‘That seems …’ began Gower slowly, searching how to explain himself. Charlie talked across him. ‘What was the final thing I said to you at the last meeting?’
‘Something …’ Gower stopped abruptly, suspecting another test and remembering the instruction to recall everything, word for word. ‘I asked if what we were doing had a title. You said “It’s called survival.’”
Charlie smiled, pleased. ‘If you as much as think an operation is blown get out: save yourself and maybe the operation. Let someone else come in after you to take it over …’ Charlie saw the other man prepare to speak. ‘That’s not failing: giving up. That’s being professional.’
‘It’s not been explained to me like that before.’
‘For Christ’s sake lose your public school pretension. You haven’t joined a club your father put you down for at birth. Road-sweepers and refuse-collectors go around the streets, picking up the shit and muck that people cause. Our job is picking up the shit and muck that governments and countries cause.’ He remembered virtually the same exchange with Patricia Elder: she hadn’t appeared to accept it.
Gower took the proper turning off the motorway, heading into Berkshire.
‘Isn’t there some inverted snobbery there somewhere?’
‘Complete objectivity,’ insisted Charlie. Not completely true, he conceded. Always a problem: always a self-admitted fault. He was uncomfortable the inherent attitude had shown through.
At the creeper-clad Georgian mansion they had to sign in at a reception desk to one side of the huge entrance hall. The straight-backed man who recorded their arrival would have medals at home, guessed Charlie, recalling Patricia Elder’s threat: being a teacher was definitely better than being part of the security staff at a safe house. Charlie chose a preparation time of fifteen minutes, ignoring Gower’s questioning look, leading the way into a small but immaculately maintained drawing-room.
There was a bowl of roses on a piano set in the larger of two window areas, with a low table and two easy chairs to the right. There was an arrangement of magazines on the table. Near the door was an open-fronted display case, showing a series of miniature porcelain figurines set out on the shelves. There was a spray of dried flowers filling the cold fireplace. At either end of an elaborately carved marble mantelpiece there were porcelain statues of red-coated Georgian military figures. Between the figures there was a porcelain-cased clock, the bottom half-glassed to show the wheeled movement. A large couch fronted the fireplace, with matching chairs either side. A padded leather fender sealed off the fireplace, with a magazine lodged on one corner. There were two bookcases, one open, one glass-doored and closed, to the left. The open bookcase had a protruding reading ledge. There were books on it, one lying open. A telephone stood on an adjacent glass-topped table. The curtains in the second window annex were draped almost to meet at the top of the rail, looping down practically to the floor. They were held back by plaited crimson cords.
‘Room intrusion!’ recognized Gower.
‘Standard rules,’ acknowledged Charlie. ‘It’s a room you’ve been allocated, possible in unfriendly surroundings. You occupy it briefly, then leave. You’ve got to itemize the indications of it having been searched.’
Gower walked carefully around the room just once before announcing that everything was registered in his mind and that he was ready. They left the room for the ex-army duty officer to go through the pretence of a search. When the man recalled them, Gower repeated the examination he’d made to imprint everything in his mind but this time turned back on himself, retracing the route to return to the centre, by the couch. He missed ten items that had been rearranged by the duty officer.
‘Shit!’ said Gower, viciously, when they were pointed out to him.
‘Your advantage was knowing there had been some rearrangement: you’ll never know that for certain, in a genuine situation,’ lectured Charlie. ‘Your mistake was looking for the probable tricks. Play your own. Leave something ajar when you leave a room. A searcher invariably closes a door, after looking to see what’s inside. You can even extend it. In a hotel room you’ll have a suitcase, which would have to be looked at by anyone going though your things. Leave one lock secure, the other one open, and remember the sequence. Again it’s instinctive for anyone looking through to resecure the locks. Keep that in mind if you’re doing the searching: always remember what’s open and what’s closed.’
‘I missed too much,’ insisted Gower.
