The Moscow Sleepers

by Stella Rimington

  Her mind was on Martin Seurat, dead now for almost two years. Richard Pearson was the first man who had struck any spark in her since then and she wondered if she was feeling a twinge of regret – or even guilt – about this new man in her life. It must be even harder for Richard, she thought; his wife had died after years of happy marriage. She knew he had had relationships with other women since his wife’s death – he’d told her so – but nothing had proved serious. Which left unspoken what he thought would happen with Liz.

  Now he reached over and touched her hand lightly. She smiled.

  ‘I was just thinking about Martin. I don’t think he would want his memory to hang over us now.’

  ‘Funny you should say that,’ he said. ‘I was just thinking the same thing about Lucy.’

  By the time they reached central London they were travelling at little more than walking pace. The driver was an expert navigator, however, and managed to have Liz outside her Pimlico flat by eight thirty, which gave her time to change before going in to the office.

  Pearson said, ‘After the Chief Constables’ meeting I have a call scheduled with my Police and Crime Commissioner – he’s asked for a briefing on what’s been going on at Bartholomew Manor. I won’t go into too many details, but we’ll have to say something to the press pretty soon, since quite a few people will have noticed there’s been extensive police activity at the school.’

  ‘OK, but can you keep it fairly general for the moment? I’ll be discussing the angles with my colleagues first thing – could you join us after lunch? We can talk then about what we need to do next and lines to take with the press.’

  ‘Of course. I’d be glad to.’

  Peggy was at her desk in the open plan when Liz looked in and waved for her to join her in her office.

  ‘Well, what happened?’ Peggy looked at her questioningly. ‘You know,’ said Liz. ‘The important stuff.’

  ‘Do you mean my meeting with Miles?’

  ‘No. I mean your interview with the promotion board. How did it go?’

  Peggy started to speak, then stopped. ‘Go on,’ said Liz. ‘Spill the beans.’

  ‘Well, not bad, I think,’ Peggy said slowly. ‘But I won’t know until later today. Officially, that is.’

  ‘And unofficially?’

  ‘I saw DG in the lift. He wasn’t on my board but he seemed to know all about it.’

  ‘And … ?’

  Peggy was starting to smile. ‘He said he’d heard I’d given a “cracker of an interview”.’ Peggy’s face lit up with a big grin.

  ‘Yippee,’ said Liz. ‘I knew it.’ She was delighted, though a little sad too, since it made it much more likely that Peggy would be moved out of her section. Her promotion meant that she had been flagged for greater things, and inevitably the Service would want to put her in different sorts of postings to broaden her experience.

  The Geoffrey Fane who appeared in Liz’s office an hour later seemed a new man – or, rather, the self-confident Fane of old. He appeared to have recovered from the dreadful realisation that he had reached the age when he could retire. He’d had a haircut and it seemed he had paid a visit to his tailor; he was wearing an elegantly cut new suit of pinstriped grey. He sat down in the sole spare chair boasted by Liz’s small office and crossed one leg leisurely over the other, revealing bright yellow socks above his polished black brogues.

  ‘Smart socks, Geoffrey,’ said Liz.

  ‘Gift from a friend,’ he said breezily. He smiled in an avuncular way at Peggy, who was perched on the corner of Liz’s desk, as if to say that someday she might grow up to have friends too. Peggy and Liz glanced at each other. They were both thinking the same thing – Geoffrey’s got a girlfriend.

  ‘I’ve booked a meeting room,’ Peggy said, and they decamped from Liz’s tiny office to a roomier space along the corridor.

  As they sat down at one end of the conference table, Fane said, ‘I was hoping to bring Bruno along.’

  ‘I didn’t know he was back. Congratulations on getting him out so smoothly.’

  ‘Thank you – it all went tickety-boo, if I say so myself. But he isn’t back yet. He said he had some personal business to attend to in Berlin. God knows what that could be; he hasn’t any German relations that I know of.’ He caught the slightest grin on Peggy’s face and the smile Liz was trying to repress. ‘Why are you two smirking? Is there something I should know about Bruno and Berlin?’

