See Charlie Run (3 page)

‘I can understand a permanent government official wanting to avoid the public embarrassment of known association with a traitor,' said Harkness, reasonably.

‘Bell had access to most of the NATO stuff that Knott was convicted of passing over,' said Charlie. ‘I checked. It smells wrong.'

‘You mean that Knott was just the conduit, who happened to get caught?' demanded Wilson. ‘And then kept quiet, to allow Bell to stay in place?'

Maybe the man didn't believe in Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy, after all. Charlie said: ‘I mean I think it would be a good idea to put some surveillance on Bell; maybe channel something through him and keep a watch to see if it surfaces somewhere.'

Wilson nodded the instruction to his deputy and said to Charlie: ‘Pass the files over to Witherspoon, to continue the assessment …' He hesitated, briefly. ‘But don't tell him about the Knott and Bell connection. Let's see if he comes up with it.'

The sort of thing he'd that morning suspected Witherspoon was doing to him, recalled Charlie. The snotty little prick deserved it. He said: ‘I'll do that …' Charlie allowed just the right degree of pause and then went on: ‘I'm afraid there might be a problem making tomorrow night's plane.'

‘Why?' frowned Wilson.

‘Seems accounts want my expenses brought up to date and won't advance me any more money until they are,' said Charlie, intentionally avoiding Harkness's look. ‘And I'm going to need quite an advance, going to Japan. Expensive place.'

The Director made an impatient gesture and said to Harkness: ‘For God's sake get it fixed, on my authority. Bloody men with adding machines!'

‘It's regulations,' tried Harkness.

‘Bugger regulations!' said Wilson. ‘We haven't got time to waste, not now.'

Charlie looked expressionlessly at the deputy director, registering the man's flush of anger. He'd
known
that Harkness had initiated the expenses purge. That would teach the prissy fart: and there was still that nitpicking security difficulty. Charlie said: ‘There could be another delay: there's some sort of security enquiry. I retained the files last night, so I could be sure of the connection between Knott and Bell. I know it was wrong but I was only out for about thirty minutes, for a late supper.'

‘Nonsense to expect you to return them, while you were still working on them,' judged Wilson, impatiently. To Harkness he said again: ‘Sort that out as well, will you?'

The colour of Harkness's face deepened to match the desktop roses and Charlie decided that it was game, set and match.

‘Be careful in Japan, Charlie,' warned Wilson. ‘I want the Kozlovs but I don't want it blowing up in my face.'

I'm more interested in my face than in yours, thought Charlie. And nothing is going to blow up into it if I can help it. He said: ‘I have authority to abort?'

‘Not without consultation,' qualified Wilson. ‘And well done about the Knott defection.'

Which, compared to what he was now having to do, suddenly seemed an attractive assignment. Charlie said: ‘I'll need to be completely satisfied. I still don't like the feel of it.'

‘That's what I want you to be,' insisted Wilson. ‘Completely satisfied.'

The transfer order had come down from upstairs by the time Charlie collected all the Knott files and carried them from one cell to the other, to pass the assessment over to Hubert Witherspoon. Pedantically Charlie had Witherspoon sign a receipt and Witherspoon said smugly: ‘On suspension?'

‘Nope,' said Charlie. ‘Reassigned.'

The regulations-department, not personal-by which Witherspoon also ran his life – prevented the man making any sort of enquiry, and for once Charlie was grateful for them, aware of Witherspoon's impotent irritation. Trying to increase it, Charlie added: ‘Feeling was that you could sort out the last bits and pieces of this: I've already submitted a provisional report.'

‘What am I expected to do?' asked Witherspoon, concerned.

‘Find out what I missed,' said Charlie.

‘Anything I should particularly watch out for?' pressed the man.

Charlie hesitated and then said: ‘Yes. Be careful of the meat pies.'

‘The confounded man is intentionally insubordinate,' protested Harkness. ‘You didn't believe that rubbish about slipping out for a late supper, did you?'

‘Of course not,' said the Director, who was standing against the radiator again. Through the window he saw the Ministry of Works gardeners were working in St James's Park rosebeds and made a mental note to stop on his way home to see what they were planting.