‘In an operational situation you only have to realize one thing is out of place to know you’ve been turned over. You’re not expected to score a hundred per cent.’
Charlie took the duty officer’s recommendation of a pub with outside tables in an orchard with chickens running free, pecking at the fallen apples. Gower ordered beer, like Charlie, and drank with obvious enjoyment. Charlie eased his shoes off. Each was well into the first pint when Gower said suddenly: ‘I’m quite nervous, you know.’
Charlie frowned across the rough wood table. ‘About what?’
‘The job. What it will be like. Because that’s the trouble: there’s no way of knowing what it will be like, is there? Not really like. I wish I wasn’t. Nervous, I mean.’
‘I’m glad you are,’ said Charlie. ‘It gives you the right edge. I’ve never known an over-confident intelligence officer who was good at his job.’
‘You were operational?’
Charlie swallowed at the use of the past tense, nodding again.
‘Tell me what it’s like!’
At once aware of the man’s need, Charlie said: ‘There are some generalities. You’ll usually be working alone. So you’ll be lonely: miserable. It’s not uncommon, if you are sent in to a foreign capital, to be ordered to keep away from the embassy, to avoid it becoming compromised if anything goes wrong. If you are attached in any way to an overseas embassy, you’ll be unwelcome: diplomats are always frightened of people like us. You’ll make mistakes. A lot of the things you’ll be sent to do won’t work: most don’t, in fact. A success rate of twenty per cent is excellent.’
‘A failure rate that high isn’t going to look good on a personnel record.’
‘Hold it, now!’ cautioned Charlie, glad of the conversation. ‘We’re back to public school now, without the pretensions. Don’t ever look upon what you’re doing like it earns high or low marks to be totted up for a good end-of-term report.
‘Always remember an operation aborted or simply walked away from is better than a diplomatic incident that requires ministerial apologies to foreign governments and statements in the House of Commons. If anything goes wrong, you’ll be disowned: become a non-person.’
‘You’re not painting a very pretty picture,’ complained Gower.
Charlie had to put his shoes back on to go inside the pub for more drinks. When he returned to the table he didn’t immediately sit. Standing over Gower he said: ‘It isn’t a pretty picture. Ever. It’s not even exciting. Nine times out of ten it’s boring, dull routine: checking files or official registers, conning your way past officialdom, trying to make sense out of nonsense.’
‘You married?’ demanded Gower, suddenly. He held up both hands, in a shielding gesture. ‘All right! I know it’s a personal question, which isn’t allowed. But it’s important to me.’
Charlie hesitated, finally sitting down. ‘I was once.’
‘Divorced?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘She was killed.’
‘I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories.’
‘It’s OK,’ said Charlie, which was a lie. It would never be OK: there would always be the guilt that Edith had intentionally put herself between him and the gun of the deranged CIA official whom he’d exposed in retribution for an earlier joint-service decision to sacrifice him. The long-ago time of the Cold War, recalled Charlie, without any nostaligia: it had been an actual crossing through the Berlin Wall, with final proof of a Russian espionage ring operating out of London. ‘Why’s it important for
you to know?’
‘How can you live with someone – get married, have kids – without ever telling them what you really do?’ demanded Gower. ‘It’s got to be unnatural: impossible. People talk about their jobs. Go to the firm’s events, stuff like that. How can you go through life living a lie with someone whom you’re supposed to love? Cheating them all the time?’
Charlie sighed. ‘When I married my wife she was the personal assistant to the Director-General: she knew what I did. Her knowing made it more difficult. Whenever I was away on assignment, she went through hell.’
‘You saying it goes beyond security: that it’s better if a wife doesn’t know?’
‘Are you married?’
‘Not yet. There is a girl.’
‘I’m saying it’s something everyone has to work out for themselves.’ Charlie paused. ‘Any of your illustrious other instructors teach you properly how to lie?’
Gower gazed back at Charlie across the table. ‘No!’ he said, close to indignation.
Charlie sighed again. ‘Christ, I’ve got an awful lot to teach you, haven’t I?’