  ‘Not at all, Geoffrey,’ said Liz. ‘We’re just delighted that Bruno is safely out of Russia.’

  Fane clearly didn’t believe her explanation and knowing him she was sure he would not rest until he had found out exactly what – or who – had taken Bruno to Berlin. ‘Anyway, he’s safe and sound – or as much as Bruno will ever be. But we can talk about Russia later.’ He looked at Liz. ‘You said there had been new developments on your side?’

  Liz nodded and gave a quick summary of events in Suffolk in the last few days. She described their further investigation into Bartholomew Manor – Miss Girling’s suspicious death, the call from Thomma and her interview with him, and the raid on the college.

  ‘So, this Miss Girling was an old teacher who’d been at the school for years and had been kept on by the new regime.’

  ‘I think they were using her as a sort of respectable front if people applied to the school and wanted to look round,’ said Peggy.

  ‘Yes. Her job was to put off nice middle-class parents – though I don’t think she knew that’s what she was there for.’

  ‘And then they murdered her?’ asked Fane, puzzled.

  ‘That’s what the pathologist said. She was strangled before she was hanged with a rope. And we found the identical kind of rope in the wardrobe of the bedroom that the headmaster’s assistant Cicero had used. It’s not proof enough for a court, but it certainly wasn’t suicide and I’m pretty confident it was Cicero who killed her. He was a really sinister character. He followed me after I’d visited the school and I’m pretty sure he broke into my flat to scare me off.’

  ‘My dear Elizabeth. I hope you’ve had the locks changed. But why kill a harmless old lady?’

  ‘They must have been worried that she was spying on them and learning too much. What do you think, Peggy? You interviewed her.’

  ‘Yes. She certainly wasn’t a natural spy. I just hope it wasn’t what I said that caused her to act suspiciously.’

  ‘I think it was more likely that she had been taking a close interest in the boy Thomma. From what he said, she had promised to take him to church with her and they wouldn’t have liked that. That’s the obvious explanation, I think.’

  ‘I sense a “but”, don’t I?’ asked Fane.

  ‘Well, only because we’ll never know for sure. The three main characters have disappeared.’

  ‘That sounds like a regular balls-up. What happened? From what I’ve heard they should have been sitting ducks.’

  ‘I know,’ said Liz, annoyed at the suggestion in Fane’s tone that this was somehow her fault. ‘You can have apologies from Border Force, the Coastguard and the Suffolk Constabulary if that’s what you want. But it isn’t going to help. Those three got away. They could be anywhere.’

  ‘Europe?’ asked Fane almost hopefully.

  ‘Anywhere on the continent. Or Moscow, more likely. Once they got away they won’t have hung about.’

  Peggy added, ‘Despite that, we’ve found out quite a lot about these operations. They all seem linked. The children were initially selected in Hamburg, then the Head of the Freitang school there, Irma Nimitz, sent them off – to the UK, but also to America to Vermont University. One of the older ones who’d stayed in Vermont came on to Bartholomew Manor when the US operation was aborted. The FBI have confirmed it’s the same guy.’

  ‘I hope you’ve got him under lock and key.’

  ‘Something like that,’ said Liz, since it seemed pointless to explain that Aziz, like all the students at the college, was just an innocent dupe of those behind
the operation. ‘But the real issue is what the Russians were hoping to get out of these linked operations. Because it is very clear that the Russians are behind all this, using their long-time recruit Irma Nimitz, the Head of the school in Hamburg.’

  ‘I should think it’s perfectly obvious.’ Fane leaned back in his chair with a sigh, looking superior. ‘They were training these refugees in cyber subversion, of course. I don’t claim myself to understand how it all works but take it from me, that’s what it was all about.’

  ‘Yes, Geoffrey. I’m sure you’re right. We’ve been in touch with GCHQ and someone from the National Cyber Security Centre is going down to talk to the students and find out exactly what they were doing. I couldn’t get a lot of sense out of the boy Thomma when I interviewed him because he only really knew about the part he was involved in, and I’m not an expert in this sort of stuff either.’

