Red Star Burning

by Brian Freemantle

  “No,” rejected Smith, satisfied. “We can’t anticipate the publicity this will generate until it’s happened. So we’ll be following their lead, with each and every rebuttal we attempt: appearing that we have to defend ourselves.”

  “What, then, are you suggesting?” demanded Palmer.

  “That the conference connection is established, that Maxim Radtsic is warned as strongly as possible of the potential traps, and that we all pray that he manages to persuade his wife and son to continue on here,” said Smith, establishing his reservations. “If, that is, the kidnap allegations are withdrawn and the French agree to release them into our protection and not Moscow’s. If we get them here we achieve the defection. If we don’t, it’ll be unmitigated professional disasters.”

  “I’m sure we all of us defer to your knowledge of professional disasters,” said Monsford.

  “Your favorite, Shakespeare, had a view of professional disasters, didn’t he?” said Smith. “Something along the lines of how he was wearied by them: the first murderer in Macbeth, I seem to remember.”

  * * *

  The 986 circle line service hissed into Komsomolskaya more slowly than it had at Paveletsky, which Charlie assumed to be dictated by platform length, making it easier to identify Beckindale and Warren in their respective carriages. Both were standing, as if to get off, but which Charlie guessed made it easier for them to scour the arrival platform, taking it as confirmation of their surveillance realization. Wilkinson snatched to answer Charlie’s call as the train squealed to a final halt. Charlie said: “Appear to be getting off the train but don’t,” and disconnected, watching Warren and Beckindale move separately in their respective carriages toward the opening doors for a closer platform search.

  Warren must have had his cell phone in his hand, from the awkwardness with which he answered it getting off the train. Charlie said: “Beckindale’s with you. Lose him. I’m at the top of the escalator. I’ll make the contact.”

  Warren’s reaction was better than Charlie had expected. There was no startled backward look. Warren continued purposefully on as Beckindale got off, appearing surprised at the sight of the other man ahead of him. Beckindale hesitated, uncertainly looking between Warren and the train, edging just close enough to see Wilkinson getting up from his seat. Beckindale remained momentarily undecided before hurrying after Warren. Charlie moved, too, having to thrust his outstretched arms between the closing doors for them to reopen to admit him.

  He was taking a hell of a chance, Charlie accepted, with no idea if any of the others remained on the train. It would be safer to stay where he was, next to the door, at least until he cleared the next station.

  29

  There were audible voices, speaking French, but no picture. The screen flickered, distorted images breaking up, then settled to show Elana and Andrei side by side behind a table, which was how Radtsic was positioned in Hertfordshire by M16 technicians. They’d also covered the entire wall behind him with beige, nonreflective fabric, as the French had also done in Paris, in the same color. The microphones on both tables virtually matched, as well. The water carafes were similar, each oddly set with four accompanying tumblers. Monsford was behind the camera, with earphoned technicians and engineers, hands cupping earphones to his head to hear the simultaneous translation.

  “I can…” began Radtsic, uneven voiced, at a gesture from a technician off camera.

  Radtsic stopped, clearing his throat, and started again. “I can see you.”

  “We can see you, too,” said Elana. She was wearing a vivid red dress, with a diamond brooch pinned close to her left shoulder. Her hair was immaculately coiffured. Her voice was even, showing none of her husband’s uncertainty.

  “How are you?” asked Radtsic.

  “All right.”

  “Andrei?”

  “All right.” Andrei shrugged as he spoke. He was wearing an open-neck shirt beneath a sweater, which appeared too big for him. His hair was tousled, uncombed, and he constantly fidgeted, both hands first on the table, then in his lap, quickly back to the table again. Unlike his mother, instead of looking into the camera he seemed to be seeking people behind it.

  Radtsic cleared his throat again. Stiltedly, enunciating each word as if reading from a script, he said: “Are you being well treated?”

  “Very well,” assured Elana, for the first time glancing behind the camera.

  “I am in England.”

  “Yes.” Almost hurriedly she said: “We know.”

