Battle-lines were being drawn, recognized Charlie, contentedly. But drawn badly. The intention not to intrude on Kestler’s presentation didn’t preclude him from any general discussion, certainly not when it was a full frontal attack which had to be just as quickly resisted, before it gained any dangerous support: Popov had made the accusation half looking at the presidential official, either for approval or affect. ‘That would have been very difficult, wouldn’t it?’ Charlie suggested, mildly.
‘Why?’
‘We didn’t know anything about material being transferred by train from Plant 69 until after it had been stopped and robbed at Pizhma, did we?’ pointed out Charlie, intentionally keeping Popov on the back foot with another luring question. ‘All our meetings here have been recorded, verbatim. By the people making the recordings this afternoon. It would be quite easy for you to confirm that. They might even have transcripts with them…’ Charlie looked towards the note-takers and let the suggestion trail away, before he patronized too far. It was tough shit if Popov ended up looking a prick in front of his superiors and Natalia: Popov had picked the fight, not him. Charlie couldn’t decide if Natalia has straightened slightly in her seat.
‘How was your data obtained?’ demanded Badim.
‘An American reconnaissance satellite was positioned in geostationary orbit over the area,’ admitted Kestler, simply. ‘As I made clear at every meeting, my Bureau – my government – is prepared to offer every facility.’
‘A spy satellite!’ The accusation came from the austere man and Charlie became even more convinced it was the presidential aide whose photograph he’d studied earlier that day. They were making a lot of premature mistakes in their anxiety to make accusations that hardly mattered.
‘A surveillance facility the information from which we always had every intention of freely sharing with you, fulfilling our understanding of the official agreement between us,’ corrected Kestler, perfectly pitching the formality. His conclusion was just as perfect. ‘Which is what I am here today to do.’
Now it was Dmitri Fomin who flushed. Charlie’s satisfaction at their so far rebutting any criticism was marred by a concern that their very success in doing so would add another layer to the discernible hostility. There was nothing they could do about it now. Bridge-building had to come later. He hoped they had the opportunity.
‘Photographs?’ came in Badim again.
‘A total of 150, all time-sequenced,’ confirmed the American. ‘Each frame is individually timed, providing a chronological record of every stage of the robbery. On the assumption that the drivers remained at the wheels of their vehicles, a total of eighteen men were involved…’
Steady, thought Charlie, glad the man beside him had paused; don’t forget the trickle affect.
‘How sharp is the detail?’ asked Badim.
‘Extremely good,’ assured Kestler, which Charlie knew to be an exaggeration: on their rehearsal-packed way to the ministry Kestler had admitted they wouldn’t know the clarity until after the technical evaluation.
‘It was the middle of the night!’ protested Popov, anxious to recover.
‘Our infra-red and image-intensifying technology is highly developed. So is our analysis: we can identify a person’s height, stature, weight… a full profile,’ said Kestler. ‘I am told, for example, it is possible to identify which of the attackers carried out the killings of the train guards.’
Charlie showed no surprise at hearing something he had not been already told. Despite the conversation with the Director-General he didn’t automatically believe it was something deliberately withheld, either. Instead, his mind followed the tangent he’d opened up with his GCHQ request to London. Kestler had found the denial easy because of the Russian’s clumsiness, but the American satellite was a spy in the sky, an overhang – literally – from the Cold War. And the technology was sophisticated: as long ago as Brezhnev, the Americans had a device miles high over Moscow capable of listening in to the Russian leader’s car telephone conversations. It was virtually certain the Kirov satellite – years in advance of what was available during Brezhnev – would have had a listening as well as a photographic capability. Kestler hadn’t mentioned the possibility. Maybe it hadn’t occurred to him. Or maybe he hadn’t been told. Or then again been told but instructed to say nothing.
‘So the detail is extremely good?’ insisted Badim.
Charlie, to whom verbal subtlety was like the scent of prey to a famished lion, wondered if there was any significance in the Interior Minister virtually repeating himself.
‘Extremely so,’ assured Kestler.
‘What else do the photographs show?’
‘The vehicles, to which the canisters were visibly transferred. There were three lorries, one canvas topped, the other two solid bodied. And two cars. One is certainly a BMW. The other is foreign to Russia, too: most probably a German Ford.’
‘You talked about knowing the escape road?’ demanded Popov.
‘The most obvious route,’ said Kestler. ‘Southwest, towards Gorkiy. Presumably continuing towards Moscow.’
‘Presumably?’ queried Fomin. ‘Can’t your satellite continue to track it?’
Kestler shook his head. ‘It was geo-stationary: held in one position by the counter-revolution of the earth. And that one position was over Kirov. Pizhma was at the very edge of its “eye”.’
Abruptly Fomin crossed the narrow gap to the table at which Badim sat and for several moments there was an unheard, head-bent exchange between the two men, with Viskov leaning sideways to listen although not contribute. Fomin had not resumed his seat before the Interior Minister said, ‘If the photographs are a consecutive time sequence, it will be an easy calculation to establish precisely how many canisters were taken?’
Charlie assumed Kestler’s brief hesitation reflected the same surprise he felt at the question. It was an even easier and more immediate calculation to establish how many canisters had gone to have subtracted the number remaining on the train from the figure of those loaded at Kirov.
‘Of course,’ said the American. If he was surprised it didn’t sound in his voice.
‘Do you have that figure available?’
The first twitch came to Charlie’s left foot.
‘Not of those transferred. But it would be easily obtainable in advance of the hard data arriving,’ offered Kestler. In what he later admitted to Charlie to have come automatically, the American added, ‘But I can tell you there were five canisters left lying beside the train.’
‘I can assure you the entire area has been sealed,’ said Badim, hurriedly.
The disclosure was like the tolling of a huge bell, so deafening it made the senses reel. In an instant Charlie understood the repeated queries about detaiclass="underline" perhaps the overwhelming reason for their being admitted at all. The Russians believed the photographic detail already sufficient – which it most probably would be, after enhancement – to show that the abandoned canisters were opened and leaking their radioactivity. Which was why they had so far been unable to establish precisely what had been stolen: the area was too hot to go anywhere near. Just as quickly, not wanting Badim or anyone else to realize the premature revelation, Charlie said, ‘That’s obviously a very necessary precaution. What is the extent and degree of the contamination?’ Another response came to him, but he decided to wait for his answer.
‘About two to three kilometres in area. Experts are there now assessing the degree.’
Turning directly to Popov, Charlie said, ‘London and Washington have had this information for more than twelve hours: information of a serious radioactive leak. The fact that there has been no public disclosure or announcement must prove our total discretion to anyone who continues to doubt.’
Dear God, thought Natalia, there wasn’t any place for him as a lover any more but she needed Charlie as a defender, unwitting though that defence had been. It was her only rational impression: she was confused – disoriented even – by everything Aleksai had said and done.