Comrade Charlie (3 page)

‘What!' said Berenkov, temporarily off-balanced.

‘Those were the words,' elaborated Kalenin wearily. ‘We are to identify the builders. We are to discover every detail of their technology and manufacture. Having obtained it we are to turn it over to our space technicians who will construct whatever the Americans are developing but in advance of that American development. And we will launch ahead of the Americans, proving yet again that the Soviet Union are leaders in space exploration.'

‘Have they any conception of what they're asking?' said Berenkov bitterly.

They're not asking,' corrected Kalenin. ‘They're demanding.'

There was no other man whom Berenkov regarded as a closer or better ally than Kalenin. They had attended spy academy together and Kalenin had been the supporter at his wedding to Valentina and was Georgi's guardian in the event of their deaths. Kalenin had played a considerable personal part in freeing him from imprisonment in Britain and protected him greatly on one particular occasion after his repatriation. ‘The order names me personally?' he anticipated.

‘Yes,' confirmed Kalenin reluctantly. ‘You can have whatever facilities you require: manpower, resources, money… anything.'

‘Luck,' said Berenkov. ‘I'll need a lot of luck.'

Which he got and was not unduly surprised at because Berenkov believed himself an inherently lucky man. But in the beginning a great deal was achieved through basic intelligence procedures.

The KGB maintains its biggest external espionage system in the world within the United States, despite the public displays of relaxation between Washington and Moscow. In Washington itself the
rezidentura
operates from the Russian embassy on 16th Street, less than a mile from the White House. But by far the greater concentration of intelligence officers work from the United Nations in New York: estimates vary but American counter-intelligence guess there are two hundred agents installed supposedly as international civil servants in the green-glassed skyscraper overlooking the East River. And as international civil servants they are not subject to the travel restrictions that apply to the Washington embassy or to the other spy centre, the Soviet consulate at 2790 Green Street, in Pacific Heights district of San Francisco.

Following the Dzerzhinsky Square meeting, Alexei Berenkov activated every one, ordering all other intelligence-gathering activity suspended and drafting ten officers immediately from New York to Washington.
Aviation Weekly
really is the foremost and best-informed aeronautical publication, and three of the New York operatives were deputed to read through the previous year's magazines for all references to Star Wars technology. Others from New York focused upon every government department even remotely likely to be involved in such development. The overall government budgets and then its financial breakdown between those various departments – all public documents – were pored over in the Senate and House libraries in the search for an allocation to any company awarded space technology contracts. The Congressional libraries also provided the previous year's record of every hearing of every committee of the two chambers involved in space exploration.

A chart was created from budget details and newspaper and magazine listings of all Pentagonapproved defence contractors, the logic being that bureaucracy moves on straight and well-regulated lines and that the development was likely to be awarded to a corporation which had already undergone a full security clearance and proved itself reliable in the past.

The dictionary-recorded word lobbying was invented in Washington, to describe favour-seekers who waylaid a nineteenth-century US President in the lobby of the Willard Hotel. Since that time lobbying has progressed into an accepted and recognized profession in the American capital, with the majority of national industries and companies paying substantial retainers to people specializing in their subjects to influence Congressmen and purchasing authorities into directing business their way. The KGB make full use of innocent lobbyists, retaining them through American-incorporated front companies to learn as much as possible about all scientific and technological advances that become known on Capitol Hill. Every Soviet-retained lobbyist in space or space component development was canvassed.

On the West Coast of America lobbyists are called consultants and their function varies slightly. They monitor and keep abreast of trends in that crucible of American high-tech concentrated in California's Santa Clara County and known as Silicon Valley. Their utilization by the KGB is, however, exactly the same: unknowingly retained through Russian front companies but for convenience usually controlled through the consulate in San Francisco.

The information that Berenkov sought was built up fragmented and piecemeal. Several lobbyists and two consultants tried to earn a fee by regurgitating the
Aviation Weekly
article but two Washington-based specialists confirmed inquiries from other, genuine US aeronautical component manufacturers. From those earlier inquiries the lobbyists were able to provide the names of companies that had
not
tendered for the Star Wars work, narrowing the list of those who might have done. The possible identity was further narrowed by filleting from Congressional inquiry hearings the names of five corporations who had been barred from future government work for overcharging on some previously awarded contracts.