  “I want you both here in England with me. We’re going to live here. You were mistaken, about being kidnapped. They were friends, helping you. You must tell people that: make it clear to people there, so they understand.”

  The French transmission began to break up and Monsford came too close to the technician operating the English equipment, jogging him. Abruptly the screen cleared.

  “I—” started Elana but Andrei talked over her.

  “No!” he declared, loudly. “I’m not coming … not agreeing. You’re betraying us … traitor … you’re a traitor.”

  Radtsic visibly clenched his hands, outstretched on the table, and Monsford tensed forward again, anticipating the outburst against which he’d warned the Russian, but Radtsic’s voice was controlled, although still stilted. “I am not a traitor.… I want you here, with me and your mother.”

  “I want to come … will come,” Elana managed before Andrei overwhelmed her, shouting now.

  “I don’t want to come … don’t want to be with you … see you … dead, that’s what I think … you’re dead to me.”

  “Please,” pleaded Radtsic, still controlled although his hands were bunched into fists. “Please, Andrei. Don’t break up the family. I need you here, with me. You can’t stay there … stay anywhere except here with me. You know that—”

  “I will come … want to come,” Elana repeated.

  “Go with him!” yelled Andrei, turning to his mother. “Go with the traitor. I don’t want to be with you, either of you, not anymore.…” He began to struggle up, physically to separate himself from her.

  “Stay where you are!” roared Radtsic, all restraint gone, red faced with fury. “You will come here … do as you’re told…” But the link was cut long before he’d finished.

  * * *

  “I warned you what would happen,” said Monsford, stopping just short of the exasperation that might have antagonized the Russian into worse anger. They’d moved from the room in which the conference link had been established, into a glassed conservatory overlooking the grounds. Radtsic had refused vodka, demanding scotch.

  “Disobeying me … actually disobeying me, his father!” struggled Radtsic, disbelievingly, oblivious anyway to what Monsford was saying. “He must come. They won’t let him stay in France. He’ll be taken back … punished.”

  “We’re trying to reconnect,” said Monsford, emptily, desperately trying to think ahead. “It was the surprise, of actually seeing you, knowing that you’re already here, after what’s happened in France. He’ll come round when he adjusts to the reality.…”

  “He called me a traitor … denigrated me…” remembered Radtsic, overwhelmed in disbelief. “I must speak to him: make him understand.”

  “I told you we’re trying to reconnect. There are discussions in France: diplomatic channels opened. Don’t forget Elana is coming to be with you. It’s all going to work out.”

  Radtsic shook his head, comprehending what Monsford was saying. “I must speak to Andrei. Make things clear. He’ll come when he understands.… It’s taking a long time to reconnect to Paris … why can’t we go back to where the camera is, to be ready?”

  Harry Jacobson appeared at the door, gesturing there was a telephone call.

  “Wait here,” Monsford told the Russian. “I don’t want you coming near the television setup. I need to make sure it’s safe for you.”

  When Monsford reached him Jacobson said: “Geoffrey Palmer wants you personally. And France is r
efusing to reestablish the link.”

  “Tell them to keep trying,”

  “I already have.”

  “We’ve seen the replay,” announced Palmer, when Monsford identified himself. “What happened?”

  “You saw what happened,” said Monsford, irritably. “Who else watched it?”

  “All three of us. Why didn’t you tell Radtsic to hold his temper: to stay calm.”

  “I did,” snapped Monsford, the irritation more at knowing Aubrey Smith had seen the transmission than at Palmer’s facile questions. “What is the embassy saying in Paris?”

  “They’re still trying to reach someone who’ll talk to them.”

  “Elana said she wants to come.”

  “I told you we saw it,” said Palmer. “We also saw Andrei refuse and call his father a traitor. What’s his reaction been?”

  “He wants to talk to Andrei. He thinks he can persuade him to change his mind if he can speak to him.”

