Natalia felt the inward tension ease away, recognizing the familiar Charlie deviousness. To prevent the Kirs theft was going to be sensational enough. But to extend those arrests throughout Europe and expose the purchasing countries would turn it into a truly spectacular international coup. It wouldn’t happen, she knew. From the ministry men flanking her and from others with whom she’d discussed Kirs in detail and nuclear smuggling more generally Natalia knew – like Popov knew – that Moscow was determined that this operation was going to be an all-Russian affair entirely confined to Russian legal authority and for Russia to be internationally eulogized for its commitment to smashing the illegal nuclear trade. Which put political cynicism higher than the commitment but which would be lost in the general euphoria.
‘It would be unworkable,’ dismissed Popov, although no longer condescending. ‘There are at least three hundred kilos of weapons-graded material stored at Kirs. Because we don’t know which they’d steal, we’d have to switch all of it. We don’t have sufficient time or alternative, safe facilities to which to transfer it…’ The man paused, looking to the nervously shifting Nikolai Oskin. ‘… We also have grounds for believing that the people who are attempting this robbery have informants inside the plant: there has to be, for them to have stipulated to our informant precisely what they want. It would be impossible to replace the material without it becoming known to those planning the robber)’. The operation has to be carried out this way.’
Quite independently, both Charlie and Natalia had thought Popov had been going to conclude his rejection by saying ‘my way’ instead of ‘this way’.
There would have been safe alternative storage sites at Kotelnich and Murashi, Charlie remembered. But the time limit and the security inside the Kirs plant were valid enough objections. But created another, in his mind. ‘Half the interception force is being moved into the plant before the attempt. If internal security is that bad, they’ll be warned ahead of their attempt. And not make it.’
Popov hesitated and then went sideways for a huddled conversation with the two spetznaz officers and Charlie was sure it was a danger they hadn’t anticipated. Across the room Natalia had the same suspicion.
Popov said, ‘The installation will be sealed, from the moment our forces go in. No employee will be allowed out. Nor will any outgoing telephone calls be made.’
‘Won’t that cause a problem in itself?’ came in Kestler, discerning the weakness. ‘Regular workers will be expected home at regular times. When they don’t arrive, people are going to start asking why.’
‘ Unsupervised outgoing telephone calls,’ qualified Popov. ‘Communication specialists will be among that initial entry force, to take over the switchboard. Incoming as well as outgoing calls will be monitored.’
Not a bad recovery, Charlie gauged. He hoped Natalia didn’t imagine there was anything personal in the exchange: something else he’d have to make clear to her when the chance arose. He had her telephone number as well as her address but he’d left Leninskaya without any talk of their meeting again. Certainly not until after Thursday. She wouldn’t welcome any distraction and he had to concentrate on what he was officially in Moscow to achieve.
Beside him Kestler was trying to establish their own logistics for Thursday, arguing Washington’s gratitude for the degree of cooperation so far to justify their being allowed close access to what happened at Kirs. It was the man whom Natalia had identified as a representative of the Foreign Ministry who responded.
‘There has been some discussion today about security,’ said the sparse-haired, square-featured official, looking first to the note-takers to ensure everything was being recorded and then directly across the room at Kestler and Charlie. ‘Just as there were understandings about security at our first meeting. Since which time there have been a number of enquiries to our embassies in both Rome and Berlin concerning nuclear shipments into Europe.’
Inheriting the mistakes of others, Charlie recognized: a problem in which he had no intention of getting caught up. Kestler was the one who couldn’t keep his mout shut. So let the eager little bugger talk his way out of the obvious suspicion. At once came the contradiction. Neither of them were on their own: Charlie only wished they were and that he didn’t have Kestler around his neck, like an albatross. The Foreign Ministry man had pitched the inferred accusation very cleverly, clearly making it an accusation but leaving it very general, for Kestler or Charlie to condemn themselves by their own reactions. Quickly Charlie said, ‘The information we passed on, about the Ukraine and fuel rods, emanated from Germany and Italy. I would have expected both countries officially to be in contact with you.’
‘The enquiries weren’t about Ukraine shipments or fuel rods,’ refused the second ministry man.
Shit! thought Charlie. Separation time, he decided. The alternative was to be sucked down in a swamp of obvious lies and Charlie had no intention of letting that happen. ‘At our earlier meeting I gave an undertaking. Which I have kept. I have discussed nothing of that meeting, nor will I of this briefing, with anyone other than my superiors in London. Certainly not with any representatives here of either Germany or Italy.’ In the old days the permanent surveillance would have logged his encounters with Jurgen Balg and Umberto Fiore, making that insistence impossible to sustain even though it was true. Charlie hoped the old days were well and truly over. He wanted very much to see how Kestler was visibly responding but to turn would have indicated complicity. He’d given the younger man a way out, for Christ’s sake! All he had to do was take it hopefully to save both their asses! Lie a little, mentally urged Charlie, at once correcting himself. Not a little: lie a lot.
‘I also gave undertakings at that meeting,’ began Kestler, strong-voiced. ‘And I kept them. The only people to whom I communicated anything were those at FBI headquarters in Washington…’
Go on! thought Charlie; don’t stop!
‘… I made the need for security quite clear to Washington, even though it should have been obvious. I do not believe rumours could have leaked from there. But I will today reinforce my earlier warning
…’
‘We are proving our commitment to cooperation by making transcripts of our meetings available,’ reminded the Foreign Ministry man, heavily.
‘I will, of course, provide a copy of today’s memorandum,’ undertook Kestler. ‘And of my earlier message.’
The attention switched to Charlie. ‘Of course,’ he accepted, at once. It wouldn’t involve much work, revising and backdating a few phoney messages to London. Which was what they’d expect him to do, after all. But they’d have a provable official piece of paper, that ever-essential bureaucratic asbestos.
There was a momentary, uncertain silence. Then the Foreign Office official who’d clearly been appointed their chief accuser said, ‘If there were to be a problem with this operation my government would consider the fault to be external, not one originating from within the group we’ve assembled to prevent it.’
Everything was getting a bit heavy footed, Charlie decided. Unctuously he said, ‘Having had the preparations outlined today, it’s very difficult to foresee how anything could go wrong…’ He allowed the pause for the oily words to sink in. ‘But there is still our unresolved logistical position?’
‘Here, at the Interior Ministry,’ announced Natalia.
‘What was that crack about the American failure in Teheran?’ demanded Kestler, on their way back from the ministry.
Charlie, who usually accepted American transport to make taxi-fare profit on his expenses, looked across the car at the younger man. ‘It’s a fact. Teheran was a fucked-up mission.’
‘What about this one?’
‘I’ll tell you on Friday morning.’