Charlie’s Apprentice cm-10

by Brian Freemantle

  And by doing so destroyed whatever there could have been between them, personally.

  Natalia believed she could have settled with Charlie, in England: certainly now, with the baby. It would have been difficult at first, of course: horrendously so, because she would never have been a defector, never prepared to disclose any secrets from her organization, any more than Charlie had ever been prepared – truthfully – to disclose anything from his side. So the official pressure upon her – upon both of them – would have been staggering. But with Charlie she could have endured it, eventually for them to have been together.

  In the solitude of her Yasenevo office, Natalia shook her head, as if trying physically to throw off the reminiscence. What might have been could never be: so why had she bothered to go through the charade she had for so long denied herself?

  Having at last posed herself the question, Natalia forced herself to answer it, properly for the first time. Because she hadn’t embarked upon it as a meaningless routine, unnecessarily stirring old memories better left undisturbed. She’d studied the dossier with a very determined objective, and the disappointment she felt now was not that of lost chances in the past but of not finding what she had been looking for, in the future.

  She’d been seeking the slightest clue from which she might have been able once more to find Charlie. But hadn’t found it.

  Within twenty-four hours, in another part of the same building, Fyodor Tudin wondered if he had found the indication he had been seeking, when he learned from her signature against the withdrawal authority that Natalia had studied the file on the Englishman with whom she was linked, in her own personal files.

  Was there a weak spot there after all, he wondered.

  They’d considered all of Jeremy Snow’s material, working on Miller’s side of the desk with their chairs familiarly together but without any physical contact or even conversation as they went through each report and each photograph. Finally the Director-General said: ‘He did well: damn well.’

  ‘It’s unfortunate it has to turn out like this,’ agreed Patricia Elder.

  ‘Never forget the cardinal principle,’ reminded Miller. ‘The means always justifies the end.’

  ‘Let’s hope it does,’ said the woman.

  Fifteen

  ‘Their separate accounts contradict each other, to a large degree, but it’s fairly obvious there is some suspicion.’ As he talked Peter Miller, who was concerned with neatness and order in all things, assembled in edge-to-edge stacks on his desk what had arrived overnight from Beijing. Snow’s information and opinion formed the larger pile, then the photographs, and finally Walter Foster’s account. The Director-General did so with his head habitually to the right, to benefit his better vision from that side.

  Patricia Elder nodded, in agreement. ‘But just how much? We can’t get a single thing wrong, not now.’

  Miller finished his assembly, finally reaching across for her hand. ‘Foster is clearly over-reacting, even this early.’

  ‘What’s the greater risk? Leaving Foster in place? Or bringing him out right away?’

  ‘If we bring him out, there can’t be any official accusation from the Chinese.’

  ‘The speed of it all is what surprises me,’ admitted the deputy. ‘I would have thought it would be much more gradual.’

  Miller shook his head, in a warning gesture. ‘He was moving through closed areas. And maybe he hasn’t picked up the observation until now. Or not thought it important enough to report it, putting it down to the normal attention paid to Westerners permanently resident in China. Let’s not forget it’s Foster who is using phrases like “heightened surveillance” and marking everything urgent.’

  ‘Snow does concede that Li is probably a member of the Public Security Bureau,’ the woman pointed out. She rose from beside Miller, taking her chair with her.

  ‘Every official escort acts as an informer.’ The man paused. ‘I wish we could go back for more definite guidance.’

  ‘We can’t risk that,’ she said at once. ‘We’ve got to go blind: make the decisions from here.’

  There was an interruption on the intercom, closed from Miller’s end from the frequent open communication. The Director ordered the promised tea in five minutes: by the time Julia Robb entered, the second chair was returned to its normal position on the other side of his desk and Patricia Elder was already sitting there. Neither spoke until the girl left the room. As Miller served he said: ‘The suddenness is surprising.’