‘And the accounts will be in a hopeless mess, by the time he gets back from the Far East,' persisted Harkness.

‘If
he gets back from the Far East,' qualified Wilson, turning back into the room.

‘I'm not discounting the difficulties,' said Harkness, detecting the criticism.

‘I'm prepared to tolerate the insubordination and the expenses fiddling and even some minimal security lapses,' said Wilson. ‘This is Charlie's sort of job.'

‘Do you think he's actually done it?' demanded Harkness, obtusely.

‘Done what?' said the Director.

‘Invented informants, to pad his expenses?'

‘Not for a moment,' said Wilson. Harkness was an excellent deputy but there were irritations.

‘They're a type, you know, he and that man Lu,' said Harkness. He'd initiate an audit on Charlie Muffin, just in case.

‘Harry Lu's a good freelance: deniable, too, if something goes wrong,' said Wilson. ‘I don't really want to lose him, over a few pounds.'

‘It's more than a few pounds,' argued Harkness, stiffly.

‘Let's not do anything final, until after this is over,' ordered Wilson. He felt out, enjoying the touch of the flowers.

‘It's not just Charlie Muffin's insubordination that is intentional,' said Harkness, ‘Everything about the man … the way he dresses … all that, is calculated to irritate, for no other reason than for his own amusement.'

‘I'm not sure that's the only reason,' said Wilson.

‘The Americans won't like it being him,' insisted the deputy. ‘They won't have forgotten he brought their Director down as well as ours in that ridiculous retribution business.'

‘They'll accept him, to get Kozlov,' said Wilson. He paused, then said: ‘Don't forget our predecessors planned to dump Charlie Muffin.'

‘I don't agree with the method but sometimes I think they had a point of view,' said Harkness. The secretary was waiting, when the deputy got back to his own office.

‘Accounts want to speak to you,' she said. ‘Charlie Muffin is indenting for £1000.'

‘Confounded man!' said Harkness, whose limit of outrage was restricted because he never swore, considering obscenity a careless use of words and he was a man careless about nothing.

‘I thought he is on the stop list,' said the woman.

‘Was
,' corrected the deputy, miserably. He'd definitely initiate an audit. And take another precaution. It was right the embassy should be distanced but Charlie Muffin was unpredictable. It was necessary to warn Richard Cartright and have him monitor what the dreadful man did.

Jun Hayashi did not consider he had betrayed the failed revolution of the Japanese Red Army; rather they had betrayed themselves, allowing the authorities to defeat them. Hayashi had not been defeated. Now it was a private revolution. He parked the Toyota coupé the Russian money had already provided and went – early as always – into Haneda Control Tower, the youngest supervisor there.

Chapter Two

Art Fredericks disembarked from the train on to the miniscule platform, momentarily drawing back from the crush of people filing obediently in the direction of the first of the shrines at Kamakura, admiring Kozlov's choice and recognizing, reluctantly, that the Russian was a clever bastard. And recognizing, pleased, that he'd been cleverer.

Kozlov had chosen the location, which he had always done since establishing contact, and Kamakura was perfect. Wherever the Russian was – and Fredericks knew he would be watching from somewhere – the tiny station and the single exit from it allowed the man complete surveillance, to determine if Fredericks were alone or accompanied by minders: or worse, snatch squads. Fredericks joined the crush, thinking as he had a dozen times since coming to Japan that everything would have been a goddamned sight easier if he weren't a round-eye, so easily distinguishable from all the other tourists. By the same token, he accepted realistically, it should make Kozlov easier to identify. Fredericks didn't bother to search, knowing by now of Kozlov's expertise and that to try to locate him, wherever he was, would be pointless: another of Kozlov's insistences was that as well as selecting the meeting places he should always initiate the contact, never giving any indication where or how it might be. Clever bastard, thought Fredericks again, conscious of attention from the Japanese immediately around him. Fredericks was a tall, heavy man, fighting a losing battle to prevent the muscle of his college heavyweight boxing days turning to fat, but he knew, unoffended, that it was not his size which intrigued them. It was the hair. Not only was it tightly curled and thick on his head but thatched on his chest and obvious today because he wore an open sports shirt, and matted, too, down from his arms, to cover the backs of his hands. His Japanese wasn't good enough to overhear if they were calling him monkey: he knew it was a frequently used word. One day, he thought, he would have to ask somebody why the Japanese never had any body hair.

