Charlie’s Apprentice (40 page)

Natalia entered the inquiry room on the second day feeling none of the uncertainty of the first occasion. She got there early but Tudin, the lawyer and her son were already ahead of her.

Petr Korolov came in with the three-man committee, a permitted gesture to make clear his equal stature. Korolov, whom she had met on only two other occasions, lowered himself on the front row but not immediately beside her. He looked at her, though, briefly smiling. He was a plump, shiny-faced, balding man corseted in an ill-fitting, waistcoated suit, the sleeves and trousers too long, so that they bagged at wrist and ankle.

‘This examination will be concluded today,’ declared Lestov.

So there had been some ante-room discussion, Natalia realized. She hoped it hadn’t been too much, robbing her of her intended grand finale. She didn’t want to be denied her moment: the vindication she had groped towards – fought blindly for and desperately for – until just a few hours earlier, never properly knowing what was being done to undermine her: to destroy her. Her and Sasha.

Natalia rose, regretting the dip of uncertainty because now there could be nothing to feel uncertain about. She attacked hard and at once. She reminded the inquiry of her original examination of Fyodor Tudin, to establish the responsibility she had given him to organize a service in the republics that he’d so miserably failed to fulfil. She denounced him as an internal, corrosive schemer, doing nothing to protect the newly constituted agency but everything to damage it. She called him a liar, turning to hurl the word at him. And insisted he’d twisted those lies to deceive the tribunal he himself had caused to be convened.

Korolov rose dutifully when asked, faintly smiling at the affectation of the proceedings. For the records, she went through the routine of establishing Korolov’s name and authority. From her briefcase she extracted the first of her limited documentation.

She walked the few paces separating them and said: ‘Do you recognize this?’

Korolov examined it before nodding. ‘It is a memorandum I received from you.’

‘It is dated? Timed?’

‘It is dated the eighteenth. Timed at six-fifteen that evening.’

‘What is the subject of the memorandum?’

‘The arrest of your son, by the Organized Crime Bureau of the Militia.’

‘
I
identified him as my son. Fully disclosed to you my relationship, at that time?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does that memorandum make any request for special or favoured treatment from your department towards my son?’

‘On the contrary.’

‘Would you explain that?’

Korolov went to the paper he still held. Quoting, he read:‘“I expect the full authority and punishment of the law to be exercised.”’

There was movement from behind her, from where her son sat and then the hissed word: ‘Bitch!’ It was Eduard’s voice. Natalia was glad it had been loud enough for everyone to hear.

‘Is there, in that original memorandum, a request for a meeting between us?’

‘Yes.’ Korolov was relaxed, enjoying a cross-examination he imagined to be amateur but which came, in fact, from someone trained to be a more professional interrogator than any qualified lawyer in his department.

The faint condescension didn’t upset Natalia. Charlie had always preached the benefit of being underestimated: it had perhaps been Fyodor Tudin’s most serious failing.

‘Is there a reason for the suggested meeting?’

‘Yes.’

‘What?’

Again Korolov went to the paper in his hand. ‘A proposed discussion between prosecutors and investigators in my department with officers of the internal security agency to form a combined task force to combat the rise in organized crime in the Russian Federation.’

‘Did I give any personal undertaking?’

‘To make the same proposal to the chairman of your agency, for his approval, and to the appropriate officials of the agency’s internal directorates, if that approval is granted.’

‘Have you …’ began Natalia, but Lestov cut her off.

‘… Enough!’ declared the agency chairman. ‘This inquiry is over!’

So great was Natalia’s disappointment that she practically blurted out a protest, stopping herself just in time. There was so much more she had wanted to get on the record: she felt robbed, cheated. She’d still won, she realized. She wished there was a greater feeling of satisfaction.

*

‘Tudin wanted too much,’ decided Lestov. ‘If he’d put things before internal security, I would have probably had to find against you, without a hearing. That was his mistake: demanding an inquiry before which you could publicly destroy his case.’

‘I had written to the Federal Prosecutor,’ reminded Natalia. She had expected a personal meeting, but not for it to be so immediate, the same afternoon.

