one. He tramped on, experiencing the first twinge of discomfort and accepting that his feet were going to give him hell, after all this walking: no one would ever fully know the things he did for Queen and country. There was the pause for picture-taking at the shrine and Charlie resisted the temptation to sit, adopting instead an eagerness he hoped the two Americans would discern, imagining an anticipated approach. He remembered that Kozlov had selected a shrine, the night of their meeting, and wondered if the two men had trodden any other tourist routes, during the negotiations with the Russian. More than likely, he supposed.
The trek from the shrine to the Olympic youth centre was a long one and Charlie’s feet were throbbing by the time they reached it. Definitely a celebration tonight, he decided: few drinks at Niban-cho, and then a complete contrast, a ryotei restaurant for Japanese haute cuisine: traditional, too, which was important. He could take his shoes off. He wished to Christ he could do that now. Charlie remained looking intently around him; Levine and Elliott were expectantly behind now, Elliott at one stage standing right next to him. Too late, my loves; too late, he thought.
Charlie returned gratefully to the bus, settling in the same seat as before, aware of Elliott in conversation at the steps with the guide and then of the American boarding the vehicle and establishing himself two rows behind, on the opposite side. Charlie made another obvious time-check. One twenty. Two o’clock, Sampson had estimated, they’d be preparing for take-off. Sampson seemed the sort of man who’d always build in allowances for the unexpected: perhaps he’d already left. Charlie decided to move at the next stop: Elliott might learn of the now missing Irena by questioning other passengers. There was no reason, in fact, to delay the signal to London that everything had gone off perfectly; absolutely perfectly.
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