Bomb Grade (10 page)

Nothing was going to be simple, Charlie accepted objectively in the taxi carrying him back to Lesnaya. He hadn't even started yet and if Lyneham was to be believed he was going to be bloody lucky if he was ever going
to
start properly. But it had been a good beginning, apart from the expectable embassy friction. And that was nothing he couldn't handle. The only disappointment so far, in fact, had been his inability to find Natalia. And if he was going to be sensibly objective, it had been ridiculous for him to expect to locate her so soon. If ever.

Back in the embassy, Lyneham said, ‘Well?'

‘Superfluous to requirements, put out to pasture,' assessed Kestler, in youthful instant judgment.

‘Sure about that?' asked Lyneham, who wasn't sure himself but who hadn't been as impressed as he'd hoped to be. ‘Don't forget that past record.'

‘Trust me,' said Kestler.

I wouldn't trust your judgment if you had a beard and your name was Moses, thought Lyneham.

‘When?' demanded Natalia.

‘Tomorrow. He said he was calling from the American embassy. Obviously it's going virtually to be a joint operation,' judged Popov.

‘It makes sense.'

‘His Russian wasn't very good, but at least he tried. Which is more than the American did at first. We ended up with English, though.'

Charlie's Russian had been excellent, remembered Natalia, virtually fluent even in his use of colloquialisms. He'd obviously lost it through lack of use, like she'd probably lost a lot of her English, although she and Aleksai amused themselves sometimes, practising together. ‘What did he say?'

‘Just that he wanted to introduce himself.'

‘Our not being told in advance of his arrival
was
a political criticism,' declared Natalia, positively, less distracted by personal intrusion than she had been before and therefore thinking more clearly. ‘And there will be more, unless we manage something soon. Show him every consideration. And make sure he knows he's getting it. I don't want any more complaints than we can avoid between here and London.'

‘
Every
consideration?' queried the reluctant Popov.

‘Give the impression of cooperating.' Natalia no longer wanted to be alone to think, as she had when she'd first learned of Charlie's arrival. The opposite, in fact. ‘You said you were busy tonight?'

‘Dinner with our regional commander, from the northeast. I don't think I should consider rearranging it; I'm not sure how long he's going to be here.'

‘Of course you shouldn't rearrange it,' accepted Natalia.

‘Maybe you should come?'

‘Too late to arrange anything for Sasha.'

‘What about the Englishman? Still sure you don't want to meet him?'

‘No!' said Natalia, too loudly.

‘What's the matter?' asked the man.

‘Nothing.'

‘There'll be a lot to talk about tomorrow.'

How much would there be of what she wanted to hear, wondered Natalia.

‘A confirmed $100,000,000!' queried a staggered Frolov.

‘Deposits already lodged, from every purchaser,' confirmed the Dolgoprudnaya boss of bosses.

‘And there's no problem at the plant?'

‘They're terrified. Doing exactly what they're told, when they're told, how they're told.'

There was a movement from Sobelov, the look for acquiescence before the man stood. Unasked, he poured drinks and put them before everyone and then raised his own glass. ‘I think Stanislav Georgevich is to be congratulated,' toasted the man. ‘I have questioned this because I doubted it could work. I no longer have any doubts. So I apologize and pledge my full support.'

Everyone drank and Silin briefly lowered his head in appreciation. If the bastard thought that was going to save him he was an even bigger fool than he'd so far shown himself to be.

chapter 8

C
harlie, who was not normally given to such impressions, thought Aleksai Popov was probably one of the most dramatic-looking men he'd ever met. The person who strode across the high-ceilinged baroque office of the Interior Ministry to meet him was tall, well over six feet, model-immaculate in a dove-grey suit accentuating the slope from broad shoulders to blade-thin waist. The height and the obvious athleticism and the autocratic way the man held himself would have been sufficient to make him outstanding in most surroundings, but it was his facial appearance that was most striking. Popov's deeply black hair ran into a very full but whisker-trim beard, fashioned into a definitive wedge, creating a startling similarity with all the photographs Charlie had ever seen of the last Tsar. The handshake was firm without being bone-crushing, the cologne subdued, and Charlie thought it was probably difficult for Popov to walk down a street without being tripped up by women eager to fall underneath him.

