Liz Carlyle - 07 - The Geneva Trap (6 page)

She hoped he was right and that he was as confident about himself.

‘Do you remember me, Liz Carlyle?’

‘Of course I do, Alexander. It’s good to see you again. I’ve never forgotten your talk at that seminar.’

‘Thank you. I also remember the other time we met. You were about to take your final examinations, and I gave you some advice. Which you seem to have taken.’ He smiled wryly. ‘You have not perhaps chosen the career I expected, but it has certainly kept you out of academic life.’

She smiled, wondering how much he knew. Presumably quite a lot, otherwise why would he have asked for her? But though she was very curious to know how he had kept abreast of her career, this meeting was for him to talk to her, so she said nothing and waited.

‘You know I am in the same business as yourself?’

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘I have information that should be of interest to your government. Of great interest, in fact. I asked to see you because I knew nothing of those I’d be dealing with here – perhaps someone low-level who might not understand the significance of what I have to say. Then it could all go nowhere and I would have taken the risk for no benefit at all.’

‘Well, I can guarantee you that whatever you tell me will be heard at the highest level.’ She felt this sounded rather pompous, but it appeared to reassure Sorsky, who nodded and seemed satisfied. Then he began to talk.

‘About three months ago my Station learned about a project that is being developed jointly by the United States and your country. Its object is to create a new military communications system for drones that will be used by the armed forces of both countries. The project is not being shared with other NATO members. It will work via a special satellite system, which will be concealed behind complex encryption. I do not know the details, which I suspect neither you nor I would understand. The Pentagon and your Defence Ministry are driving the project but the development work on the encryption systems is being done in England. The project is called Operation Clarity.’

Liz was not surprised that she had never heard of it – there was no reason for her to know about top-secret defence programmes – but how did Sorsky know? Russell White had told her that Sorsky was thought to be on the security side of the intelligence component in the Russian Embassy, so not part of the scientific and technical group.

She could not resist asking, ‘How did you learn this?’

‘Well, not from the British or the Americans, be assured.’ He laughed, but then his expression sobered. ‘I am not telling you this to boast that we know about your secrets. In fact, we don’t know much more about Clarity than I’ve just told you. My Station and a few key others were tasked with finding out more about the programme – difficult since it is so hush-hush even in the US and UK. The most effective way would be to recruit one of the computer scientists working on the project, but that has proved easier said than done.’

‘That’s a relief.’

Sorsky shook his head. ‘Not so fast. We have discovered that another country – not one of your NATO allies – has managed to infiltrate the development. They are acquiring enough technical information about this system to sabotage it once it’s in operation. It will be a cyber-attack. Before you ask me, I do not know what country it is that is doing this. But my Government and those higher in my Service do, and they have decided not to inform your Government. Or the Americans. They are holding on to the information for whatever use they can make of it.’

‘I see,’ said Liz, though she was beginning to feel rather confused. ‘Let me just be clear what you are saying. A third country – you do not know which – has mounted an operation to infiltrate a US/UK top-secret development programme called Operation Clarity. Have I got that right?’

‘Yes. Those are the bones of it.’

‘My Government will be interested to hear this, Alexander, and very grateful to you. But I’m sure you’ll understand that they will also want to know why you are telling us this. Particularly as you say that the authorities in your country have decided not to pass on the information. You are taking a big risk. Why are you doing that?’

‘I am not a traitor.’ He was looking straight at her now and she could see his face clearly for the first time. Age lines were etched deeply into the pallid skin; his eyes were intense and beneath them dark pouches of skin sagged. ‘I disagree with the hard-line elements in my Service who are advising our Government. To these people the potential disruption of Western military communications would be a positive thing. But they have not thought it through. If the kind of cyber-attack that is intended took place, Russia might well be suspected. We could have another Cold War, or even worse – some kind of cyber-war, where each country is trying to disable the infrastructure of the others. That would not be in Russia’s or anyone’s interest.’

Liz had heard versions of this statement before. It was the classic rationale of the spy, the double agent, as he justified his actions to himself. She knew that her role was to listen while he worked out his sense of betrayal to his own satisfaction. So she merely nodded and stayed silent. He went on.

‘I love my country. But I love the world even more and I cannot see any value in keeping this information from you. On the contrary, I think it could cause very real harm and possibly bring about conflict between our countries. And if anyone could survive such a conflict, it would not be Russia. That is why I am here. Not as a traitor, but a patriot.’

He stopped talking and slumped back on the bench as though he had exhausted himself. Sweat was standing out on his forehead and he brushed his hand back over his balding crown.

‘Yes,’ said Liz. ‘Now I understand.’ She paused. She had to go carefully here. She must get more out of him, but it was quite clear he was in a fragile state and it would be easy to say the wrong thing and send him away dissatisfied. ‘You are right about the importance of preventing this plot, Alexander. Is there anything more you can tell me that might help us do that? Do you know how they are acquiring the information? You said they have infiltrated the team. Have you any more information about that?’

‘All I know is that there is an agent based in the Ministry of Defence in London who is relaying critical information about the software that will control the satellite.’

‘Do you know what nationality he is?’

‘No. But I do know he is not British or American.’

That would help track down this infiltrator – Liz couldn’t believe many foreigners could be working in the MOD, but surely none would have access to such sensitive information.

Sorsky was looking at his watch nervously. ‘Have you got to go soon?’ she asked.

‘I am due at the theatre in twenty minutes – it’s an evening with other colleagues and their wives, so I could not avoid it. And I must not draw any attention to myself.’

‘Of course not. But we’ll want to meet you again. In the meantime …’

He finished her sentence. ‘In the meantime, I will try and find out which country this threat is coming from. That is what you need to know.’