  The woman took the offered cup. ‘I’m not arguing against myself, but let’s remember just how little we’ve got to guide us on how and when the Chinese will react about anything. This isn’t any longer the Soviet Union and the KGB, which we spent all those years studying and thought we could anticipate.’ She gestured towards Miller’s tidily arranged piles. ‘No matter how well placed we might have thought ourselves, we’re still just scratching the surface as far as Chinese intelligence goes.’

  ‘I don’t think we panic, because of what Foster says,’ mused the Director. ‘Or stay complacent, which Snow appears to be.’

  From their ten years of professionally working together, apart from their deeper relationship, Patricia recognized the move towards a decision. ‘We don’t bring Foster out at once?’

  ‘Not quite yet,’ decided Miller. ‘But we can’t have him keeping the meeting Snow’s demanded. That’s a stupid risk. We’ll send Snow a message, for a drop delivery. They will have to wait for an embassy excuse personally to talk. There’s the People’s Daily warnings. And what Liu Yin claimed, at the press conference.’

  ‘What about an emergency?’

  The Director considered the demand. ‘We’ll tell Snow to wait, for our signal. But make it clear to Foster that he can take an on-ground decision personally if there’s no time to consult. He’s to warn Snow to be ready to get out, of course. And say so, in a message here.’

  Miller began rearranging the Beijing information, like someone playing with worry beads. ‘As it is, we’ve got a tremendous amount to follow up …’ He hesitated, halted by an abrupt thought. ‘We must congratulate Snow. A personal cable, separate from the fresh instructions.’

  ‘I’ll get it all away tonight,’ promised Patricia. She remained looking pointedly at the man. ‘What about tonight?’

  Miller smiled back at her across the table. ‘Ann’s taken two horses up to Newmarket. She’ll be there for at least three days, for the major part of the sale.’

  ‘Good,’ said Patricia. Jeremy Snow wasn’t the only one not prepared to tolerate an existing situation, she thought. She’d been very patient – stupidly and regrettably so – but Peter had to make a decision soon. He couldn’t go on evading things.

  Charlie managed three contrived encounters – two in the lift, the other when she was heading for the basement dining-hall for lunch – but each time Julia Robb refused the persistent invitation. She agreed finally on his fourth attempt, surprising him: he’d been about to give up. They agreed on the Spaniards, on Hampstead Heath. He got there considerately early and had almost finished his first Islay malt before Julia arrived. She wore jeans and a sweater big enough to reach to mid-thigh, like a short coat, and she was shiny-faced, with only the vaguest suggestion of lipline. She chose beer, further surprising him. There were no vacant tables and Charlie was glad. Proper drinkers stood in pubs, they didn’t sit: one of Charlie’s few affectations was to consider himself a proper drinker. They found space near the corner of the bar.

  ‘This your local?’ He recognized the first-meeting uneasiness. It wasn’t work – not proper work, where deceit was all part of the business – and Charlie always felt a vague regret at cheating the innocent. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, he reassured himself. He liked John Wayne movies, looking out for reruns on television.

  ‘I come here occasionally.’

  ‘A long way from the office.’

  ‘That was a factor, too.’

  ‘Frightened of gossi
p?’

  ‘Misunderstandings.’

  Charlie touched his glass to hers. ‘By two people in particular?’ Charlie didn’t want to go too fast but he didn’t want to waste time, either. This might be his only chance.

  The woman looked steadily at him. ‘No shop talk, OK?’

  ‘Just talking generally.’

  ‘They probably wouldn’t like it,’ she conceded.

  She was suspiciously cautious: he needed to ease back. ‘Why did you say yes, at last?’

  There was a grin lurking at the corners of her mouth, but she was trying to control it. ‘You’ll be offended.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Buy me another drink: if you storm off there’ll be something for me to stand here with in my hand.’

  Charlie grinned back, beginning to like the encounter. He was lucky: there was a barmaid at their end of the bar. He handed Julia the refill and said: ‘So?’

