See Charlie Run (6 page)

Shit again, thought Charlie. He said: ‘Very textbook.'

‘No,' said Fredericks, disdaining the mockery. ‘Properly done – the way it should be. And always is.'

‘Glad to hear it,' said Charlie, foundering and knowing it. ‘I wouldn't like to be involved in anything amateur.'

‘Neither would I,' said Fredericks. ‘That's why I'm worried. So far I'm not very impressed.'

A waiter hovered and Fredericks said: ‘Club soda, with ice.' The man looked enquiringly at Charlie who nodded for another whisky. Charlie finished the one he had and said to the American: ‘You want to know something! I couldn't give a fuck whether I impress you or not. That's not what I'm here for.'

‘I know why you're here because I started all this,' said Fredericks. ‘And if you screw up then the whole thing becomes a disaster. So I
need
to be impressed.'

‘So do I,' fought back Charlie. ‘I'm not yet convinced that this is a big deal; is anything at all. So
I
need convincing, about a lot of things.'

‘I've had four meetings,' said Fredericks. ‘It looks right to me. Every way.'

Both men pulled back for the drinks to be served. When the waiter left, Charlie said: ‘You made any arrangements for me?'

Fredericks stopped with his glass halfway to his lips, frowning. ‘Arrangements for what?'

‘To meet Kozlov. And the woman.'

Fredericks put down the glass, without drinking. ‘It obviously hasn't been properly explained to you,' he said, patiently. ‘Kozlov is ours. You're babysitting the woman.'

Thank Christ the chance had come, thought Charlie. He said: ‘I thought I was getting a lecture on professionalism from a professional.'

‘What are you talking about?' demanded the American.

‘Are you seriously suggesting that I go into this without seeing the man himself … assessing things for myself. Without seeing the woman, too … come on, Sunshine!' Although the bar was dark, Charlie was aware of the pinpricks of colour on the man's face, showing the anger. Charlie was glad he'd finally managed to unsettle the American.

‘This is
our
show,' insisted Fredericks. ‘He came to us. He stays with us. You get the woman. I'll tell you where and when.'

‘Bollocks,' said Charlie.

‘What's bollocks?'

‘You. The operation. Everything,' said Charlie. He sighed, drinking deeply from his glass. ‘Pity,' he said. ‘I really enjoy Japan. Would have liked it to have lasted longer.'

‘You want to say something, why don't you say it straight out?' said Fredericks.

‘Sure,' said Charlie. ‘The British just withdrew.'

Charlie spoke intent upon the other man, alert for the signs, and he saw them. If there had been any other way of getting the Kozlovs out, Washington would not have approached London. So the fact that Fredericks was meeting him – within hours of arrival, and trying to impose himself as the controller from the world go – meant not only that the British participation was essential but that the Americans were desperate for it.

‘You haven't got the authority to withdraw,' challenged Fredericks.

‘I have,' said Charlie. ‘And that's what I've just done …' Dismissively, the action of someone bringing an encounter to a close with a gesture of politeness, Charlie said: ‘Would you like another drink? Maybe something stronger? I'm going to have the last one.' As he turned to catch the waiter, Charlie saw that the smiling girl on the adjoining table was deep in conversation with a blonde-haired man who used his hands a lot when he spoke. Lucky bugger, Charlie thought: she looked like she might have been a goer.

‘What do you want?' demanded Fredericks.

‘I thought I told you,' said Charlie. ‘I want to see Kozlov and satisfy myself. And then – myself, again not through you – I want to arrange a meeting with the woman and be satisfied about her, as well. And I want you and I to get together and go through everything you've done, from the very first moment of contact. And when I'm satisfied about that, we'll start making plans …'

The waiter's return prevented Fredericks' immediate reaction, which was probably fortunate. This time he ordered whisky – imported, not local – and when they were alone he said: ‘I know all about you: what you did. I don't buy that crap, your getting even, for being set up. You cost us a director and your people a director. In my book, that makes you a traitor. I don't know how – can't believe how – you managed to convince your own people you're loyal. You haven't impressed us. We think you should have stayed in jail and rotted there …' The drinks came and the American had to stop. ‘I did everything I could to stop your coming,' resumed Fredericks. ‘I don't want you to be a part of anything …'

It was impressive bluster, but Charlie guessed he'd won. He said: ‘You got a point?'

Fredericks' face stiffened, realizing his early advantage had gone. Striving to regain it, he leaned across the table towards Charlie and said: ‘You listen and you listen good. We've got a hell of a file on you so I know all about the act, too: the fuck-everybody-I'm-the-best routine. And I don't buy that, either. You're a jumped-up jerk and if you try anything clever – anything at all – it's going to be your ass. That's a personal promise. You understand?'

