Unwittingly Hillary, the perfect hostess, smoothly covered the immediate arrival, seating Popov and Natalia together on the high-backed, siderope-tethered couch and offering canapés while Charlie poured champagne for everyone except himself, remaining with his preferred whisky. The apartment was the obvious and immediate subject of conversation, which Hillary responded to as openly as she did with everything else and invited them to look around: her and Charlie’s evidently shared bedroom was the last on the escorted tour. There was no cause for Charlie to feel uncomfortable, but he did. Natalia was quite controlled by then, smilingly attentively to the other woman although paying little attention to him, which wasn’t Charlie’s immediate disappointment. Hillary had the advantage of youth by maybe ten years – for the first time Charlie realized he didn’t know how old she was – and although she hadn’t dressed as exuberantly as she sometimes did for their club visits the silk moulded to her Greek goddess figure and stopped short enough to exhibit the forever legs and Charlie thought Natalia suffered by the side-by-side proximity and suspected Natalia thought so too. Natalia’s dress was silk as well, although a subdued black against Hillary’s crimson, but cut more comfortably and longer. The blackness drained what little colour there was from her face and she hadn’t hidden the worry lines around her eyes and lips, and she’d pinned the chignon carelessly and stray hair was already escaping.
And Natalia wasn’t just suffering from the physical contrast. In an austere but superbly tailored and waistcoated black suit and muted tie, Popov was more than ever a Romanov look-alike and was flirting extravagantly with the receptively flattered Hillary. It actually created a brief divide, separating Popov with Hillary and Charlie with Natalia, and provided a further comparison between the laughing banter against artificially subdued conversation. Natalia looked directly at him when she said he seemed to be settling in very comfortably after he agreed he had been extremely lucky to get the Lesnaya apartment. Charlie presumed Sasha would be at the crèche, under Militia protection, but Popov was too close for him openly to ask, even though the Russian appeared totally engrossed in some hand-waving anecdote of Hillary’s. Remembering Natalia’s concern during every conversation, particularly about the bed-wetting, Charlie was still surprised Natalia had left her.
Dinner began on the same facile social level, with Popov taking Hillary through the first-time-in-Moscow, how-do-you-like-it routine and smiling quizzically at Hillary’s reply that it was interesting. Then, abruptly and still smiling, he turned to Charlie and said, ‘But you, of course, were here before?’
‘A long time ago,’ replied Charlie, easily and at once. A curve in the line or something else he should try to consider rationally? Popov-knew what he’d been, like everyone else. There hadn’t been occasion to talk of it before – even at their now relaxed lunches – and it wasn’t indiscreet now, because Hillary was officially FBI.
‘What’s your feeling, having known it then?’
‘It’s trying to develop too fast, without enough control.’
‘Crime, you mean?’
‘Not entirely. But mostly, yes.’
‘There was as much crime in the old days. It just wasn’t obvious. And the government were involved up to their necks.’
‘Like they are now?’ demanded Charlie. If Popov wanted an open discussion, it was all right by him. He even welcomed it.
‘Like too many of them are now, yes. Which is our problem. But we’ll win. Not at once and not easily, but in the end we’ll get control. Which is all any law enforcement organization in the West has ever tried to do, get some sort of control. No one’s ever going to eradicate crime.’
Charlie didn’t try to extend it and Popov didn’t go on, instead trying to lighten the conversation by telling Hillary that the lack of fashion was an even greater problem in Moscow than crime, which Charlie thought was unfortunate in view of the difference between how Natalia and Hillary were dressed. It was only when the American tried to match the lightness with a comment about her protective suit that Natalia appeared to realize Popov had already met Hillary and knew who she was and Charlie, setting out on another objective straight line, encouraged Hillary to talk about it. Charlie was glad he hadn’t told her about four of the canisters recovered in Germany being empty. He hadn’t told Lyneham or Kestler, either. Or Natalia.
‘You make the carelessness – and the experimentation – sound criminal?’ suggested Natalia.
‘I believe it was. And is,’ agreed the American.
‘But you’re not solely accusing Russia?’ clarified Popov.
‘I’m accusing every nuclear nation.’
Charlie began to relax, content to let the discussion go on without him. He really wished he knew about Sasha.
‘But we’re the careless nation of the moment,’ Popov was saying.
‘That’s not an accusation,’ Hillary pointed out. It’s a fact. Why we’re all here.’ She smiled. ‘Although quite frankly I don’t understand why I’m still here: what I came for is all wrapped up now, isn’t it?’
‘It will be, with the trial in Germany.’
‘Which Aleksai will have to attend to give evidence,’ said Natalia, proudly Charlie thought.
He would have preferred to wait longer but the cue was too good. ‘London is beginning to question the cost of the entrapment idea.’
‘So soon!’ frowned Popov.
‘They’ve become accustomed to things happening quickly,’ said Charlie.
‘That’s no criteria,’ dismissed Natalia. ‘Although I don’t think the risks justify the outside chance of your learning anything worthwhile.’