*
The transfer of much of the KGB to the Russian Federation after the Commonwealth of Independent States was formed from the old Soviet Union meant that as the head of the old First Chief Directorate Natalia Fedora inherited practically intact the entire overseas network of the renamed external security agency. And a lot more responsibility besides.
In addition to what she had controlled in the past it was now necessary to have intelligence facilities in the former satellite countries like Poland and Hungary and Czechoslovakia of whose intelligence services the KGB was no more the overall controller, but instead despised, no longer accepted interlopers. Added to which was the need to establish completely new networks in the republics of the new Commonwealth, now technically foreign sovereign states in which any legacy of the old KGB which once ruled them by terror was not merely despised but considered criminal intrusion.
The only practical way for Natalia to run such a sprawling empire was to delegate, which she did both to create the service she wanted and, equally important, in the hope of forestalling any danger from Fyodor Tudin, whom she objectively regarded as an enemy whose every move had to be anticipated and watched, at all times.
She had appointed the man head of the Commonwealth republics division. It was unarguably a prestige position of real and proper power, impossible for Tudin, one of the few old guard KGB survivors, to perceive as a demeaning secondary post. So demanding was the creation and supervision of such a division that Natalia intended the man to be occupied to the exclusion of everything else, certainly any conspiracy against her.
But Fyodor Tudin was a resourceful and energetic man, a very bad enemy to have.
Walter Foster was surprised the query had come by wire and not in the diplomatic bag, because there didn’t seem any reason for urgency. And airline-carried diplomatic mail only normally took two days between London and Beijing. The resident intelligence liaison officer shrugged, long ago having given up trying to make sense from a very great deal of what London asked.
It was a short reply, taking him only minutes to encode. Because the message had come by wire, it was regulations that he reply by the same route. That also took only minutes.
His message said: Hunter journey ends two weeks.
The following day the People’s Daily carried a leading article threatening the strongest measures against foreign interventionists fomenting counter-revolution within the country.
Ten
Li stayed closer to Jeremy Snow than a second skin. In every hotel the reservation was for a shared, two-occupancy room. Always Li chose as their restaurant setting small, two-place tables away from any chance encounter with other Chinese. The man invariably positioned himself on buses or trains to create a physical barrier between Snow and other passengers. The initial morning in Zhengzhou – and at every subsequent hotel -he accompanied the priest to the communal shower facilities, outside the washing cubicle when Snow entered, damply on duty when Snow emerged. No conversation between them was ever interrupted by Snow needing a lavatory: every time, Li seemed to feel the same need and occupied the adjoining space. He waited dutifully outside of lavatory cubicles. Each day he offered to dispatch any correspondence Snow wanted sent during their journey, while they travelled. Each day Snow said he did not intend to send any. Li kept asking.
It was Li who established the regime for their conversations: Mandarin when they were sufficiently away from the possibility of other Chinese joining in, English when they were among people, but loudly spoken and with many official references, proclaiming his escort function to create the block against the frequent Chinese eagerness to practise the language with a foreigner. At the beginning in Zhengzhou, Snow had feared the usual approach from money-changers, convinced from the outset that Li would have summoned a plainclothes policeman or detained the man himself, but so obvious was Li’s authority that they were never once solicited.
Li was also a diligent questioner, but too eager. The man started, with seeming innocence, by praising Snow’s command of Chinese but alerted Snow at once by asking why he had perfected the language and why he was in China. In Beijing, which had appointed Li his escort, all those details were listed on his Foreign Ministry accreditation, to which the Chinese would have had access.
Because they were known, Snow talked easily of being a priest – even of his particular Order – but quickly insisted on his contentment at currently teaching English.
‘How can you be content, having abandoned your calling?’
‘I believe the need for what I am doing now is as much a calling,’ said Snow, wishing he had a stronger answer.