The simmering samovar was a nice traditional touch, although Charlie guessed the clear liquid in the close-by decanter to be alternative-choice vodka, and the chairs arranged without an intervening desk showed forethought, as well. Charlie was tempted, but he was enjoying the impression-making routine so he chose tea. Popov took vodka.

It was Popov who suggested they use English (‘there will be many other meetings; we can alternate, each to practise upon the other') and they moved smoothly through the friends-and-colleagues preliminaries.

‘The West is clearly becoming impatient,' suggested Popov, concentrating Charlie's full attention.

‘Concerned,' qualified Charlie, diplomatically. ‘The enormous problems you face aren't yours alone: they're international.'

‘I'd like to think that was completely true,' said Popov. ‘Our greatest problem is being judged by the efficiency and expertise of American and English law enforcement. And we don't have either.'

Charlie wasn't sure America or England had it, either. Or that misjudgment
was
Russia's greatest problem. ‘Every reason, then, for us to cooperate as closely as possible.'

‘The system has worked well with America. Your additional help will be appreciated.'

Charlie discerned the danger of the earlier cliché ping-pong. Despite Popov's indication of easy access, Charlie wasn't sure how easy it would really be to meet the Russian with any regularity and didn't intend wasting this or any other chance. ‘
Has
the system worked well?'

‘Isn't it the opinion of London, and perhaps Washington as well, that it has? Or is doing?'

Jumpy, thought Charlie, recognizing yet again the sort of opening that had been falling at his feet ever since he'd stepped off the plane. ‘I know from meeting the Americans here what their input is, from outside Russia. As I have already told you, mine will hopefully be on a similar scale, from what I receive from London …'

‘… Which isn't matched in return by what we are providing from our side?' interrupted Popov, which was why Charlie had hesitated, hoping for just such a reaction.

I didn't say it, you did, thought Charlie. Which meant the Russians knew it already, were worried about it already, and that probably Popov, as the man in charge, realized his ass could be in a sling. And was therefore the most worried of all. ‘A conclusive investigation, here in Russia, would reassure a lot of people.' Particularly certain people in London and keep me in a job. Charlie didn't understand the suggestion of a smile that briefly touched Popov's bearded face.

‘Investigations
are
being carried out,' insisted the Russian. ‘Several, in fact. Many in the past have proved to be inconclusive: criminals cheating other criminals.'

Charlie said, ‘I'm aware of that side of the business. So are London. And Washington. But that's something quite different: it doesn't create the threat we're here to discuss. I can't, of course, speak for the Americans, but I believe my appointment is made with the expectation of even closer, mutual cooperation.'

Instead of responding at once Popov offered more tea but saw Charlie's eye on the vodka decanter and switched the invitation, which Charlie accepted. Charlie decided the drink-at-every-stop innovation was another example of how well his luck was holding. As he handed Charlie the glass, Popov said, ‘Are you suggesting the
active
participation of yourself and the Americans?'

The tea-or-vodka delay had been intentional, for the man mentally to prepare the legally valid rejection, assessed Charlie. But it hadn't been prepared sufficiently. ‘I'm very aware I have no legal jurisdiction here. So I don't see how we could actively participate throughout an entire investigation. It would be impractical as well as impossible from a manpower standpoint alone.'

Popov frowned, disappointed at being anticipated. ‘What then?'

‘You must understand this is a personal view,' said Charlie, in a voice carefully modulated to hint it went far beyond. ‘But I wonder if it wouldn't be interpreted abroad, reassure a lot of people abroad, as just the sort of equally balanced cooperation if there was
invited
involvement towards the end of an investigation already established to be a genuine case of nuclear smuggling.' Charlie hoped his good fortune so far hadn't made him over-confident.

‘It's a suggestion that hasn't been considered,' admitted the Russian.