  “I’m not. Neither are the others. And even though they haven’t made direct contact, the embassy don’t think it’s a technical breakdown. They’re sure the French—which means the Russians—carried out their threat when Radtsic started shouting.”

  “It’s too early to judge,” insisted Monsford, anxious to escape from the Foreign Office mandarin.

  “The judgment being made here in London is that the whole episode has been a complete disaster,” said Palmer.

  And I know the bastard who’s promoting that verdict, Monsford thought. “I’ve got to get back to Radtsic.”

  “What you’ve got to do is sort this mess out,” said Palmer, putting down the phone ahead of the other man.

  * * *

  He’d have to take the risk, Charlie accepted, as the train came into Kurskaya. No one against whom he was tensed appeared during the six-minute journey between stations, which left two suspect MI6 officers unaccounted for as well as Neil Preston, who, from their standard of tradecraft so far, could still lead the MI6 hunters back to him after cell-phone contact with Wilkinson. If, that is, they were still somewhere on the train. Or waiting at one of the intervening stops farther along the line, ready to board.

  It seemed a relatively slow entry, giving Charlie a platform sweep, and he didn’t see a hostile face among the waiting passengers. But he was more vulnerable on a train than on a platform with a choice of exits and escape tunnels. The train came to its final halt as Charlie made his decision, abruptly pushing against passengers preparing to get off, ready to run with them if he saw unwelcome faces. Which, from Wilkinson’s instant recognition as he reached the man’s carriage, Charlie suspected his to be. Charlie scarcely paused or bent as he passed, saying, “Follow me, now!”

  Charlie didn’t hesitate on the platform, either, striding on now agonized feet to the linking tunnel to the Metro services’ third, Arbat-designated line, hunched against an identifying challenge, which didn’t come. Charlie pulled to the rear of the platform, satisfied at last with Wilkinson’s following arrival. The man didn’t repeat his earlier recognition but came to the same platform section, close to the wall. Charlie’s concentration was beyond the man, seeking pursuit, relieved at seeing only strangers. He moved toward the first incoming train, bringing Wilkinson with him, but hung back for the man to board first, relieved again that Wilkinson chose a separate, two-person side bench sufficiently isolated from other passengers.

  “I’m never going to take another metro,” greeted Wilkinson, as Charlie slumped beside him.

  “Nor am I,” said Charlie, gratefully stretching out his overworked feet. He’d got away with it but the Metro merry-go-round had proved more difficult than he’d imagined and the sucked-in street-level pollution was worse than he’d remember, even during his earlier reconnaissance. “I’m relying on guesswork. Start from my plane disappearance.”

  What in Charlie’s opinion Wilkinson lacked in tradecraft he more than compensated for in succinct recall and Charlie didn’t interrupt, abandoning his intended train change at the central hub, continuing on instead to the Arbat, where it was quicker anyway to transfer to the south-to-north Sokol’niceskaja route. It still took another ten minutes for Wilkinson to finish. “Smith believes you’re in genuine, physical danger. He ordered me to tell Briddle there’s no longer any partnership: that all cooperation is over. Smith’s trying to get Monsford’s people withdrawn, but there’s no sign of it happening.”

  “You let them follow you today. That was stupid,” openly accused Charlie.

  “I was sure I’d slipped Beckindale.”

  “Denning was with Preston, too. Why bring Preston with you, believing MI6 want me eliminated. Why weren’t Preston and Warren decoys, drawing them away!”

  “Smith’s orders are that we provide maximum protection.”

  “On today’s showing I’m safer on my own.”

  “It was a mistake and I’m sorry.”

  Charlie shrugged, dismissively. “Radtsic’s definitely in London, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Elana and the boy are held in France?”

  “As of yesterday. I haven’t heard anything new today.”

  “Why is Smith so convinced Monsford’s planning a move against me? Where’s Monsford’s gain doing this?”

  Wilkinson matched Charlie’s earlier shrug. “Smith doesn’t know, not yet. He might have learned more since we last spoke. But isn’t it about time you told me what the hell you’ve been doing.”