He's a big bastard, thought Charlie, letting the silence grow between them: probably thinks he could do it. Charlie said: TU be careful crossing roads.'

Fredericks' face grew taut once more, at the open mockery. ‘Yes,' he said, with soft-voiced sincerity: ‘You be very careful.'

‘Haven't we sidetracked a little?' It was good to be in control, Charlie thought. It had definitely been careless, earlier, though. He promised himself he wouldn't make another mistake like that: he couldn't afford to.

‘What?' demanded Fredericks.

‘You've got a contact procedure?'

‘Of course.'

‘Use it, to set a meeting up for me. Alone.'

Fredericks shifted, uncomfortable at Kozlov's reaction the last time. He said: ‘He expects the crossing details at the next meeting.'

‘Before anyone's met the woman!' jeered Charlie. ‘You just answered a question. The guy's not professional and the whole thing is a load of balls. No one in their right mids would move, at this stage. He should know that. So should you.'

Fredericks was sweating, angry at being so easily exposed. He said: ‘He's frightened. Wants things to happen as quickly as possible.'

‘I'm frightened,' said Charlie. ‘Too frightened to move things more quickly than they should be moved.'

‘He's very cautious, too,' said the American. ‘I'm his contact. He won't make a rendezvous with anyone else.'

‘Meet him first then,' agreed Charlie. ‘Tell him the reason. I won't come in, to scare him away, until I get the signal from you.'

Fredericks controlled any expression of satisfaction. It would mean that he would be present throughout the entire encounter: that the son-of-a-bitch couldn't try anything smart. ‘You won't go ahead, without a meeting?' said Fredericks, as if the agreement were being forced reluctantly from him.

‘Definitely not,' said Charlie, positively.

‘I'll do it,' said Fredericks. ‘It'll take a day or two.'

‘So there'll be time for you fully to brief me, on everything that's happened so far?' said Charlie.

Fredericks just succeeded in biting back the go-to-hell refusal that came automatically to mind. ‘Sure,' he said, instead.

Later, back at the tower block window and looking out over the now lit-up Tokyo, Charlie decided it hadn't been bad, after all. Not as good as it should have been, of course, but still not bad. He'd made a good enough recovery and recognized sufficiently early that Fredericks was over-confident and been able to use it, against the man. There was always the danger that Fredericks would review everything that had been said and promised and realize the mistakes he'd made, but Charlie didn't think so. The American attitude at how he'd screwed their director was inevitable, Charlie supposed. It had been another mistake of Fredericks, making it as obvious as he had. It meant, reflected Charlie, that he'd had good early warning. Which was always a bonus.

‘You were lucky, Charlie: bloody lucky,' he said, to his own flop-haired, loose-tied reflection. He hoped he stayed that way.

‘I don't believe it!' exploded Levine, when Fredericks finished the account to the assembled CIA team. ‘What the hell does he think he's doing, running the operation!'

It hadn't been posed as that sort of question, but Fredericks paused before responding and then said: ‘Yes. I guess that's exactly what he thinks. Or wants to do.'

‘Tell him to go kiss ass,' said Elliott. ‘This thing is going to fuck up and it's going to fuck up over Charlie Muffin.'

‘I'd have argued the same way as he did, in the same circumstances,' said Yamada, more reasonably. ‘I wouldn't take second string in a British set-up, not without trying to make some sort of independent assessment.'

‘From the sloppy way he behaved when he arrived today, I'm surprised he thought of it,' said Levine.

‘Sloppy is a good word,' said Fish, who had been the airport surveillance. ‘I've seen bag women on 42nd Street in better shape than he's in.'

‘Think he meant it, about pulling out?' asked Dale. ‘We'd be in bad shape if he did. Don't forget what Kozlov said.'

Fredericks looked irritably at the man, not needing any reminder. ‘I think he meant it,' he said. ‘What I don't know is if he's got the authority. Which is why I'm checking. Be great, to slap the cocky bastard into line.'

Harkness handed the Director the enquiry that had come from Langley and said: ‘That's directly contrary to what you insisted. There
had
to be communication between us, before he considered an abort. He hasn't even been in contact with our embassy. I've checked.'

‘I know what I said,' smiled Wilson. That morning he'd brought some Anne Cocker floribunda from the garden in Hampshire. He took one of the roses from the vase on his desk, sniffing it reflectively. ‘Charlie's only been in Tokyo a matter of hours,' he said. ‘That's not enough time for anyone to decide whether to abort or nor. He's bargaining.'

