Comrade Charlie (17 page)

‘Quite a speech,' said Charlie, nonplussed.

‘I didn't set out to make one. It just happened.'

‘There's a lot to discuss.'

‘No there isn't,' rejected Laura. ‘It's all said: no need for any more in-depth conversation. And I'm out of breath, anyway.'

‘I…'

‘…don't,' she stopped.

So he didn't.

The food was superb, the wine excellent and for the first time Charlie felt completely relaxed. When she poured the brandy, afterwards, Laura pointedly put Paul's photograph in a drawer and said: ‘There! Better?'

‘Much better,' he said, letting her fit herself against him on the couch as she liked to do.

‘The person who interrogated your mother is named Smedley,' she announced, her head against his chest. ‘David Smedley. The other one is Philip Abbott.'

‘Thanks.'

‘And Witherspoon is spending a lot of time with Harkness.'

‘You think he was involved?'

‘I don't know: just that he keeps being called into the office.'

‘He's Harkness' protégé,' remembered Charlie.

‘Don't do anything silly about it. Promise?'

‘Never crossed my mind.'

Later – much later – in bed Charlie said: ‘I don't think I'm a red roses, pink dove, violin-string romantic'

‘I knew you wouldn't, but you are,' insisted the girl.

‘Rubbish.'

‘How many times have you been in love?'

‘You wouldn't believe me if I told you.'

‘Paul's got a child, a little boy. By a girl he sees, onand-off, in Fulham. I can't have children. That hurts me worst of all, that he's had a baby by someone else. He didn't have to do that, did he?'

‘And you'd still try to make things work!'

‘If Paul asked me to.'

Bloody incredible, thought Charlie. And she
was
wrong in her personal assessment of him: he wasn't really the romantic she thought him to be.

Some girls never understood men.

Harkness lived like a bachelor, although he was not. He had been married for twenty years to a woman as devout a Catholic as himself and although the marriage had irreparably collapsed into non-speaking acrimony there had never been any question of divorce. She lived in isolation on the top floor of the Hampstead house and he occupied the lower half: on Sunday mornings and evenings they attended different churches.

Harkness therefore ate at his club, which he did most evenings, and customarily alone. He did so that night angrily, frustrated that it was taking him so long to be confirmed as Director General. What was necessary, he knew, was a success that could unquestionably be shown to be his: something that would stir the Joint Intelligence Committee into finally making the inevitable decision.

The problem was finding it.

18

The encounter was arranged for the seafront car park where they'd met before but which Losev hadn't used for a handover yet. It was perfect for today, a very large, open space which it was easy to keep under observation. Losev packed the area with operatives, but didn't approach it himself until well after the scheduled time and only then when one of his people reported Blackstone was there, quite alone.

The tracer was pacing nervously up near the entrance from the road, hands deep in his raincoat pockets, not visibly carrying anything. It was a hire car again, so Blackstone didn't recognize it and only came hurrying over when Losev sounded his horn. The Russian leaned across to open the passenger door and Blackstone came in gratefully out of the wind.

‘Wondered where the hell you'd got to,' Blackstone complained. ‘I've been waiting for hours.'

‘Thirty minutes,' corrected Losev, taking the car on into the car park and stopping as he had on the first occasion, so they could see the island squatted on the horizon. ‘And I had to be sure, didn't I?' The Russian's voice was tight in his fury.

‘Sure of what?'

‘That you'd be by yourself.'

‘I don't understand what you're talking about.'

‘Good,' said Losev. ‘I wouldn't be very happy if you did.'

‘What are you going on about!' Blackstone twisted in his seat so that he was looking across the car at the Russian, trying not to show the apprehension bubbling through him.

Losev didn't reply directly. Instead he said: ‘You brought something for me today, Henry?' He would very much have liked to hit the man, slapped some sense into his stupid head.

‘Of course,' said Blackstone, almost proudly. He took from inside his raincoat the envelope containing the second drawing he'd made from his tracing of the backing paper, eagerly handing it across the vehicle.