Liz nodded. She saw that Sorsky had his hands clasped tightly together now, perhaps to keep them from shaking. ‘How can we contact you?’ she asked.

‘You can’t.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Tell your colleague Mr Russell White to continue to play tennis on Mondays and Wednesdays; I will make the arrangements through him when I am ready. But I will not deal with his partner Terry Castle. He is too young to be reliable.’

So Sorsky knew Castle’s name; clearly, Russian intelligence in Geneva was on the ball. In an effort to reduce the tension, she said, ‘Russell White told me he’s getting fitter from playing so much tennis.’ She paused a moment, then added, ‘You know, he is a senior member of his Service and it might make sense for you to meet him next time. He is based here.’

‘No!’ Sorsky’s voice was sharp. ‘The information I give you needs to be investigated in the UK. It would be coming to your Service in any case. So better to deal direct with an officer of MI5 – and one I have known for a long time.’ He smiled at her briefly.

Liz said nothing. Sorsky sighed. ‘You have not escaped my attention since we met so many years ago in Bristol. I have followed your career with interest. I heard that your work with Brunovsky was noteworthy.’

Liz was amazed that he knew about that operation. Several years ago she had joined the household of a Russian oligarch in London, who had asked for protection. But it had turned out that he was very far from needing protection, and it was Liz herself who was in danger.

Recovering her cool, she said, ‘Noteworthy is one way of putting it.’ As far as she was concerned that case had ended in a debacle. She had done her best, but it hadn’t been good enough.

Sorsky sat up, pushing his back against the bench and stretching as though throwing off a burden. ‘I will leave first. You wait a few minutes and then go out through the gates to Place Neuve.’

‘Okay.’

‘I will say goodbye for now.’ He stood up, without looking at her.

‘Goodbye, Alexander,
à bientôt
,’ she said, and she watched him as he strode off towards the university buildings.

Liz gave him three minutes, then rose to her feet and walked towards Place Neuve. Dusk was falling, and the oversized chessmen had been returned to the board’s back rows – the game was over. Cars in the Place had their lights on, and the pavements around the square were full of couples bustling off to restaurants or the theatre.

How, among the flurry of movement, Liz managed to spot the man who half an hour before had been buying a newspaper at the kiosk across the crazy confluence of streets, she didn’t know. But she was certain it was the same man – he still wore a yellow sweater – and she was troubled by what she didn’t believe was a coincidence. She was even more troubled when she saw another man on the steps of the Grand Théâtre across the street. The overcoat was missing, and so was the jacket he’d worn in the Place du Bourg-de-Four. But the width of his shoulders and the stocky build were still the same.

Chapter 10

Liz flew out early the next morning. She had stayed the night in a small, elegant hotel near the Embassy, though she had barely had enough time to appreciate her room’s décor before falling asleep, utterly exhausted. After leaving Sorsky she had gone back to the Embassy to brief Russell White and Terry Castle, and by the time they had gone over every detail and sent off a message to Vauxhall Cross, it was midnight.

One thing had continued to trouble her. At the end of the session, she had tackled White about it. ‘I asked for no surveillance of the meeting, but I’m pretty sure there were people around. Was it your lot?’

White looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry. Orders from Vauxhall Cross, I’m afraid – they insisted we keep an eye on you. But I am very surprised you saw him. He was convinced he hadn’t been spotted.’

Liz shook her head. She was cross, but not with White. He had only been following orders; orders from Geoffrey Fane himself, she was pretty sure. The man couldn’t keep his fingers out of the action, she thought wearily. But something still nagged at her. ‘I saw your man first in the street and then again in the Bourg-de-Four – before I went into the park. Then I saw him again afterwards. And there was a guy in a yellow sweater, which I thought was pretty unprofessional since it made him stand out a mile.’

White looked at Castle; it must have been the younger man who’d set things up. Castle shook his head, and White said, ‘That wasn’t us. We had someone in the university buildings. He watched while you were talking to Sorsky. He didn’t see any other surveillance.’

‘I didn’t see anyone in the park. Just in the street and the square outside. Sorsky said he didn’t think I had been followed so perhaps I was imagining things.’

But Liz didn’t think so. As she looked out of the aeroplane window and down at Mont Blanc, its snowy cap glistening in the sun, she knew that the thick-set man could have had a perfectly innocent reason for his stop-start walk around Place du Bourg-de-Four. But why had he come back and hung around Place Neuve? And why did he change his coat? Not to mention the ‘coincidence’ of her twice spotting a man in a yellow jersey. And if it wasn’t the MI6 Station, who were these people working for? Sorsky had been at pains to make it clear that his own people had no reason to suspect him of anything. The only conclusion she could draw was that these people were not interested in Sorsky or the meeting; they were watching her.

Chapter 11

‘It’s a great story, Elizabeth. But is it true? Or is something else going on here?’

‘Good question, Geoffrey, but I can’t answer it. I just don’t know.’

They were sitting in Geoffrey Fane’s office in MI6’s headquarters building in Vauxhall Cross. The wide greenish-tinted windows looked down on the sweep of the Thames as it flowed by, past the long MI5 building with its shining copper roof, towards Parliament. Today a sharp breeze was whipping up little waves on the river and the tourist boats were rocking in the swell as they turned underneath the bridge to return to their starting point.

On Fane’s desk was the message that Liz and Russell White had composed in Geneva the previous evening. He picked it up and stabbed his finger at it.

‘What do we know about this friend of yours anyway? He says he’s a patriot not a traitor. Wasn’t that exactly what all defectors used to say in the Cold War? It was difficult enough to believe it then – and most of them turned out in the end to be pretty self-seeking – but it’s even more difficult to believe it now.’