A breakthrough pointing to the West Coast came from a four-line reference to private-but-approved contractor use of existing shuttle landing facilities in the Mojave Desert in an Appropriations Committee report. There were three potential West Coast manufacturers remaining on the reducing list of possibilities. From Moscow Berenkov ordered that all three companies and their senior executives should be targeted.

The KGB head at the San Francisco consultate, Alexandr Petrin, took over the investigation of a company which a man named Emil Krogh was chairman.

Petrin, a darkly handsome native of Turkmenitya, which made it easy for him to pass as someone of Mediterranean birth, came to regard it as the best intelligence assignment of his KGB career.

Richard St John Harkness was a person elevated by a combination of convenient circumstance and personal good fortune to the fullest extreme of his abilities, although he would never have conceded it because the judgement had never occurred to him. The most recent example of that combination was the illness of Sir Alistair Wilson. The Director Generalship was being held open but Harkness believed that merely to be a temporary and cosmetic gesture, a reassurance to avoid causing the man any further, dangerous worry. And that his own promotion to ultimate control was inevitable. It was a role he craved desperately and was implacably determined to get. And when he did he intended restoring the department to one of proper order and respect. Sir Alistair and some Directors before him had been far too unconventional, tolerating riffraff and adventurers. It was all going to change when his position was confirmed. The riffraff, one in particular, was going to be weeded out and dispensed with: Harkness was impatient with the continuing delay.

3

Charlie Muffin was aware he had to tread warily, which with his feet he always did anyway. The more he thought about it the more he came to believe the hundred quid he'd spent risking food poisoning with Laura Nolan was money well spent in the war with Harkness.
I
think he's trying to make life so unpleasant that you'll quit
. An all-important disclosure because Laura was around the pompous old fart all the time, picking up the inner feelings, overhearing all the chance remarks. Charlie hadn't realized Harkness' campaign was as positive as that. At worst he'd believed the bloody man was showing off, during a brief opportunity of power: that all he had to do was keep his head down, shovel the shit without complaint and await the return of Sir Alistair Wilson. But with more time to think about it Charlie recognized that the dispute over the Records access could be viewed two ways, not confined to the simple view he'd first taken. Sure the continued restriction could be interpreted as indicating that Sir Alistair would be coming back. But the immediate challenge from Harkness, a form-filling bureaucrat piss-pants scared of challenging anything, could equally indicate the Director General was
never
returning, which made Harkness confident enough to launch the purge he'd had wet dreams about for so long.

The Director General's summons light was blinking demandingly when Charlie got to Westminster Bridge Road and what he regarded as a box but which government requisition documents described as office space, single occupancy for the use of, Grade III desk, chair, two highest security filing cabinets and polyester carpet square, two foot by two foot. Avocado was the official colour description: Charlie thought it closer to puke green.

With a new resolve not to provide Harkness with any gratuitous ammunition, Charlie went straight up to the ninth floor. The lift opened on to a sealedoff, protected area where he had to identify himself, although he knew the security guards by their christian names as they knew him by his. Beyond the check were carpets soft under soundless if awkward feet, the richly dark panelling, interspersed with original oil portraits of frock-coated or uniformed men in wigs, reassuringly old. Men may come and men may go but the British Establishment lasts for ever, thought Charlie. He wondered if there would ever be a formal picture of Richard St John Harkness staring down reprovingly. Some of the far-away looking men Charlie was passing were captured against globes of the world or with navigational compasses in their hands, tools of their trade. Charlie supposed that if Harkness were ever painted he'd be shown with an expenses sheet in one hand and an erasing pen in the other.

Laura was waiting at the door of the outer office, her pretty face twisted with concern. She said: ‘Remember what I said about showing respect!'

‘Engraved on my heart,' said Charlie. ‘How's Paul?'