  ‘You’re so bloody odd!’ she blurted. ‘I mean …’ Julia’s shoulders humped up and down. ‘That’s the only words for it: just bloody odd.’ She paused. ‘And there’s something else that doesn’t matter …’

  Charlie was unsure how to pick up on that. He said: ‘Like going out with a man with one leg, an act of Christian charity?’

  ‘What a load of self-pitying bollocks!’ Julia erupted, laughing openly at him. ‘I can’t really believe you said that!’

  That hadn’t gone the way it should have done. ‘I can’t either.’

  ‘I knew you’d be offended.’

  ‘I’m not.’ Charlie sought a different way forward. ‘I’m glad you accepted, anyway.’

  ‘Why?’

  Shit! thought Charlie, off-balanced again. ‘It’s fun.’

  ‘Too soon to know whether it’s fun or not,’ she insisted.

  This was turning out to be a bloody sight more difficult than he’d expected. ‘We’ll postpone the verdict, until another time.’

  ‘Who said there’s going to be another time?’

  ‘You’re right. I might not ask you again.’

  ‘I might not accept, if you do.’

  ‘You should be considerate to those forcibly retired.’

  Julia frowned. ‘You’re not retired.’

  ‘Fact of life. You can’t argue with it.’

  ‘They seemed impressed with what you’ve just finished,’ she offered.

  Now we’re getting there, decided Charlie, happily. ‘You must find it bloody difficult, acting for both of them: worked off your feet?’ He kept the remark as casual as he could, not even looking at her in the end, turning to motion for more drinks.

  ‘They created the system, where they were before.’ She smiled again. ‘They work incredibly closely all the time: it’s obviously more efficient that I know what’s going on with both of them. There’s a whole battery of secretaries to do the heavy stuff.’

  He handed her the fresh glass. ‘You actually telling me it’s easy?’

  ‘I’m not telling you anything,’ Julia said, pointedly. ‘You forgotten what I told you the first day? I don’t – ever – talk about the job.’

  Keep it light, determined Charlie, quickly. ‘Or get too familiar with the staff.’

  ‘That, too. That most of all.’

  ‘I wasn’t asking you to do either.’

  ‘You were coming close.’

  ‘I’m not going to try to persuade you to sleep with me,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Good. I won’t.’

  ‘Or talk about the job.’

  ‘Good. I won’t do that, either.’

  Don’t you believe it, thought Charlie, seeing the evening as a challenge. ‘The system might have worked at counter-intelligence. Often things don’t transfer so well.’

  ‘I try not to make too many mistakes,’ she snapped.

  Charlie realized he had hurt her pride and couldn’t quite understand why. He wondered how much further he could lead her on. ‘I’m glad they were happy with what I’ve done. It was a pretty odd experience. You know how I felt, all the time?’ Come on, my darling, Charlie thought: come on!

  ‘How?’ she asked, precisely on cue.

  ‘Jealous,’ said Charlie, briefly honest. ‘I kept thinking he was going to go out and do things that they don’t believe I’m any longer capable of doing …’ Julia moved to speak, but Charlie hurried on: ‘All that’s not more self-pity. That’s being objective, confronting the reality of being taken off the active operational roster.’

  Julia hesitated. ‘You’re still at Westminster Bridge Road, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s a consolation, I suppose,’ Charlie agreed, not wanting her to know he’d understood the significance of her remark, which he had, angry it hadn’t occurred to him before, which it should have done. How the hell could he lecture young entrants like John Gower about the importance of recognizing everything when he’d overlooked a fact as obvious as the one she’d just pointed out to him?

  ‘So you’re not going to like it?’

  Charlie shrugged, seeking another avenue: chauvinism, he decided. Julia just might be the type to rise to what could seem to her a sexist remark. ‘It’s a case of having to like it, isn’t it? But it’s not just getting used to a new role: always in the past I’ve had a different relationship with those on the ninth floor.’

  Julia stood looking at him quizzically, head slightly to one side. ‘Ha, hah!’

  He thought she’d got it. Hopefully he said:’Ha, hah what?’