  ‘You need to be careful. There’s a lot of trouble in Germany over the Hamburg end of this,’ said Fane. ‘Questions in their Parliament. A huge fuss in the press about the immigration policy. Why was the school not better monitored? How could a Russian spy have been appointed as Head? Why did the BfV not know about the Nimitzes? How did he get a job in the European Commission and was he working for the Russians there? The head of the BfV may have to resign, and the interior minister too.’ He sighed. ‘It’s almost worse that the Nimitz couple were uncovered. Might have been better if no one had ever known they were “Cold War spies”, as the media put it.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Liz. ‘The three men from Bartholomew Manor would have been exposed as well if there hadn’t been a cock-up with the coastal services. They were hanging around at the college for more than twelve hours after young Thomma escaped. Why?’

  ‘The escape plan wasn’t in place, I imagine,’ said Fane briskly, staring at Liz. He was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Elizabeth.’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure myself,’ said Liz. She wanted to think this through but needed to do so on her own. ‘Shall we break for lunch now? Geoffrey, I would be happy to treat you to the best from our canteen.’

  Fane shook his head, suppressing a shudder at the thought. He looked at his watch. ‘That’s very good of you, Elizabeth, but actually I have a lunch appointment. Shall we reconvene here at two thirty?’

  ‘Yes, and I’ve invited the Chief Constable of Suffolk to join us; he’s in London for a meeting this morning.’

  48

  Liz found herself alone – Fane had sauntered off to his rendezvous, and though Peggy had apparently gone back to her desk, there was no sign of her when Liz went to look for her. She had arranged to meet Pearson in the front of Thames House at two fifteen, but it was only half past twelve now, so she decided to leave the building for a stroll. She wanted to sort out exactly what this complicated series of events had been about.

  On the Embankment, the sun was making a rare autumnal appearance, flooding the river’s surface with a low, misty light. She hesitated between directions, then decided to walk west towards the Tate. There she found tour buses jamming the inner kerb, and tourists taking selfies on the front steps. Weaving a way through them, looking for something peaceful to help her clear her mind, she ignored the notices for the special exhibitions and went into the Modern galleries, where she found old favourites and a new one – the latter wearing a dark suit and staring at a large Francis Bacon triptych.

  She said from eighteen inches behind his broad shoulders, ‘What do you think of that then, governor?’

  He didn’t move an inch, but said slowly, ‘Not sure. I know he’s a great painter and all that, and there’s undoubtedly enormous power to the picture, but I have to say it’s not exactly cheering.’

  Liz laughed as Pearson turned around with a broad smile on his face. ‘Great minds think alike, I see,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d be up to your neck in meetings and that I should kill a bit of time. Seems you had the same idea.’

  ‘The meetings are over for the time being and everyone’s sloped off to lunch. I actually came in here to think and then I spotted you. But I can’t think in front of a Francis Bacon. Why don’t we walk over and look at the Turners?’

  They spent twenty peaceful minutes in the Clore Gallery without much conversation. Outside again, they walked back slowly west towards Thames House, passing a group of schoolchildren eating hot dogs bought from a cart.

  ‘I’m starving,’ said Liz.

  ‘Want one?’ asked Pearson, and he walked over and bought two. They ate them sitting on a bench facing the Thames.

  ‘I wonder if I could persuade you to come back to Suffolk this weekend,’ said Pearson. ‘It would be an enormous help if you would come with me to a meeting with my Police and Crime Commissioner on Saturday morning. He’s very supportive but he’s feeling a bit out of his depth in this Bartholomew Manor business. Not surprisingly, to be fair. It’s not the sort of thing rural forces normally get involved in. I think he’d find it very reassuring to meet you.’

  ‘Well, yes, I could,’ said Liz. ‘I could come up on the train first thing. What time is the meeting?’

  ‘Ten thirty. I could meet you at Ipswich station at about ten. The meeting’s at our main headquarters, not far from there. Then,’ he went on, ‘I was going to try out a boat that Geoff Gumm is lending me. Do you fancy a bit of sailing? The weather is forecast to be quite good.’

