See Charlie Run

by Brian Freemantle

  And this time it worked. They were actually approaching the port now, able to see the anchored, lighted vessels. Kozlov took the bridge over the Sumidagawa River but turned away from the full dock complex, going inland: Charlie remembered that a lot of the waterside area was, in fact, islands where it would have been easy to become boxed in and trapped. Kozlov’s throat was moving and there was a sudden, visible shake, in the hands that held the wheel. ‘You have been extremely busy,’ he managed finally.

  ‘It would seem that you were, too,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Has it been an American identification?’

  ‘You know I won’t answer that,’ said Charlie. It was a careless demand anyway: Charlie felt a stir of anticipation.

  ‘Tell me how close, at least?’

  Charlie had no idea what the question meant. Using Kozlov’s demand as the guide, Charlie said: ‘Very close.’

  ‘I knew it was wrong,’ said Kozlov. More than at any time since the encounter began, Kozlov was reflective, deep inside his own mind.

  What the fuck had been wrong! thought Charlie, desperately: this really was like being on the tightrope and watching the strands fray at the far end. He searched for a further way to urge the man on. Drawing upon his own experience, Charlie said: ‘They never listen to the people who have to do the job, do they?’

  ‘I needed more time, after London. Bonn only gave me a month: it had to be messy,’ blundered Kozlov.

  Enough, Charlie decided at once. He said: There’ll be a complete amnesty, of course. For McFairlane …’ He allowed the pause. ‘And the rest.’

  ‘That’s the most essential guarantee,’ said Kozlov. ‘I’ll want that – so will Irena – before we’ll agree to anything.’

  Charlie reckoned he had everything short of a written confession. He repeated: ‘You’ll have every guarantee.’

  ‘How will you get Irena out?’ demanded Kozlov.

  Charlie paused. ‘Safely,’ he said. I hope, he thought.

  There was another fleeting smile from Kozlov, the first for a long time. He said: ‘Yes. It is better I don’t know.’

  ‘But there will have to be the closest coordination,’ warned Charlie. ‘Everything calculated to the minute, to leave at the same time.’

  ‘I don’t need reminding of the disaster, if the timing is wrong,’ said the Russian. He paused: ‘If anything goes wrong.’

  ‘I need a photograph to recognize Irena,’ said Charlie.

  ‘I expected you would,’ said Kozlov. He reached inside his jacket and handed Charlie an envelope.

  ‘And to meet,’ continued Charlie. An idea was shaping in his mind; the commandos could be useful, but for something different from what the Director imagined. Duck and weave time.

  ‘Yes,’ said Kozlov. There needs to be a meeting.’

  ‘How prepared are you?’

  ‘Immediate. You?’

  ‘Immediate,’ said Charlie. Which was a slight exaggeration because he had a hell of a lot to do. He said: ‘My planning with Irena can’t be arranged through the Americans, naturally.’

  ‘Naturally,’ agreed Kozlov.

  ‘Or through you,’ added Charlie.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ said Kozlov.

  ‘That’s exactly what I am not being,’ said Charlie. ‘You’re seeking protection by being separated?’

  ‘From your two services,’ argued Kozlov.

  ‘From each other,’ insisted Charlie.

  Kozlov pulled the car into the side of the road and stopped, and Charlie was glad: it seemed they had been driving for hours. Why did his feet still hurt, when he’d been sitting down for so long?

  Kozlov said: ‘How can things be coordinated if Irena and I don’t know when and how it’s going to happen?’

  Charlie’s earlier reflection that any sort of grab would be impossible as well as stupid, here in Japan, hardened into a positive determination against the idea as the Russian talked. So now getting the woman safely out came down to a logistical exercise, to thwart the Americans attempting anything so foolish. He said: ‘You’ll know when, of course. You’ll have to. But not how. Irena comes with me, without any details. You go – however you choose – with the Americans.’

  ‘That’s how I want it to be,’ said Kozlov.

  ‘It’s still your choice, don’t forget,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s still possible to change your mind, even now; both come with me.’

  ‘Fredericks made one last try,’ remembered the Russian.

  ‘So?’