Li missed the opportunity to press the point, instead trying to hurry a comparison between Western theology and Mao’s version of Marxist-Leninist philosophy. Snow agreed that religion was a philosophy sometimes obscured by complicated mysticism but asked in return if the two thousand years of Western religion and the even longer Confucian, Buddhist and Taoist philosophies in China hadn’t proved more durable than the communism now abandoned in the Soviet Union and its former satellites. From someone so clearly – so proudly – a Party zealot, Snow expected the recorded-message response of Mao’s interpretation being the pure creed to continue forever, not the corrupted doctrine of self-serving criminals in Moscow. Instead Li accepted that Christianity and Confucianism and Buddism and Taoism were formidable persuasions to be respected, pointing out that the three Asian philosophies were recognized in China, as was Catholicism. Snow considered making the point that Confucian and Buddhist and Taoist temples existed more as tourist attractions than as places of worship. He was glad of his restraint when Li asked, still in open-faced innocence, if Snow believed communism was a philosophy as doomed in China as everywhere else. Snow at once insisted he was apolitical. Li abandoned the conversation, as if it were of no importance, but tried to re-introduce it on four further occasions, each time phrasing differently the questions which, responded to wrongly, could have brought against Snow accusations of a counterrevolutionary attitude. Snow did not once respond wrongly.
By the second day of their travelling together Snow accepted that Li was assembling a file upon him. He confronted the awareness without undue concern: Father Robertson had openly warned of such a possibility, when Snow had talked of being officially escorted for more than half the journey. Snow believed he handled the personal questioning as smoothly as he had everything else, disclosing nothing he did not think the authorities already knew and had on record about him. Li expertly extracted the information by comparison, offering facts about himself to get responses from Snow, and although the priest was not sure Li would ever become someone of sufficient importance he mentally created a matching file on the Chinese, in the event of his emerging at any level in the Gong An Ju security service, to which he was convinced the man aspired if he was not an already overly enthusiastic member.
It tr
anspired that they were the same age. Li volunteered an education at Shanghai University, identifying himself as the only son of parents who dutifully obeyed the government edict on the correct size of the family unit. Snow ignored the invitation to criticize the penalty-enforced method of Chinese birth-control, saying that he, too, was an only child. He avoided disclosing that his now dead father had been a general whose career culminated as NATO second-in-command of land-based forces in Europe, knowing that would elevate the importance of whatever information Li was gathering upon him. Li said he was married, with a son of three: it would, of course, be the only child he and his wife would consider having. When Snow said priests in his Order did not marry, the Chinese nodded and remarked that celibacy was a Buddhist tenet as well. It was after that particular exchange that Li made one of his other attempts to get an ill-considered response from Snow about the future of Chinese communism. Snow completed his file on the other man by manipulating a typical vacation photograph session, posing the escort in three different settings in Anqing, around the middle of the tour. Li responded at once, producing from a rucksack a camera of which Snow had, until that moment, been unaware. The Chinese seemed to have a problem getting someone of Snow’s height into the frame, bending and twisting for a final elevation.
Snow had given the authorities in Beijing a vacation as the reason for his travelling throughout the country, and although it would also have been listed on the paperwork held by Li the Chinese still asked, in more than one way and on more than one occasion, why Snow was making such an extensive tour. Snow said that he saw it as essential to his teaching work in China to travel as widely as possible, to increase his understanding and perfect his command of the language. It was the cue for another entrapment attempt. Li asked openly – his first crude demand – if Snow saw his work as converting people to his faith. Snow insisted he did not live and work in China to practise as a priest but as a teacher of English. His faith was his own: he did not seek to preach it to others. What did he do if someone asked about his religion? Explain it. To convert? To reply to a question. How many people had asked for an explanation during his current journey? None. Was he disappointed? He felt nothing to be disappointed about: the purpose of his journey was to see and better understand the country and this he was doing. He was not a practising priest. Li industriously cleaned his spectacles, a gesture which over the course of several days Snow had come to recognize as a mark of frustration at having failed in whatever he was trying to achieve.
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