  He had to be careful, Charlie knew. Natalia’s extraction value was hugely increased by her secondment to the Lvov investigation but that value would be quadrupled by keeping her in place and using him as a conduit. “Before we get to the details there’s something important to pass on to London. Which means your getting some background. We misinterpreted Natalia’s calls to London: she was interrogated after the Lvov affair. I was identified during it, which threw up something that happened a long time ago: she debriefed me, after I worked a phoney defection. That’s what brought her under suspicion after Lvov. But she’s been cleared. And now she’s been appointed to one of at least eight separate damage-limitation teams to investigate Radtsic’s complete background to discover who turned him.”

  “She’s got access to Radtsic’s records?” demanded Wilkinson, incredulously.

  Enough, decided Charlie. Now he had to ensure against a London insistence that Natalia remain in place. “She and a lot more, to prevent any one person getting a comprehensive overview: that’s why it’s being split between so many different initial analysts. Anything they find is to be passed on to other groups for further examination. Her secondment is strictly limited: I don’t how short.”

  “It’s still an incredible opportunity,” gauged Wilkinson.

  “A gold mine,” expanded Charlie, pleased at the reaction. “That’s what you have to tell London, for them to realize how much more important it’s become to get her out.”

  “But not before she’s got everything she can: not until she has to leave her group.”

  “Of course not,” agreed Charlie, satisfied.

  * * *

  The train had passed the circle-line intersection without any MI6 presence but Charlie maintained his usual caution, jerking up without warning at Dmitrovskaya, knowing there was a conveniently close although neglected postage-stamp park in which he could end their meeting as well as observe his pursuit precaution.

  “There’s not a lot more to discuss at this stage,” he resumed, choosing a bench that kept the Metro’s single entrance and exit in sight. “I met with Passmore after the general session at Vauxhall Cross.”

  “I know. The Russian passports were shipped separately, direct to me.”

  “Unknown to the three from MI6?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Those are the ones I want. As well as twenty-five thousand pounds, all in U.S. dollars.”

  “What about tickets?”

  “The twent
y-five thousand is traveling expense.”

  “Traveling about which you’re not going to give me any details?”

  “No. But I want you to be overheard by the others discussing the Polish exit.”

  “We’re not to be involved at all, are we?”

  “No.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” protested Wilkinson. “You’re not just an FSB target: I’ve just told you Smith’s convinced our own side might even want to kill you. You spell out how much more important Natalia has become: why it’s imperative she gets to England. And cap the whole fucking thing telling me you’re going to do it all by yourself.”

  “I’m still free because I know how to stay that way. And I performed the Amsterdam vanishing trick because Monsford’s involvement stank from the beginning and now we know why.”

  “No, we don’t,” rejected Wilkinson. “We don’t know why you’re at risk from Monsford. I accept we fucked up this morning. You’ve got every reason to be pissed off. But you’ll fail, trying to run the extraction entirely alone. And you know it!”

  And Aubrey Smith wouldn’t allow it either, Charlie accepted. And could forbid the passport handover. “I don’t intend running the extraction alone: of course that’s impossible. You’ll all be part of it at the very end. It’s the logistics I’m compartmenting, just as the FSB are compartmenting their Lvov investigation. You’ve got MI6 in permanent pursuit: I haven’t. I can move about, make the plans. You can’t.”

  “Aubrey Smith still won’t sanction it,” warned Wilkinson.

  “He wouldn’t have liked people from whom he believes I’m in physical danger being led to me this morning,” said Charlie.

  “How will I get the passports and money to you, if London approves?”

  “I’ll call you, personally, at the rezidentura.”

  “I might not get a quick response from London, with so much going on elsewhere.”

  “Nine o’clock tomorrow morning, as it’s striking,” said Charlie. “And I know you’ll try to follow me when we split up and my feet hurt too much to fuck about losing you, so I’ll come with you back to the Metro to know where you are.…” He took the London-issued cell phone from his pocket. “Did you pick up the tracker signal?”