  ‘We stay separate,’ insisted Kozlov.

  ‘Then the planning is separate.’

  ‘All right,’ accepted Kozlov, without a choice.

  Charlie looked at the dashboard clock, trying to calculate the amount of time he needed: it was fortunate the difference was so great, between Tokyo and London. A lot of potential problems still remained. He wished he’d thought it out and synchronized the possible flight schedules. Caught by a sudden doubt, Charlie said: ‘She speaks English?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ assured Kozlov.

  ‘The bookshop tonight?’ said Charlie. ‘Will just that one occasion be sufficient for her to recognize me?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘It must be more than hope!’ insisted Charlie.

  ‘She’ll recognize you,’ guaranteed Kozlov. ‘Where?’

  ‘There is a tourist bus which leaves the hotel at noon tomorrow: a city tour. Tell Irena to catch it.’

  ‘You will be on it?’

  ‘I will make contact with her,’ qualified Charlie. ‘She must wait.’

  ‘All the arrangements will be settled then?’

  Charlie did not reply at once. Then he said: ‘Everything. And at the same time you must contact Fredericks; don’t forget the necessity to coordinate.’

  ‘I’ve thought about this for a long time,’ said Kozlov. ‘I’m not going to forget any necessity.’

  Detecting what he thought to be doubt, Charlie said: ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get her out safely.’

  ‘I’ve been very careful, preparing her,’ said Kozlov.

  ‘I’ll protect her,’ insisted Charlie.

  ‘It is difficult for me to believe that after so long, everything will be settled by tomorrow,’ said Kozlov, distantly.

  More positively than you imagine, thought Charlie. He said: ‘That’s how close it is, now.’

  ‘It must be over soon,’ said Kozlov. ‘There are some difficulties at the embassy.’

  ‘What difficulties?’

  ‘There is a security officer: it is obvious there is some suspicion developing.’

  ‘By tomorrow everything will be fixed,’ reassured Charlie.

  ‘We haven’t settled the terms,’ reminded Kozlov.

  ‘How much?’ asked Charlie. Would the man stick with the American demand or try to hype the price?

  ‘I’ve asked Washington for $500,000,’ said Kozlov. ‘I’ll want the same for Irena.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Charlie, at once.

  ‘Index-linked, to take account of your inflation,’ continued Kozlov. ‘That’s what your Civil Servants get, isn’t it?’

  This was one for the lecture rooms! thought Charlie. He said: ‘I’ll insist it’s index-linked.’

  ‘And something else,’ went on Kozlov. ‘I want it pegged to a fixed exchange rate against the dollar.’

  ‘I’ll arrange that also,’ said Charlie, using the immediate response to cover his reaction. That insistence could only mean that Kozlov ultimately intended to settle with his wife in America: another important warning to pass on to London. He said: ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Kozlov, just as quickly. ‘I want private health care for her: your National Health Service suffers delays.’

  Definitely one for the training manual, decided Charlie. ‘That’s possible,’ he said. Kozlov had made an omission which confirmed Charlie’s thoughts about their eventually living in America.

  As if aware of those thoughts – and the doubt
– Kozlov said : ‘A house in Britain, as well … something that we can choose, after the necessary appearance change.’

  An afterthought recovery? wondered Charlie. He said: ‘Where do you want the plastic surgery to be carried out?’ A hospital situation provided the best opportunity for a grab.

  ‘We’ll arrange that later,’ avoided the Russian.

  The hospital potential was certainly something he should pass on to London, determined Charlie. He said: ‘We’ll meet every one of those conditions.’

  ‘And the amnesty?’ reminded the Russian.

  ‘A positive guarantee,’ assured Charlie. He saw Kozlov had brought the car back into the centre of the city and that they were very close to his hotel. He said: is there anything else?’

  Kozlov stopped the car and removed the heavy spectacles, polishing them reflectively. The Russian looked quite different without them, Charlie saw, remembering the first night’s conversation with Fredericks: but he’d used them to drive for more than an hour, so there had to be a genuine need, beyond any minimal disguise. Kozlov said: ‘I can’t think of anything. It just seems there should be more.’