Losev took it but didn't open it. ‘What about this one, Henry? Is it complete?'

‘What sort of question is that!' Blackstone thought the outrage sounded genuine enough: inwardly he was numbed at being caught out and at the fear of losing the money he wanted so much.

‘You know exactly what sort of question it is, Henry. The last drawing you gave me…the drawing for which you got five hundred pounds…didn't make sense to the experts,' said Losev calmly. ‘There were some specification details missing.'

Blackstone reckoned there to be four lines he hadn't been able to read: five at the most. But he was sure he'd concealed the omission by the way he'd re-created the blueprint as an apparent original. He said: ‘I thought it was all there! Believe me I did!'

‘That's our problem, isn't it?' said Losev, still calm but finding it difficult because he'd lost personal credibility with Moscow over what had happened. ‘How are we going to believe you in the future? Like now, for instance. Now I don't believe you.'

‘Listen!' pleaded Blackstone. ‘Please listen! I got a quick look at some blueprint material and I honestly thought I had everything. I wasn't trying to cheat.'

‘That's exactly what we think you tried to do,' said Losev. ‘Either that or set up some trap for me to fall into. Do you know what we had to do today: we had to bring a lot of men down here to make sure I was safe. Huge expenditure of manpower. All very inconvenient.'

‘I'm sorry,' said Blackstone. ‘I'm really very, very sorry.'

‘That's what we are: very, very sorry. We thought we had an arrangement and it seems we don't have anything.'

‘There's nothing missing from what you've got today,' said Blackstone, which was the truth. ‘It's all there.'

‘I hope so, Henry. You've no idea how much I hope so,' impressed Losev. Exaggerating, he said: ‘If this one isn't right we're going to get very angry. We're going to think that our arrangement is over. You know what that means, don't you?'

‘Don't do it!' said Blackstone, pleading again. ‘Just wait and see.' Why had he taken such a chance: been so foolish!

‘It'll need a lot now to convince me.'

And how in God's name was he going to get it! thought Blackstone desperately. He said hurriedly: ‘I've got temporary access, into the secure section.'

‘Where the work is actually being done!' seized Losev instantly. This was better, if it were true.

Blackstone nodded. ‘And I've re-applied, like you told me. I haven't had a reply yet.'

‘How long is this access going to last?'

‘I don't know,' admitted Blackstone.

‘So we've got to use it,' decided Losev, recognizing the chance to recover in Dzerzhinsky Square. ‘I want the missing details for that first drawing. And whatever else you can lay your hands on. Don't forget what I said. I want a lot.'

Blackstone realized at once that the demand was impossible, but knew it would be foolish to say so. ‘Sure,' he said, instead. ‘I'll do it. You'll see.'

The aerospace worker looked pointedly between the just delivered envelope and Losev, who stared back, aware of the expectation. The Russian thought: You stupid, greedy bastard. He said: ‘You can go now. Ruth will be home soon, won't she?'

‘I thought…' started Blackstone, then stopped.

‘What?'

Blackstone shook his head, understanding. ‘Nothing,' he said.

‘That's right, Henry. There is nothing: no more money, no more bonuses. Not until I'm sure. You please me, I'll please you. That clear?'

‘I'll call you,' promised Blackstone, moving from the car.

‘Make it soon,' urged Losev. ‘I want it to be very soon.'

So did Blackstone. He wasn't broke, not by a long way yet, but he'd become accustomed to having money around and he wanted the security to go on, just knowing that it was
there
. Blackstone's constantly shifting emotions affected his reasoning: he was far more concerned to maintain the money supply than he was about being unmasked as a bigamist. Although that had begun the blackmail it had quickly ceased to matter in the way he thought. If only he could get the transfer he'd asked for! Praying for miracles, like he'd prayed for miracles before all this latest business began. But surely the fact that Springley hadn't replied yet indicated there was
some
consideration being given to his re-application! So there had to be a chance. Make sure the money kept coming, so he could go on feeling its comforting security.