The American went, according to the Russian's instructions, towards the Meigetsu-In temple. An expert himself, the CIA agent carried a camera and went into his tourist cover, stopping several times to photograph the foam of hydrangeas through which he had to climb to reach the building. He lingered at the main building and then stopped to photograph the smouldering fire upon which the students burned their wood-inscribed prayers for examination success, all the time alert for the approach. Which never came. Ten minutes had been the time limit.

As Fredericks turned and started to descend the long walkway, he saw Harry Fish, at one of the side shrines. The other CIA man whom Fredericks had sent in advance, with the rest of the team, showed no recognition and neither, of course, did Fredericks.

The next designated spot was very close. Fredericks walked easily back towards the railway tracks, wondering if the whole business were going to be a waste of time. Langley were insisting he try and so he would, but Fredericks thought he'd reached a pretty sound judgment about the Russian on their three previous encounters and guessed Kozlov would tell him to go to hell. The American hoped that was the man's only reaction; Fredericks' feeling was that Kozlov was too valuable a catch to risk challenging the arrangements at this stage. The time to change everything was when they got the man across, when it would be too late for him to do anything about it. At this stage it was still possible for Kozlov to back away from the whole thing.

Fredericks entered the Enno-Ji temple, privately amused at his thoughts of Kozlov telling them to go to hell when he saw the ten kings of Hades grimacing down from their places. He hoped it wasn't an omen. He took more photographs, isolating Hank Levine near a side door, apparently engrossed in an English-language guidebook about the temple. Fredericks bought a book of his own, to fill in the stipulated time limit, wondering if Kozlov would make him complete the entire route. It was possible. For the first time this was a meeting requested by the Americans, not by the man himself. So Kozlov would be nervous, unsure of the reason and taking every precaution.

The American paused outside the second temple, looking at the guidebook he'd just bought. There was a map of the tourist spots just inside the cover and Fredericks decided that Daibutsu was too far away to walk. He had to return almost to the railway station to get a cab and as he settled into the back he hoped he didn't have to make every point Kozlov had listed. At the entrance to the third spot the cab driver said: ‘I wait?' and the American hesitated, momentarily, attracted by the thought of permanent transport. Reluctantly he shook his head.

Beyond the narrow entrance the Kotoku-In temple ballooned out, dominated by the enormous figure of the open-air Buddha, with its curious head-down stare. At least, reflected Fredericks, going into his routine, his parents in Little Rock were due quite a range of holiday pictures. In the tourist shop to the right Jimmy Dale, who hadn't bothered with a camera of his own, was sifting through the professionally taken selection. Fredericks hoped that Kozlov's caution wouldn't prevent his making any sort of meeting at all. The guys were pretty pissed off losing an entire Saturday as it was.

‘Interesting, isn't it?'

Fredericks managed – just – to prevent the jump of surprise. He'd been tensed, waiting, and he'd still missed the goddamned man until he was right alongside. The irritation, at the thought of Kozlov's expertise being better than his own, dampened the satisfaction at the man having kept the meeting. Falling into the role dictated by Kozlov, that of Western tourists getting into casual conversation over a point of interest, Fredericks: ‘Yes. The position seems unusual.'

This was the testing period, the time when both engaged in seemingly meaningless conversation while each checked that the other had kept to the understanding and come alone. Which was why Fredericks had moved the other guys in overnight, so they could get to the spots early and be in place when he arrived, not obviously follow him in. Although he appeared to be looking at the statue, Kozlov's attention was upon the narrow entrance. It was the only one there was, and Fredericks realized why Kozlov had chosen this place, in preference to all the others. Clever bastard, he thought, once more.