Charlie wondered if Popov had told Natalia of the attempted intimidation and got his answer when Hillary said, ‘There’s a lot of big guys on our side but it’s costing a lot in cars.’
Natalia looked to each of them, finally to Charlie and said, ‘What happened?’
‘A car got burned out, that’s all. It was inevitable.’
Popov said, ‘There’s a lot of protection in place now.’
The remark obviously connected with Sasha in Natalia’s mind. ‘For how long?’
‘As long as is necessary,’ said Popov. ‘Or until London – or indeed Fomin or someone at his level – decides it’s a waste of time.’
‘Is that how you regard it?’ demanded Charlie.
‘What you’ve got so far is pretty low-level,’ said Popov. There had been positive criminal identification from the surveillance camera pictures of the men who had imported the computer chips and the cars: a Jaguar had actually gone to the Ugreshskaya salesroom from which Charlie had bought the BMWs.
‘This is becoming a serious party and parties aren’t supposed to be serious!’ protested Hillary, with sudden brightness.
‘And we do have something to celebrate,’ announced Popov.
‘What?’ demanded Hillary.
‘Natalia and I are getting married.’
The ebullient Hillary whooped and clapped and actually kissed Natalia on the cheek and demanded Charlie open more champagne, which he did and forced a token sip despite his dislike of the acidity. Hillary insisted upon a toast, which Charlie gave, and he congratulated Popov. Natalia looked at him fully again when he congratulated her and smiled and thanked him. Hillary occupied the remainder of the meal and during coffee afterwards, peppering Natalia with preparation questions, to which Popov smiled indulgently and Charlie half listened. He heard Natalia say she hoped to retire after the wedding and Popov said his ambition now was to get an apartment like Charlie’s. Just before they left Popov said perhaps Charlie and Hillary would come to the wedding when the plans were finalized and Hillary said they had their first acceptance if she was still in Moscow.
‘Isn’t that terrific!’ Hillary enthused, after Popov and Natalia left.
‘Terrific’
‘You didn’t mind me accepting for us, did you?’
‘No,’ he lied.
‘You know something odd?’
‘What?�
��
‘Natalia reminded me of the photograph that was here that first night I came back, after that business at the club.’
‘My sister,’ reminded Charlie, repeating the lie he’d made up at the time. ‘I suppose there’s a resemblance.’
‘I haven’t seen it around, incidentally. Or the one of the baby. There only seems to be the one of Edith now.’
‘They must be here somewhere,’ said Charlie, who’d put both in his embassy safe the day before Hillary had moved in, confident after his return from London that Bowyer wouldn’t intrude. He’d told Hillary that Edith had died, but not how or why.
‘Popov is as sexy as hell! I think Natalia’s a lucky girl, don’t you?’
‘Very,’ agreed Charlie.
‘Hey!’ said Hillary, misunderstanding his shortness. ‘I didn’t say he was my type! No need to get jealous!’
‘I’m not,’ denied Charlie.
Natalia was furious. They’d hardly spoken during the ride home and now she lay stiffly in the darkness, her body not touching his. She was glad of her cycle because she didn’t want to make love.
‘With Sasha at the crèche we could have gone back to my place: it’s nearer,’ Popov said.
‘This is the number they’ve got.’
There was a long silence. Finally he said, ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me where we were going! And why announce the wedding like that? And then invite them!’
‘I wanted it to be a surprise. And why shouldn’t I have told them we were getting married? I want everyone to know!’
‘It was of no interest to them.’
‘Hillary seemed excited.’
‘She’s that sort of girl.’
There was another silence, which Popov broke again. ‘Odd, how this business has brought them together.’
‘What’s odd about it? She’s a beautiful girl. He’s amusing.’
‘He wasn’t particularly amusing tonight.’
‘It would have been difficult, the way you took the evening over.’
‘One of us had to.’
‘What else has happened, apart from firing his car?’
‘There was an extortion attempt. And another car was rammed.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
She felt him shrug in the darkness. ‘It was nothing we didn’t expect. He’s got spetznaz people looking after him: that’s who checked us tonight when we arrived.’
‘But he’s under threat.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Then I don’t want him at the wedding. Sasha will be there. There could be a risk.’
‘We’ve invited them now.’
‘You invited them, I didn’t. I don’t want them!’
‘Tonight wasn’t a good idea, was it?’
‘No.’
‘I’m sorry. I’d apologized to him for the problems in the operation and we’ve seen a lot of each other and I thought it was an idea to get things on a friendly footing. I was wrong in not telling you where we were going and I’m sorry about that, too.’
‘How long will you be in Germany?’
‘I’ve no idea. Quite a while maybe.’
‘I don’t want the protection taken away from Sasha until you get back.’
‘It was a nuisance threat, nothing more.’
‘Not until you get back,’ she insisted. ‘And maybe not even then.’
Two days later, which wasn’t a Friday, Lieutenant Ranov came smiling into Charlie’s Dubrovskaya office and their conversation occupied most of the afternoon and settled some of Charlie’s outstanding questions as well as raising more. It also made him angry at things he’d missed. It meant he was late getting back to Lesnaya. Hillary said, ‘You’ve just missed Natalia. She called to thank us for the other night. Aleksai sent his regards.’
