During his twenty years in London, Berenkov had developed the cover as a wine importer, which had allowed him frequent trips to Europe for contact meetings, into an enormously successful business.
‘Not the sort of remark a loyal Russian should make,’ said Kalenin, in mock rebuke. ‘You’ll have to get used to Russian products from now on.’
‘That won’t be difficult,’ said Berenkov, sincerely.
Kalenin pushed aside the remains of the meal he had cooked for them both in his bachelor apartment on Kutuzovsky Prospect. Berenkov had enjoyed the food, the other Russian knew.
‘Glad to be back?’ Kalenin asked, caught by the tone in the man’s voice.
Berenkov nodded.
‘I’d had enough,’ he admitted. ‘My nerve was beginning to go.’
Kalenin nodded. Now Berenkov could lead a pampered life in the Russian capital, he thought, teaching at the spy college to justify the large salary to which he was entitled after the success of such a long operational life, spending the week-ends at the dacha and the vacations in the sunshine of Sochi.
‘You did very well,’ Kalenin praised him. ‘You were one of the best.’
Berenkov smiled at the flattery, sipping his wine.
‘But I got caught in the end,’ he said. ‘There was someone better than me.’
‘Law of averages,’ said Kalenin. Should he tell Berenkov? he wondered. The man had developed a strong feeling for Charlie Muffin, he knew. A friendship, almost.
‘Charlie has been trapped,’ he announced bluntly, making the decision.
Berenkov stared down into his wine, his head moving slowly, a man getting confirmation of long-expected bad news.
‘How?’ he asked.
Kalenin gestured vaguely.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But from the amount of leakage it’s obvious the British want it recognised they intend creating an example out of him.’
‘Charlie would have expected it, of course,’ said Berenkov distantly.
Kalenin said nothing.
The former spymaster looked up at him.
‘No chance of your intervening, I suppose? To give him any help?’
Kalenin frowned at the suggestion.
‘Of course not,’ he said, in genuine surprise. ‘Why ever should I?’
‘No, of course not,’ accepted Berenkov. ‘Stupid of me to have mentioned it.’
‘He’s still alive, apparently,’ volunteered Kalenin. ‘It’s not at all clear what they are going to do.’
‘Charlie was Very good,’ said Berenkov. ‘Very good indeed.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Kalenin. ‘He was.’
‘Poor Charlie,’ said Berenkov.
‘More wine?’ invited Kalenin.
‘Thank you.’
FOURTEEN
Perhaps, thought Wilberforce, arranging the money on the desk for everyone to see had been too theatrical. Onslow Smith was openly smirking, he saw, annoyed. That would stop, soon enough. The time had passed when people laughed at George Wilberforce; and from today they would begin to realise it.
‘Just over two hundred thousand dollars,’ said the British Director, indicating the money. ‘About half of what was stolen from you … and no affidavits that might have caused problems.’
‘So now we kill him,’ Ruttgers interrupted impatiently.
‘No,’ said Wilberforce simply.
For several moments there was no sound from any of the men in the room. It was Sir Henry Cuthbertson who broke the silence.
‘What do you mean, no?’ he demanded. ‘We’ve achieved what we set out to do. Let’s get the whole stupid business over.’
‘No,’ repeated Wilberforce. ‘There are other things to do first.’
‘Director,’ said Onslow Smith, trying with obvious difficulty to control himself, ‘this affair began with the intention of correcting past problems. We’ve put ourselves in a position of being able to do so. Let’s not risk making any more.’
‘I intend teaching the Russians a lesson,’ announced Wilberforce.
‘You’re going to do what?’
Onslow Smith’s control snapped and he looked at the other Director in horror. The damned man was on an ego trip, he realised.
‘For almost two years they’ve mocked and laughed … I’ve been ridiculed. Now I’m going to balance the whole thing.’
‘Now wait a minute,’ said Onslow Smith urgently. He stood up, nervously pacing the room. ‘We agreed, not a month ago, that what we were attempting to do was dangerous …’
He looked intently at the Briton for reaction. Wilberforce nodded.
‘But it worked,’ continued Smith. ‘Charlie Muffin is now back in England. We can do anything we like with him. So now we just complete the operation as planned and invite no more problems.’
‘There will be no problems,’ insisted Wilberforce, quietly. They were all very scared, he decided.
‘With Charlie Muffin, there’s always risk,’ said Braley breathily, risking the impertinence. Surreptitiously he slipped an asthma pill beneath his tongue.
‘How do you intend teaching the Russians a lesson?’ asked Cuthbertson.
From the rack on his desk, Wilberforce selected a pipe and began revolving it between his fingers. Sometimes, he thought, he felt like a kindergarten teacher trying to instil elementary common sense. It would be pleasant hearing them apologise for their reluctance in a few days’ time.
‘I’ve already seen to it that the Russians know we’ve located the man,’ he admitted.
‘Oh, Christ!’ blurted Onslow Smith, exasperated. Already, he thought, it might be too late.
Wilberforce shook his head sadly at the reaction.
‘And tonight, for a little while at least, we are going to borrow the Faberge collection that has just arrived from Russia for exhibition here.’
‘You’re going to do what?’
Onslow Smith appeared in a permanent state of shocked surprise.
‘Take the Faberge collection,’ repeated Wilberforce.
‘The Russians will go mad,’ predicted Braley.
‘Of course they will,’ agreed Wilberforce. ‘That is exactly what I intend they should do: And what will they find, when we leak the hint about one of the insurers of the collection? What we found, by elementary surveillance and checking the company accounts after the churchyard encounter with Rupert Willoughby — that their precious Charlie Muffin is a silent partner in the firm.’
‘It’s lunacy,’ said Smith, fighting against the anger. ‘Absolute and utter lunacy.’
‘No it’s not,’ insisted Wilberforce. ‘It is as guaranteed against fault as the method I devised to get Charlie Muffin back to England.’
‘But we can’t go around stealing jewellery,’ protested Cuthbertson.
‘And I’m not interested in settling imagined grievances with Russia. It’s over, for Christ’s sake. It has been, for years,’ said Smith.
‘Not with me, it hasn’t,’ said Wilberforce. He turned to the former Director. ‘And I’ve no intention that we should permanently steal it. The Faberge collection is priceless, right?’
Cuthbertson nodded, doubtfully.
‘But valueless to any thief,’ continued Wilberforce. ‘He’d never be able to fence it.’
‘So why steal it in the first place?’ asked Ruttgers.
‘For the same reason that such identifiable jewellery is always stolen,’ explained Wilberforce. ‘Not to sell or to break up. Merely to negotiate, through intermediaries, its sale back to the insurers who would otherwise be faced with an enormous settlement.’
They still hadn’t understood, realised Wilberforce. Perhaps they would, after it had all worked as perfectly as he intended.
‘With something as big as this, the insurers are guaranteed to co-operate and buy it back,’ he tried to convince them. ‘Every piece, apart from those which are absolutely necessary to achieve what I intend, will be back in Leningrad or Moscow within two months. And the only sufferers will be Willoughby’s insurance firm who have had to pay up on the missing items. And Charlie Muffin, who will lose the other half of what he stole from you … paying America back for something stolen from Russia. Can’t you see the irony of it? Charlie Muffin will. That’s why I’m letting him stay alive, to see it happen. There’s no hurry to kill him now … he can’t go anywhere and he knows it.’