  Liz hesitated but only for a moment. ‘Why not?’ she said. ‘I won’t be a lot of use but you can tell me which ropes to pull. And it would be great to blow away a few cobwebs.’

  As they approached Thames House Liz was saying, ‘You’ll have to go through the visitors’ entrance, but I’ve told them you’re coming,’ just as a voice called from the steps.

  ‘Liz!’ It was Peggy, standing at the top of the steps, wearing her winter coat and beaming.

  ‘Hello,’ said Liz, catching sight of another figure walking away towards Horseferry Road. Even from the back he seemed familiar, but she didn’t have time to think who it was because Peggy had run down the steps towards her.

  ‘I got it!’ Peggy exclaimed. ‘I got the promotion.’ Throwing her usual reserve aside, she gave Liz an enormous hug.

  Laughing, Liz extricated herself and gestured towards Pearson. ‘You’ve met the Chief Constable, I think.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Peggy, slightly abashed.

  She shook hands with Pearson, who was smiling at Peggy’s obvious joy. ‘Congratulations,’ he said politely. ‘I’m sure it’s very well deserved.’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ Peggy said modestly, but then she beamed again at Liz. ‘Thank you so much for recommending me, I’m really thrilled.’

  ‘We must celebrate. Can we have a drink together this evening?’

  Peggy suddenly looked embarrassed. ‘Could it be another day, Liz? You see, Miles has just asked me out to dinner.’ She blushed and Liz realised why she had recognised the back of the youthful man heading off towards Horseferry Road. It was Miles Brookhaven.

  *

  Fane was only slightly late and had clearly lunched well. He had the flushed face and the faint smell of good food and wine that spoke of a couple of hours spent in his club. Liz introduced him to Pearson, and Fane gave the newcomer a quick once-over with suspicious eyes. Liz was amused to see that even with his new lady friend, if indeed she existed, Fane was still alert for any competition for the position of top dog in the room. But something about Pearson’s quiet confidence seemed to soothe Fane’s proprietary vigilance when it came to Liz.

  ‘Chief Constable,’ she said, addressing Pearson and feeling slightly absurd using his title, ‘thank you for joining us. We will want to discuss the fallout from events in Suffolk shortly, but I’d like first to finish up where we left off this morning. Geoffrey,’ she said, turning to Fane, ‘we were discussing why the various Russian operations have been so easily discovered.’

  ‘Easily? Did I say that?’ mused Fane.

&nbs
p; ‘Not exactly, but let’s take a minute to think about what we know. The scandal in Germany that you were describing this morning came about because of a leak; otherwise the death of Irma and Dieter Nimitz would have passed as a violent domestic quarrel – nasty but not remarkable. But someone told the media that they were Cold War spies. Who knew that? We did, but we didn’t leak it; Herr Lamme swears it wasn’t from his people. The only others who knew the story were … the Russians.’

  ‘But why would they want to do that?’ asked Peggy. ‘Surely they’d want to protect their operation and the fact that they’d planted these two Illegals?’

  ‘Not necessarily. Think about what’s happened because of the leak. It’s caused havoc in Germany and may even bring down the government. It has the German security services tied up in knots, wondering if anyone and everyone is secretly working for the Russians. And it hasn’t actually hurt the FSB at all. It’s magnified their reputation for disruption while maximising that disruption in their traditional enemy – Germany.’

  Fane chipped in. ‘What about in America?’

  Peggy said, ‘That operation was stillborn because Petersen died. They couldn’t put anyone else in to take his place; Petersen had been there several years. And young Aziz wasn’t a trained agent; he couldn’t take on the operation. He was just there to do what Petersen told him to do – but Petersen went and died.’

  ‘And what about here in Suffolk?’

  This time it was Liz who replied. ‘Ah, that’s where they were really clever. They set up their operation in an existing college, got their recruits – these young men from the Hamburg school – chosen for them by Irma Nimitz, and went to work, preparing to do as much cyber damage as they could. We’ll have to wait till the cyber security team have done their enquiries to see exactly what was going on. I expect some of it would have been plain destructive hacking – what our young friend Thomma was being trained to do. Some of it would, I’m sure, have been a lot more sophisticated and damaging.’