Blackstone calculated his entry into the restricted work area the following evening around the same time as before, but on this occasion there was the benefit of his having the layout established in his mind. Unable to use the direction-seeking excuse again, he had to avoid the small office from which he'd stolen the original backing paper. He went along a corridor diametrically opposite from his first entry, which took him to the far side of the communal work room. As he walked Blackstone saw the end-of-the-day men shuffling from their separate sections to stow their blueprints in the same main drawing locker. But, more confident of his surroundings, Blackstone became aware of something else, too. The outer, bordering cubicles appeared to be where the prototype drawings were checked and refined, from their creation in the larger room. Which meant that the larger room was likely to contain a bigger selection of material, impressed upon backing paper or maybe discarded sketches in waste-paper baskets in advance of security collection.
I
want a lot
, he remembered: like he remembered the threats that went with it.

Blackstone found the lavatory he was seeking halfway down the corridor and hurried in, tensed against there already being people inside. There weren't. He concealed himself in the furthest cubicle but did not turn the lock, to prevent the Engaged sign registering. Instead he sat on the pedestal with his legs stretched out in front of himself, keeping the door closed with his feet. The position also kept his feet and lower legs from being visible from outside. He reckoned at least four people came in and out: a far-away cubicle was used once. The conversations at the urinals covered the improbability of a previous night's soap opera on television, Italian food being better than French, and house prices going up on the island as fast as those on the mainland. Blackstone thought he recognized the voice of one of the men to be someone called Morton who'd joined the firm after him and without half as much experience, which just went to show how bloody unfair the whole selection for the secret project had been. His legs began to ache at the back, just behind his knees.

He let half an hour elapse before cautiously emerging. The building seemed quiet around him, some of the corridor and office lights already extinguished by their timeswitch. Blackstone remained stationary in the corridor, alert for movement or noise of people but hearing nothing.
I
want a lot
, he thought again. There were a number of doors into the communal room. Blackstone chose one of the smaller, near a darkened corner. And was approaching a double drawing board when the voice said: ‘What are you doing here!' Blackstone was so surprised he gave a muted cry of fright and dropped the drawing tube in which he'd hoped to sneak out whatever he could find.

The security drill was strictly adhered to, which meant the preliminary inquiry was immediate but it actually gave Blackstone an opportunity to compose himself and arrange his story because Springley had to be recalled, fortunately only from his usual early evening visit to the nearby sports and social club. Blackstone's own section chief was summoned back as well, along with the most senior director still on the premises and the head of security.

By the time the questioning began Blackstone was, incredibly, in one of his upswing moods, relaxed and relatively unworried. As he spoke he thought it was just like telling the truth. He produced his temporary security access authorization, which was agreed by them all to be valid. Blackstone's instruction to deliver the Ariane fin design was confirmed by his superior and Blackstone insisted his return that evening had been the action of a conscientious employee attempting to retrieve documents non-classified and therefore insufficiently important to require a positive collection directive: if he were wrong about that then he was sorry. He'd only been trying to do his job. And here Blackstone introduced a further explanation he had mentally rehearsed while he waited for the examination to begin. He'd also hoped, he conceded in apparent admission, that he might personally encounter Robert Springley, from whom he still awaited a reply to his renewed application to be part of the project team. Again, Blackstone asserted, the action of a perhaps overly keen, conscientious worker. The absentminded, white-haired project leader at once confirmed such a reply was outstanding.

The drawings tubes he had been carrying were examined and found only to contain additional Ariane material, and a thorough check of the room in which he had been detained showed nothing interfered with and nothing missing.

Throughout Blackstone became increasingly aware that the examination was being conducted internally, without any outside police involvement, which had to be a good sign. And he didn't regard as ominous being told to hold himself in readiness for a fuller inquiry, pending which he would be formally upon suspension, because if they'd really believed him to be doing something wrong they wouldn't have allowed him off the premises in the first place. The most encouraging thing of all was the smiling farewell from Springley himself, who said when the inquiry had disbanded and they were getting ready to leave that he was sorry for the delay but that he hadn't made up his mind about the application yet.