  ‘That’s always the impression,’ said Charlie. ‘Really, once the decision is made and the agreements reached, there isn’t.’

  ‘You’ve brought people across before?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Always successfully?’

  Charlie hesitated. ‘I’ve always got the subject safely across,’ he said.

  Kozlov isolated the qualification at once. ‘But others have been caught? Hurt?’

  ‘Not often,’ said Charlie.

  ‘I don’t want it to happen this time,’ said Kozlov.

  ‘Meet Fredericks tomorrow,’ insisted Charlie.

  ‘Noon,’ agreed Kozlov.

  ‘And where’s Irena to meet me?’

  Kozlov smiled at the rehearsal. ‘On a tourist bus, from the New Otani. Noon as well.’

  There was a need to hurry the Russian on, before he began thinking too deeply about the arrangements. Charlie said: ‘We won’t meet any more, not until after the crossing. From now on, it must be exclusively between Irena and myself. I’ll explain everything to her tomorrow.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Kozlov.

  ‘The offer to both of you, to come with me, is still there,’ said Charlie. He knew it was a waste of time but he hoped it would further deflect the man.

  ‘We’ve been through that,’ said Kozlov, dismissively.

  Remembering Kozlov’s own remark, Charlie said in repeated reassurance: ‘By this time tomorrow, everything will be settled.’ Kozlov looked more like a senior clerk than a killer, he thought.

  ‘At last!’ said Kozlov, the relief obvious.

  It really did seem to be resolving itself very easily, thought Charlie: maybe too easily. He opened but held the door and said: ‘Next time we meet we’ll laugh about it.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Kozlov. ‘You can walk from here?’

  ‘I need to think,’ answered Charlie, honestly. And hurry, he thought.

  The lobby travel desk was still open and the clerk found in minutes a 6 p.m. flight from Osaka the following day, possible by catching the 3 p.m. Bullet train from Tokyo. Tight but feasible, decided Charlie, booking both. Luck seemed to be with him: he hoped it stayed that way. He guessed London wouldn’t like the idea. Be careful, the Director had insisted: so he was simply obeying orders. It was ironic, Charlie thought, that he was using Hong Kong and wasn’t going to see Harry Lu after all. Always return through the colony, he supposed: be a good way to celebrate, a few drinks with an old mate. London – or rather Harkness – wouldn’t like that either, which was tough shit. Good reason for doing it, in fact. Reward, for a job well done.

  When he called Fredericks, the American said: ‘Quite the operator!’

  ‘You couldn’t expect to get away with it!’ said Charlie, impatiently.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘We need to meet,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Fredericks.

  ‘Tonight,’ insisted Charlie.

  Only at the end of setting out his impressions of the meeting with Kozlov did Charlie remember the photograph of the woman. He took it from his pocket, frowning down.

  Irena Kozlov looked just like an Alsatian wearing lipstick, he decided.

  Olga Balan stretched up, easing the ache in her shoulders after the intense concentration, happy at last with the Kozlov report. She read it for the final time, collected all the sound and television tapes of the interviews and sealed them altogether in the package for Moscow. The supposition was overwhelming, she decided: absolutely overwhelming. She guessed Boris Filiatov would soon be filing his own back-covering report; stupid, sweaty little man.

  Chapter Ten

  The package freighted in the diplomatic bag was waiting at the embassy and while that night’s encoded message was being transmitted to London, Charlie examined the contents. The promised blank passport was uppermost, directly above the three comparison photographs of Kozlov under his previous name. Charlie concentrated upon them, recognizing at once that Irena wasn’t in the background of any of the reception-type pictures.

  The security-cleared telephone sounded within minutes of the transmission ceasing, and this time Charlie didn’t jump.

  ‘Sure about Bonn?’ demanded the Director, at once.

  ‘Within a month of McFairlane,’ repeated Charlie. ‘Kozlov called it messy. I’d go for an obvious killing.’

  ‘No idea who?’

  ‘None,’ admitted Charlie.

  ‘So what’s the verdict?’ demanded Wilson. ‘Is he genuine?’

