Harkness jerked to his feet, moving from the table at which the committee sat towards Witherspoon and the neatly stacked folders. A pink shirt and handkerchief, worn with his school tie again, complemented Harkness’ charcoal-grey suit, and the black brogues were brightly polished. Charlie looked at the shoes and was ready to bet they would hurt like a bugger.
‘This department has been penetrated by an agent of the Soviet Union,’ announced Harkness, dramatically. ‘It will need further investigation accurately to say for how long that penetration has been but certainly it has existed since Charles Edward Muffin returned to this country from the Soviet Union and was quite wrongly allowed to remain in this organization…’
It wasn’t just himself on shotgun trial, thought Charlie, looking at Sir Alistair Wilson. Harkness had to be very confident of himself to make such an open and direct attack on the Director General. Charlie was sure now that the other men at the half-moon table were from the Joint Intelligence Committee.
‘… the damage will have been incalculable. Irreparable,’ continued Harkness. ‘The extent of that, too, will require further investigation…’
Charlie reckoned Harkness had waited years for this moment: mouthed the imagined words, maybe practised in front of a mirror.
‘… I have always had the gravest doubts about Muffin’s loyalty, as well as his ability,’ went on Harkness. ‘So much so that some months ago I authorized an internal investigation upon the man, which at the time proved inconclusive. It was not, however, mistaken…’
As rehearsed as he could be, calculated Charlie: the man was even determined to get the apology over the harassment of his mother expunged from the record. Dig on, thought Charlie; dig a great big grave to bury yourself in, asshole.
‘… some weeks ago this department was successful in breaking a new code with which Moscow was communicating with Russian intelligence officers – the KGB – in this country…’ Harkness reached sideways and on cue Witherspoon handed him a piece of paper. ‘The first message gave the location of a dead-letter drop in the Highgate area of London,’ resumed the deputy Director General. ‘It was placed under observation and a man who has subsequently admitted being an agent of the Soviet Union was arrested and is shortly to face trial. Another message led us to a terrorist courier, although unfortunately in that instance the opinion of the Attorney General was that no prosecution could successfully be initiated against the man. He has, however, been placed on the prohibited-aliens list at ports and airports of this country and his identity and photograph circulated to Western counterintelligence agencies…’ Harkness paused, sipping from a waiting glass of water on Witherspoon’s table and Charlie thought: Television courtroom soap opera, circa 1960.
‘… these two episodes are not connected to the matter being inquired into here. I mention them to establish the fact that the communication channel, which the Soviets are unaware of our being able to read, is undoubtedly genuine…’
Harkness continued the theatre by turning to look directly at Charlie at that moment and Charlie smiled and shook his head in a matchingly exaggerated gesture, for no other reason than to off-balance the man, which it did. Harkness blinked and coloured slightly and moved to speak but stopped and then started again. Charlie said: ‘Sorry. Did I put you off?’
There was no flush of anger from Harkness this time. He actually smiled, indicating how assured he was, looking away in contempt. He said: ‘Some weeks ago another message was decoded…’ He looked down to the paper that Witherspoon had earlier handed him. ‘“Reactivate payment by one thousand”,’ he quoted. ‘Please remember, particularly, the wording of that message. It’s important…’
Charlie was inclined intently forward now, no longer complacent or mocking, learning things he didn’t know.
‘… that message was the first of several which initially meant nothing to us,’ said Harkness. ‘There was a reference to King William Street, in the City…’
‘What!’ demanded Charlie loudly.
Harkness was shocked into silence by the outburst. For several moments there was complete silence in the room, and still surprised Harkness repeated: ‘King William Street,’ and then clamped his mouth shut, not having intended to respond to the question.
‘The bastard!’ said Charlie, in quiet conversation with himself. ‘The absolute bastard! But why?’
There was a further silence of which Charlie appeared briefly unaware and he seemed distracted when he looked up at last, to Wilson. He said: ‘I’m sorry,’ and shook his head, as if he were trying to clear it.
‘You’ll be given an opportunity to speak,’ said Wilson.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Charlie, still distracted.
Harkness was uncertain now. He looked questioningly between Wilson and Charlie and then back to Wilson again. The Director General nodded but Harkness fumbled through various slips of paper before starting to talk. ‘As I said, there was a reference to King William Street. An obvious operational instruction, involving something or someone to go south. And then to two equally obvious legend names. Visitor. And Guest…’ Harkness paused, looking towards the group of men at the table. ‘Please remember those words, too. They’re also very material…’
The man took another drink of water. He said: ‘You will be aware of the current Farnborough Air Show. In London at the moment, attending that show, is a Russian delegation. The majority – certainly one person who is extremely important in the context of this inquiry – are staying at the Blair Hotel, in Bayswater. An inter-agency task force, with myself as its head, was authorized to pursue as actively as possible the purpose and meaning of the messages we were intercepting but not understanding. That made available to us the counterintelligence observations upon the Blair Hotel…’ Harkness stopped again, turning once more directly to face Charlie. ‘Those observations included the usual photographs and those phototgraphs showed the occupation in that hotel of Charles Edward Muffin, who was understood to be on leave from this department…’
There was a stir from among the men at the table which Harkness took as something like congratulation for work well done because he nodded his head in what looked like appreciation.
‘As the result of that identification I again initiated a thorough investigation of the man…’ He reached sideways without looking at Witherspoon, who placed in his hand a file that Charlie recognized. ‘… in his office in this very building this was discovered. A file – which was not listed on any register, which regulations I have introduced strictly require – upon one Natalia Nikandrova Fedova. She is a member of the Soviet delegation in this country. She is staying at the Blair Hotel. And it is my contention that she is clearly the person referred to by the legand name Guest… the control, I further contend, of Charles Edward Muffin, whom the records will show spent some time in the Soviet Union and who therefore fits the legend name Visitor…’
Harkness returned the folder and briefly leaned over the table in muffled conversation with Witherspoon. Turning back to the committee Harkness said: ‘I make those contentions on the basis of further evidence. Convinced of an association between this woman and Muffin, I two days ago had a rummage search made of his flat, in Vauxhall…’ Harkness extended his hand, so that the money was quite evident in its envelope. ‘Extremely cleverly hidden, in a cavity behind a bedroom skirting board, was this envelope. It contains one thousand pounds. And I would remind you, gentlemen, of the first message I quoted to you in fulclass="underline" “Reactivate payment by one thousand”.’ Harkness felt out and was handed a key. ‘This – obviously the key to some storage facility of which we are not at the moment sure – was also found in this hiding place…’ There was another quick exchange and the key was traded by Witherspoon for the cipher pad. ‘… taped inside the casing of an electricity meter in the kitchen was this one-time cipher pad. It has been forensically tested and proven beyond doubt to be of Russian manufacture and was unquestionably the method by which Muffin communicated with Moscow …’