‘He should have made contact,' insisted Harkness.

‘Maybe the circumstances didn't allow it,' said Wilson.

‘Shall I advise Langley he hasn't got the authority?'

‘Good God, no!' said Wilson, hurriedly. ‘Tell them he has.'

‘But that's …'

‘Backing our man in the field,' finished Wilson.

‘There are some other things I'd like to discuss with you,' said Harkness, starting to open Charlie's accounts file he'd brought with him to the Director's office.

‘Later,' said Wilson. ‘Not now.'

The deputy director decided he had been right in alerting Cartright.

Chapter Four

Not having to pay for his own laundry was a perk of foreign travel. Charlie included for pressing the more creased of his two suits – the one that had been a give-away bargain in the January sales with the green check in the trousers only slightly different from that in the jacket – and gave himself odds of 6-4 that Harkness would knock it off his expenses. Charlie was still pissed off, getting caught out the previous evening. Only temporary, he thought, a private promise to himself.

He left unhurriedly, increasing his pace immediately outside, going at once to the lifts serving the shopping area. He managed to get himself into the corner with his back to the wall, enabling him to see everyone who entered after him. Three Asian men, a Caucasian couple and a man by himself, Charlie noted. The single man disembarked on the first floor and two more Japanese got in after another couple talking animatedly in what Charlie thought to be German, but wasn't sure. The new arrivals filled the elevator, so the grouping stayed until it reached the ground floor. Charlie made as if to emerge, behind everyone else, but then mimed the pocket-patting charade of someone who had forgotten something and stepped back into the lift, to return to the hotel level. One of the Asians who had travelled down with him just managed to get back in with the freshly entering group. Gotcha! thought Charlie. Back at the hotel level, he went directly to the long, open-lounge bordering corridor, towards the main exit, stopping abruptly to feign interest in the antique shop at the end. His pursuer was trapped in the middle of the walkway. The man still made the effort, halting like Charlie at one of the arcade shops. You're dead, cowboy, thought Charlie. He went further on towards the main area, wondering if there was any more surveillance.

As the taxi went towards the Ginza, Charlie decided Tokyo was a city full up with people and tight-together houses. It was the uncertain time, sticky with rainy-season heat. Although it was dry at the moment, everyone carried condom-sheathed umbrellas that by an ingenuity of engineering bloomed into the real thing at the first shower.

Charlie sat with his money ready, isolating the Akasaka Mitsuke Underground station as the car went beneath the elevated roadway and glad of the clog of traffic. He waited until the cab was practically alongside before stopping the driver, gesturing with supposed impatience at the traffic delay and thrusting notes into the man's hand. The impression of a full-up city was greater in the subway, and as well as the people noise there was the crickets-in-the-bushes clatter of the passenger counters at the barriers. He chose a train already at the platform, not trying to check for pursuit until he was actually on board. As the doors closed, Charlie thought that if he had £I for every time he'd used tube trains to lose a tail he could afford his own personal chiropodist. Charlie knew it would be difficult for him to spot his follower in a crowded situation of many Japanese, which was why he'd taken particular care. The man in the lift had been wearing a grey suit, muted tie, white shirt, with neither hat, topcoat nor spectacles. The mistake had been the shoes – a subject frequently on Charlie's mind – black and polished so highly they could have been made of some plastic material. Four men nearby matched the description, except for their footwear. Charlie moved slightly and found his man at the far end of the carriage. By studying the colour coding chart, Charlie worked out that he was on the Yurakucho line; when the train hissed into Aoyama-Itchome station he realized he was going the wrong way, with too many intermediary stops. Charlie did not immediately disembark at Omatesando, wanting as many people as possible to clear ahead of him. He slipped through the closing doors as the warning bell sounded, hurrying towards the sign for the Hanazomon line, but at the last moment switching to Toei Shinjuku. He was lucky with a waiting train again and ran on. He was sweating and his ribs hurt, from having to hurry. He looked around the carriage, intent upon the feet. There was one man again at the end of the carriage who qualified, but he got off at Akasaka and Charlie reckoned it was looking good. He made another delayed departure at Hibaya, caught the first train and got off at the next stop, at Ginza. He ran up the stairs, breath groaning from him, and plunged at once into the man-wide labyrinth of paths and alleys behind the main streets, stopping frequently now, openly seeking the pursuit. There wasn't any, but Charlie still wasn't satisfied. He kept twisting and turning, managing to reach the larger Miyukidori Street entirely by back alleys. He remained drawn back, until he saw an unoccupied, cruising taxi, emerging to hail it at the moment of passing.