It wasn’t arranged for Natalia to call him until the following day, so it had to have been social politeness. He wondered what it would be like when they did talk.
chapter 33
From the beginning Charlie had accepted the primary function of his two spetznaz minders was to ensure he worked within the operational strait-jacket imposed by Dmitri Fomin rather than to provide him with physical protection, just as Ludmilla Ustenkov doubtless monitored everything he did at Dubrovskaya even more effectively than Thomas Bowyer had watched over him at the British embassy. The only time Charlie couldn’t be constantly accompanied was when he went either to the British or American legations, which he used as the excuse to move unobserved the day after Nikolai Ranov’s surprise approach at Dubrovskaya. Charlie did so acknowledging he was taking the biggest chance yet in a situation already too dangerous and that if he’d miscalulated by a single jot – like he’d for too long miscalculated by a lot more – then he was dead. Maybe literally. He’d taken every precaution he could during the previous day’s conversation with Ranov to ensure he wasn’t shuffling blindly into a lesson-teaching reprisal for refusing the extortion, putting everything he’d learned from Gusev about the internal upheaval in the Dolgoprudnaya Family against what the crooked Militia lieutenant told him. And still felt like he was crossing a splintering plank stretched over a snake-pit.
He actually did go to the British embassy, ducking and diving from the metro to trolley and back to the metro again, and there was a message waiting for him from London. To the confirmation of his being officially called as a witness at the Berlin trial, Rupert Dean added that it would obviously mark the formal ending of Charlie’s entrapment attempt. Dean questioned whether it was necessary for Charlie to go to Berlin so early to review his participation in the debriefing of the Russians and Charlie said the request was all part of the German fanaticism for detail: the attempted sting didn’t seem to be working anyway. The trial date gave Charlie just over a month. Everything depended on the chance he was taking and the man he was supposedly meeting and of his not making just one mistake. His talisman feet had every justification for throbbing like they did, quite apart from all the scurrying to avoid anyone discovering where he was going.
He gave himself a full hour and worked even harder at the evasion when he left Morisa Toreza. As he finally went up towards the Bolshoi square he saw that the traffic island flattened by the attacking Mercedes still hadn’t been repaired, twisted metal and glass and bollards just roped off and lying where they’d fallen. He was still early at the Metropole, so he allowed himself a steadying drink before taking the elevator to the third floor and the room stipulated the previous day by Nikolai Ranov.
It was the smiling Militia lieutenant, sports-jacketed and open-collared, who answered the door and gestured for Charlie to enter, and as he did Charlie thought these room arrival shocks really had to stop. Relaxed in an armchair in a room furnished in Odeon-cinema style was the man who’d demanded Hillary’s company at the Up and Down and whom Charlie had taunted there with a reciprocal invitation a month earlier. Charlie was reassured that the man was smiling, too, although it could, he supposed, have been in triumph.
‘Sobelov. Sergei Petrovich,’ introduced the man. He flicked between his fingers the card Charlie had forced upon him and said; ‘I know who you are. And you came without your people.’
Which might just have been that miscalculation of his life, accepted Charlie, because Sobelov’s usual companions were both at a window seat, hunched like Dobermans waiting for the attack signal. Nodding to the lieutenant, Charlie said, ‘I was asked to come alone.’
‘I wanted a gesture of trust.’ The Russian swept an inviting hand towards a chair arranged to face him and said, ‘Please.’ There was a selection of bottles and glasses on the table between them.
‘But you’re not alone.’
‘I wanted my proof first.’ The man leaned forward to pour unasked and said, ‘Macallan’s, isn’t it? Or would you prefer Roederer?’
‘Whisky’s fine.’ It wasn’t a lesson-teaching, Charlie decided: not a violent one, at least. That would have been in a back alley, at night, after
getting him alone, not in the grandest hotel in Moscow in broad daylight. He started to relax. Again indicating Ranov – who had gone to sit respectfully with the two protectors – Charlie said, ‘I was also told there was a special business proposition?’
The condescension went from Sobelov, with the smile. ‘Eight canisters. Something in the region of eighty kilos.’
Charlie cupped his glass in both hands and sipped his drink, not hurrying to reply, his mind in total confusion. Part of the Pizhma haul? Or another robbery, to learn of which was why he’d set himself up in business. The volume of plutonium was about right, but the rest of the equation didn’t make sense. But then neither did the four empty containers in Berlin. Different batch numbers, he remembered. That didn’t make sense, either. ‘Is this from the robbery there’s been all the publicity about?’
‘Yes.’
Excitement surged through Charlie. He didn’t understand why the figures didn’t add up or anything about empty containers in Berlin. Only that about eighty kilos they thought had gone – enough to make God knows how many bombs – was after all still in Russia, not in the hands of some madman or fanatical regime. He’d never been so glad in his life to be as wrong as he had been about it already having been smuggled out of the country. Cautiously, seeking time, Charlie said, ‘Eight canisters – eighty kilos – is a lot.’
Bomb Grade Page 41