  ‘Do I infer that Mr Muffin doesn’t like the person to whom he’s responsible being a member of the female sex?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ said Charlie, trying not to overstress the phoney outrage of the denial.

  ‘You are!’ she insisted, pleased with her imagined insight.

  ‘I’m not,’ he denied again. It was important to keep the momentum going. ‘It’s just unusual for me, that’s all.’ He allowed another grin, thinking he’d spent practically the entire evening with his mouth stretched apart, like a fool. ‘Maybe I should invite her out, even though she’s the boss.’

  ‘Forget it,’ advised Julia, with curt but amused finality.

  ‘Why not?’ demanded Charlie, able to make the outrage open mockery this time. ‘She’s not married. There’s no ring.’ It wasn’t always an indicator, but Julia would have to respond one way or the other.

  ‘She doesn’t have to be.’

  ‘I don’t understand what you’ve just said,’ protested Charlie, who believed he did. Bingo! he thought.

  ‘I haven’t said anything.’

  Careful, Charlie warned himself: very, very careful. ‘So she’s out of bounds?’

  ‘This conversation is.’

  The moment for retreat, judged Charlie: the moment to scuttle away with the prize, like a dog with a juicy bone to be buried. ‘On my way here, coming up the hill, I saw what looked like a few good restaurants.’

  ‘I thought it was only supposed to be a drink?’

  ‘What’s wrong with dinner, as well?’

  ‘I imposed two rules,’ reminded the woman. ‘You tried to break one.’

  ‘Not intentionally,’ evaded Charlie. ‘I promise no hands on knees under the table.’

  They ate at an American-style bar-restaurant called Kenny’s. Having achieved all he wanted, Charlie fully relaxed, genuinely enjoying the quickness with which Julia came back at him, telling invented anecdotes against himself and making her laugh a lot.

  ‘I’ve had a good time,’ she said. She’d refused his offer to escort her home: her taxi was waiting outside.

  ‘We could do it again sometime, if you’d like.’

  Once again there was a moment of indecision. ‘I don’t know. I might. Same rules?’

  ‘Guaranteed.’

  ‘There’s a reason.’

  ‘There’s always a reason.’

  ‘This is special.’ She was very serious.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘No.’ She positively ended the
conversation by walking away towards the waiting taxi.

  Charlie stood politely, watching her leave. In no hurry himself, he ordered another cognac, wanting to evaluate the evening. Extremely productive, he decided: more so than he might have expected. A most important discovery – which he shouldn’t have needed her to point out to him – was that he had not been taken off active operational duties, like all the other instructors and stiff-backed men on duty at safe houses.

  If he had been reduced in status, he would have been assigned to some building or place other than Westminster Bridge Road, every occupant of which was only ever on active duty. There was, of course, a counter-balance to that reassurance: that it was about to happen but delayed by departmental bureaucracy. Which in turn could be argued against, in his favour. Julia Robb wouldn’t have made the point if the transfer instruction had been issued but still blocked on its way through the pipeline, because she would have known about it. Charlie, always the optimist until the first falling slate warned him that the roof was caving in, decided it was in his favour. He hadn’t yet been officially dumped, so there was still a chance of his being restored to his old function. Maybe.

  What else?

  The hint about Patricia Elder was the most fascinating: and not just about the deputy Director-General, if he was reading the runes correctly. They work incredibly closely all the time, Julia had said. And then – despite the verbal gymnastics – had made it crystal clear that the lady was very much out of bounds. Which she would have been anyway to someone as lowly as him, but he didn’t think that had been the point of Julia’s remark. Still just a hint, Charlie cautioned himself again. But he did not think he was stretching it too far to wonder if Peter Miller, the very proper and upright Director-General, wasn’t unfastening those pin-striped trousers to throw a leg over the very proper but perhaps not always upright deputy Director-General.

  It was very definitely a possibility to be looked at extremely closely: always a useful thing, to know as much as you could about potential enemies. Not that he regarded either of them as enemies, not yet.