‘Yes you had, hadn’t you?’ picked up the security chief. ‘But not to me?’ There was no positive suspicion in the man’s voice, but Natalia thought there was a discernible reserve in his attitude.

‘I wanted to get the opinion of the Federal Prosecutor, before raising it with you. If he had not been enthusiastic, there would have been no point,’ said Natalia, easily.

‘You had no suspicion what Tudin was doing?’

‘None,’ said Natalia, easily again.

‘Some legal charges could be formulated against him.’

‘Would it be wise, opening it all up to public debate in a court? I would have thought dismissal is sufficient.’

Lestov nodded. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ The chairman paused and then said: ‘I’m going to liaise personally with Korolov about a task force. It is a good idea. Commendable, considering the personal circumstances.’

‘I considered it my duty,’ said Natalia, unembarrassed.

Lestov smiled, at last. It was still a brief expression. ‘I really am most impressed at how you have reorganized your directorate. It’s unfortunate this business had to arise.’

‘It’s resolved now. Very satisfactorily.’

‘I would, in future, like copies of any communication
before
you send them to outside ministries.’

‘Of course.’

‘You have my sympathy, about your son.’

‘We really have been apart for a very long time. There is nothing left between us.’
Adulterated drugs sometimes maim and kill
, she remembered.

Later, at the apartment in Leninskaya, Natalia rocked Sasha back and forth and said: ‘We won, darling. We’re safe.’ She would have liked to have told somebody properly about it: been able to boast. To someone like Charlie, for instance.

With the pressure of Tudin finally removed she could think about Charlie again. She would have to take a holiday. She couldn’t do what she intended from Moscow.

One of the most important strands of the safety net which Charlie Muffin always tried to have beneath him when he was working was the fullest knowledge possible before taking the first step forward, so he was glad of the delay on the visa application. He spent the entire day following his briefing from Patricia Elder studying the Beijing files, working from before Foster’s appointment or even Snow’s arrival through until the most recent folder. That folder contained duplicates of the incriminating photographs, as well as several of Li Dong Ming. Charlie thought the Chinese looked quite a pleasant-faced man. But then so had some photographs of Hitler and Stalin.

Charlie had finished his reading and was sitting in deep contemplation when Walter Foster entered, looking around in obvious and immediate disappointment. ‘I was hoping this would be about a new assignment but it isn’t, is it?’

‘Afraid not,’ said Charlie. ‘But I know how you feel.’

‘Have they got Snow yet?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘They will. The man was an idiot.’

‘Tell me about him.
Everything
about him.’

Foster frowned. ‘There’s not going to be
another
attempt to get him out?’

‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ avoided Charlie, smoothly. ‘Far too dangerous. I’ve just got to write one of those reports: you know how bureaucratic everything is.’

‘It’s going to end in disaster,’ insisted Foster.

‘I hope not,’ said Charlie, mildly. It really was time people thought of a different way to describe what the outcome was going to be.

Forty

It did not take Charlie long to form an opinion about Walter Foster and it confused him, as quite a lot in the files and records had confused him. Despite insisting that he wanted every detail – he actually used the word debriefing – Charlie had constantly to interrupt the former liaison man to clarify or bring out points Foster seemed to consider unimportant: it quickly became an account to justify himself. The priest, Charlie decided, had been handled very badly. Which added further to the confusion.

‘You dictated the contact procedure?’ queried Charlie.

‘Not me,’ said Foster, instantly defensive. ‘London’s orders. Standard stuff: the usual separation from the embassy.’

‘Couldn’t you have adjusted it?’ Charlie wondered if that was what Gower had tried to do.

‘Snow wanted too much: virtually meetings every week. That would have been dangerous.’

‘Your decision?’

‘Following orders.’

‘How often
did
you meet?’

‘Regularly enough, when there were things at the embassy that the British community came to. And then when we needed to, just the two of us.’

‘How often were the embassy occasions?’ persisted Charlie.

Foster shrugged. ‘Once a month, I suppose. Sometimes a little longer. That was the benefit of how we worked: there wasn’t a pattern that could be identified.’