‘This isn't the time or the place to talk about Paul,' refused the girl cursorily. Denying herself at once she said: ‘As a matter of fact he's red raw with prickly heat.'

‘Sure it's prickly heat?' said Charlie. ‘You can catch some terrible things from toilet seats in South America.'

‘I don't need to worry,' said Laura enigmatically.

Richard Harkness, who'd moved into the Director General's office on the same day that Wilson suffered his heart attack, was sitting personally immaculate behind an impeccably clean desk that unfortunately appeared too big for him. He was pink-faced, grey hair fantailed over his ears, and faultlessly tailored in a foppish kind of a way, the black suit broad chalkstriped and the pastel yellow shirt set off against a matching yellow tie and pocket handkerchief. Charlie couldn't see because the man's feet were hidden beneath the desk, but he guessed the socks would be some sort of coordinated yellow: Harkness tried hard to finish everything off.

There were no chairs conveniently near to the desk, which meant Charlie had to stand: Prick, he thought, smiling towards the man. Harkness looked back blank-faced.

‘You've no outstanding assignment, have you?' Harkness asked expectantly.

‘Holding myself in readiness,' said Charlie. He believed the cocky, Jack-the-lad routine got up Harkness' nose, which was why he did it.

‘There's a request from the Other Place,' announced Harkness, using the inter-departmental jargon for MI5, Britain's counter-intelligence service. ‘They've got a bit of a staff shortage and have asked for some temporary secondment for embassy observation.'

Which was roughly equivalent to parking meter warden or leaf sweeper in public parks, Charlie assessed: freezing your ass off in a supposed secure house overlooking communist embassies, monitoring and photographing the comings and goings of one day and comparing them to the comings and goings of the previous day. Spot-the-Spy, the latest quiz game the entire family can play, brought to you courtesy of Her Majesty's Secret Service. He said: ‘Sorry to hear that: must be a problem for them.'

‘I'm transferring you, until further notice,' announced Harkness with self-satisfied contentment.

No you're not, asshole, thought Charlie. He said: ‘Oh dear!'

‘Is there a problem?' asked Harkness, smiling at last at his own personal joke.

‘I hope not,' said Charlie. ‘You can call upon other people, can't you?'

Cold silence came down upon the room. Harkness did not speak for several moments and Charlie was unsure whether there was a nervous tug pulling at the corner of the man's left eye. Harkness said: ‘ Other people?'

‘Well, I can't go across, can I?' said Charlie. ‘These new Orders of Conduct you've issued: they specifically state that all active operatives attend assessment courses every six months. I've got my instructions to go at the end of the week. Sorry about that.'

Laura Nolan looked up, smiling hopefully, when Charlie emerged. ‘What happened?' she said.

‘The dick-head tripped over his own red tape,' reported Charlie.

The girl frowned. ‘You did show him the proper respect, didn't you?'

Charlie snapped his fingers, an exaggerated gesture. ‘Shit!' he said. ‘I knew there was something!'

4

Emil Krogh came awake first and was glad because it gave him time to compose himself, get some life into his face and pull the lines up. Not that it was a real problem. Kept himself in shape in the exercise room at home and the lift-and-tuck job he'd had before he met Cindy had worked just fine, taken off ten years at least. Like the moderate but discreetly maintained tinting, allowing just the right amount of mature greying at the temples but literally not a hair's breadth more; if a President could do it, why couldn't he? No, it wasn't the waking moment Krogh was uneasy about; it was the sleeping ones. And something Peggy, who knew about the face-lift, had said about five months earlier:
Almost time for another one, honey: asleep your face drops in those old relax lines and we don't want that, do we?
Not that his wife really cared what he looked like. All she cared about was the kids and baby-minding the grandchildren, which was fine by Krogh because of the time and freedom it gave him in addition to what he manipulated for himself, which was a lot. But he was grateful for the warning. Which was why he was glad he'd awakened first. Goddamn miracle that he had, after what he and Cindy had done last night; he should feel exhausted but he didn't. Felt fine. Another, perhaps the best, indication that he was in great shape.