  ‘Everything seems to fit,’ said Charlie. So why didn’t he feel completely happy? Infantile to expect the man to present a resumé stamped KGB, Charlie told himself; never been an operation yet when there weren’t uncertainties.

  The Director caught the doubt. ‘But?’

  ‘But nothing,’ said Charlie. ‘We’ve obviously got to go for it.’

  ‘Sure you have to get her out this way?’

  ‘I think it stands the best chance,’ said Charlie, surprised the question had taken so long.

  ‘It leaves the woman exposed.’

  ‘She’s supposed to be trained: it’s not far. And Kozlov seems worried about someone in his own security section, so it’s got to be quick.’

  ‘What about the Americans?’

  ‘It’s the Americans I’m most worried about,’ admitted Charlie. ‘Kozlov expects a grab. Told me himself.’

  ‘Did you try to persuade him?’

  ‘He turned me down. Said the Americans had tried the same.’

  ‘Believe they’re going to try for the woman?’

  ‘I’d take bets,’ said Charlie. ‘That’s why I want to do it this way.’

  ‘They’re not going to like you,’ forecast the Director.

  ‘Not a lot of people do.’

  ‘There is something further from this end,’ said Wilson. ‘Done some deeper checks, from your original message. Bill Paul was supposed to be unaware of the finance sourcing of that magazine: it came through two cut-outs. Doesn’t look now as if he was. Indications are that he was definitely CIA-employed. The whole thing was Agency.’

  ‘An obvious KGB target then?’

  ‘Looks like it.’ Returning to his immediate concern, Wilson said: ‘Don’t you think you should allow yourself more time?’

  ‘The quicker the better,’ insisted Charlie. ‘There’s no reason for any delay.’

  ‘The group leader coming in is named Sampson,’ said the Director, ‘Anthony Sampson.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Midnight your time,’ said Wilson. ‘Briefing is to follow your instructions.’

  ‘I’ll go out to the airport,’ said Charlie, the escape plan formalized in his mind.

  ‘Sampson’s been ten years in the service,’ said the Director. ‘A lieutenant: one of their best.’

  ‘Nothing should go wrong t
hen,’ said Charlie and regretted it the moment he’d spoken.

  Kozlov got to the apartment ahead of his wife, which surprised him. He stood waiting for her, gazing out of the window over the darkened harbour, smiling at the thought of all the planning and preparation at last coming successfully together. And it was going to be successful, he knew. He turned, as he heard her key in the lock, and smiled wider as she entered.

  ‘Everything is finalized,’ he announced, at once.

  ‘What’s he like?’ she demanded.

  Kozlov considered the demand and said: ‘I think he’s good.’

  ‘Tell me the arrangements.’

  Kozlov did, in absolute detail, and then insisted: ‘Repeat it all to me.’

  ‘The tourist bus at noon,’ she recited.

  ‘And you’ll recongize him?’ persisted the man, determined everything should be absolutely right.

  ‘Easily,’ she said, condescending.

  Kozlov nodded towards the telephone. ‘I’ll be waiting, if anything goes wrong.’

  ‘It won’t,’ said the woman.

  ‘There’s nothing we haven’t guarded against,’ said Kozlov.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Irena, in unusual agreement. ‘Are you sure it’s to be a military plane?’

  ‘According to Hayashi, it gets in around midnight,’ said the man. ‘It’s the only way.’

  Irena laughed, an abrupt, unexpected sound. ‘I’d just love to see Olga Balan’s face when it happens. Filiatov’s, too.’

  Harkness offered the Director the results of the audit and said: ‘I felt you should see the figures right away.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Wilson, not attempting to open the folder.

  The deputy appeared disappointed. He said: ‘There can’t be any doubt. Three of the supposed informants can’t be traced: that alone is a discrepancy of £800. I’ve itemized the other amounts; it comes to a total of practically £1800.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said the Director, again.

  ‘It means that Charlie Muffin has embezzled on his expenses account,’ said Harkness, as if he feared the Director misunderstood.

  ‘Not until it’s proven,’ said Wilson. ‘I think we should give the man an opportunity to explain himself, don’t you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t suggest anything else,’ said the deputy. ‘That would be most unfair.’