‘But perhaps one worth examining?' Lack of legal jurisdiction could as easily have been invoked now as before and Charlie was intrigued the other man didn't use it. Maybe Popov hadn't intended rejection after all.

‘I could discuss it,' offered Popov.

With whom? seized Charlie. His satisfaction at the apparent unqualified success he'd so far encountered was close to being outweighed by his disappointment at not finding any trace of Natalia. Which went against every sort of logic, reality and even the plain common sense by which Charlie normally operated. He'd hardly been in Moscow five minutes, done scarcely more than begin basically to establish himself, and here he was maintaining infantile delusions about a woman he'd earlier decided, with the hard-headed objectivity he seemed incapable of maintaining for very long, probably listed him as the shit of this or any other century. Pull yourself together! he thought, angrily. Buggering up by accident was all right, but buggering up when it could be avoided didn't make any sense. ‘I appreciate your seeing me personally. And so quickly. With whom, and how, should I liaise in the future?'

Popov appeared surprised. ‘With me, of course!'

Charlie
was
surprised. For him to have been received by the colonel in operational charge of the specific Interior Ministry division was an act of extreme courtesy; for the man to put himself forward as the day-to-day contact was the most positive proof of how concerned the Russians were about nuclear banditry. ‘That would ensure the fastest possible reaction to what either has to tell the other.'

‘Which is surely the first essential?' suggested Popov.

‘Absolutely.' Would Kestler have reached the same understanding?

‘This has been an extremely useful and fruitful first meeting.'

Back to verbal ping-pong, accepted Charlie. To attempt anything further would be trying too hard too soon. ‘I hope so. Leading, I hope, to greater involvement.'

‘It will be discussed,' promised Popov. ‘We'll talk soon.' Again, the earlier inexplicable smile wisped across the Russian's face.

‘I'll call you,' suggested Charlie.

‘No,' refused Popov. ‘I'll call you.'

Working upon the well-established bureaucratic principle that bullshit baffled brains and that paperwork was the mile-high bullshit of bureaucracy, it took Charlie a long time setting out everything in his first report to London, reflecting as he did so that a lot of it wasn't even bullshit.

‘I totally disagree with your interpretation of the meeting with Colonel Scott,' protested Bowyer, after it had all been transmitted.

‘You're not in any way linked to the opinion,' Charlie pointed out. ‘It's all down to me.'

‘It reflects upon the embassy!'

Charlie guessed the station chief could hardly wait to scuttle along the corridor to Saxon. He'd have to devise some way of communicating with London without Bowyer having access to the traffic. ‘I'm doing my job. It doesn't reflect upon the embassy at all.'

‘Do you believe the Americans share what they get from outside?'

‘They told me they did. That's why they're pissed off, getting nothing in return.'

There was a slight frown at what Bowyer considered an obscenity. ‘You really think there's the slightest chance of your being included at the tail-end of a genuine investigation?'

‘No,' admitted Charlie, honestly. ‘But there wasn't any harm in trying, was there?'

‘So it's not as good as it looks on paper … rather a lot of paper?'

Fuck you, thought Charlie. ‘Why don't we wait and see?'

It was an empty response but Bowyer wouldn't know that. Would the sneaky bastard risk a direct intervention to London or leave it to Saxon?

Back at the Interior Ministry Aleksai Popov was coming to the end of his detailed account of his meeting with Charlie Muffin. ‘An unusual person. Certainly much cleverer than the American but then he's much older …' A man so obviously sartorially aware, Popov paused. ‘… Personally quite smart but with the strangest shoes.'

Natalia didn't need to be told what Charlie had looked like.

She'd watched unseen from the corridor recess no longer containing the Lenin bust just outside her office door as Charlie had been escorted to Popov's door. Although it was obviously Charlie, the crispness of the suit had surprised her, because he'd never dressed like that when she'd known him. But she'd recognized at once the puddled shoes and the eyes-missing-nothing head movement, actually jerking further into the recess in momentary fear he'd see her.