‘Why couldn’t you meet Snow as often as the man wanted?’

‘For
exactly
the objection I’ve just told you!’ insisted Foster, indignantly. ‘It would have created a pattern that could have been picked up.’

‘Snow’s not well?’

‘He suffers from asthma,’ qualified Foster.

‘Badly?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Wouldn’t it have been the perfect way for Snow to have met you whenever he liked, coming to the embassy for medication or to see the resident doctor?’

From the surprise obvious on Foster’s face, Charlie guessed the opportunity hadn’t occurred to the other man.

‘The instructions were always that there had to be no provable embassy link. That was always how I had to work.’

‘How did you feel about him, personally?’ Charlie was curious how Foster would explain the breakdown between himself and the priest.

The man coloured slightly, heightening the sandstorm of freckles. ‘He was arrogant.’

‘So you didn’t get on?’

‘That’s not important.’

‘I would have thought it was, in a place like Beijing.’

‘We had a working relationship. It was satisfactory.’

It very definitely hadn’t been, thought Charlie. It had been obvious that he should talk to the man who had been the priest’s Control, but he wasn’t learning at all what he’d expected. He wasn’t sure, at that moment, exactly what he
was
learning. ‘How were things between Snow and the other priest, Father Robertson?’

Foster shrugged again. ‘Not particularly good, I don’t think. Robertson was very worried about upsetting the Chinese and getting the mission closed down.’

Charlie frowned. ‘Snow told you that?’

‘Several times. He called Robertson an old woman.’

‘What did you think of him?’

‘I only met him a few times, at embassy things. He seemed nervous but I always thought that was understandable, after being jailed like he was.’

‘Did he talk about that?’

‘Not to me. It was something we all knew about, at the embassy. It made him kind of a celebrity.’

They didn’t know yet how Gower had
been
arrested, Charlie remembered. ‘Apart from the occasions when he could visit the embassy for some event, you always signalled Snow for a meeting? Or he signalled you?’

The other man nodded. ‘Usually he signalled me. Like I said, he wanted too much contact.’

‘You always met in public places? Never went to the mission?’

‘Never!’ Foster seemed appalled at the suggestion.

‘You read about Gower’s arrest?’

Foster nodded. ‘I guessed he was ours.’

‘I was wondering if he tried to do things differently from you. Tried to make a direct approach.’

‘If he’d done that, they’d have picked up Snow as well, wouldn’t they?’

Charlie nodded. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

‘None of this would have happened if he’d done what I told him.’

‘I thought there was some problem about leaving without his Order’s authority.’

‘An excuse, that’s all,’ insisted Foster. ‘He wouldn’t listen.’

‘It can’t have been easy.’

‘Beijing isn’t easy. People don’t realize.’

‘That’s true,’ sympathized Charlie. ‘People never do.’

‘I hope I’ve helped.’

‘You have,’ assured Charlie. ‘A lot.’

‘You’re sure you haven’t heard where my next posting is to be?’

‘Sorry,’ said Charlie.

‘I didn’t like Beijing very much.’

‘I guessed,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s all behind you now.’

‘Thank God.’

Why was it, wondered Charlie, that things dumped upon him so often didn’t make any sense at all?

Julia had said she did not want to eat out, so she cooked at home, and Charlie quickly decided it was a mistake for him to have accepted. He tried very hard but she barely responded to anything he said. She pushed her plate away virtually untouched.

‘This isn’t exactly the last supper!’ he protested, still trying.

‘I don’t think that’s funny.’ It had been Julia who’d returned his visaed passport and given him the plane tickets for the following day.

In view of the situation, Charlie had half expected a final briefing from Patricia Elder or even the Director-General himself, although he supposed there wasn’t anything further for them to talk about. ‘I’ll be all right.’ Julia’s concern unsettled him.

‘Gower’s fiancée was on television before you got here. She looked dreadful.’

‘Gower wanted me to meet her. I didn’t.’

Julia nodded, not needing an explanation. ‘The deputy Director has tried to get her treated properly, at the Foreign Office. That’s why she was on television: going in to see one of the permanent secretaries.’