Moore noticed that Arkin had begun to smile. ‘Let me guess,’ the MI5 man said. ‘In order to notify the appropriate authorities, Inspector Wingate had to open the briefcase in order to try to discover the name of Sinyavsky’s superior. And, while he was leafing through the contents, he happened to notice — and perhaps even copy — some of the papers it contained?’
Moore shook his head. ‘Not exactly,’ he replied, ‘but close. Wingate knew from Sinyavsky’s passport that he was a Russian diplomat, so there was no reason why he should not have contacted the Russian Embassy without even looking at the briefcase. In fact, that’s exactly what he did, but he waited until the following morning before taking action.’
Arkin grunted. ‘Now I remember,’ he said. ‘Our people opened an envelope, as I recall, but the contents were passed immediately to SIS.’
‘Correct.’ Moore nodded briefly, and continued. ‘Wingate handed the briefcase over to A Branch of the Security Service — Operations and Resources — for examination. Their technicians opened the briefcase without any particular difficulty, and they examined the contents. Most of it was just routine but, as Mr Arkin has said, there was one thick A4-size envelope that was heavily sealed and gave a destination address of SVR Headquarters at Yasenevo. After consultation with the MI5 and SIS duty officers, it was decided to open the envelope and copy its contents.’
‘A “flap and seal” artist?’ Simpson asked.
Moore shook his head and smiled. ‘No, the march of technology continues unabated. We no longer even have operatives trained to do that. Instead we have a large grey machine that cuts open the envelope, and then reseals it using the actual fibres of the paper itself. Like the briefcase, the envelope was X-rayed first, to ensure that there were no anti-handling or other security devices, but it was found clean, and then the machine proceeded to open it.’
In the pause that followed, Arkin gazed intently at Moore. ‘Inside,’ Moore continued, ‘we found one hundred and thirty-seven sheets of paper. It was a complete listing of the directory structure and all the file names listed on the London Data Centre System-Three computer.’
‘Oh, fuck me,’ Arkin said very quietly, leaning back in his chair.
Chapter Three
Raya Kosov got up from her black plastic swivel chair, picked up her pocket binoculars and walked across to the window. Working in the new Russian-designed and built extension at Yasenevo had many disadvantages — including the distance from the staff canteen located on the first floor of the main building — but it also offered some compensations.
One of these was certainly the view. From her window on the west side of the extension, she could see a panorama encompassing most of Moscow, albeit somewhat distant and largely obscured by the ugly tower blocks of nearby housing estates, and of that splendid view she never tired. Most of the offices occupied by senior officers were situated on the other side of the building, looking south over a peaceful vista of the lake and trees, but Raya much preferred her north-facing room.
The first time she had brought her binoculars to Yasenevo, she had immediately been suspended, her superiors duly informed and the binoculars confiscated. Her explanation, that she simply wanted to look out at the city of Moscow, had been rejected without comment.
The binoculars had then been examined in detail by the Technical Services staff, who had dismantled them, looking for the camera, tape-recorder or other such device that the SVR guards were certain would be hidden inside. It was with some disappointment that Technical Services, some three weeks later, announced that the binoculars were just binoculars, and therefore of no possible security concern.
A week after that, the binoculars were returned to Raya, and her right of access was restored. Her superior officer gave her a mild reprimand for wasting time — her own time in looking at the view, and Technical Services’ time in examining the binoculars — and then she went back to work.
Raya smiled at the recollection as she adjusted the focus. It was a clear day, and she could clearly see the green roof and yellow and white facade of the Great Kremlin Palace. Out of sight from her vantage point, lying slightly beyond and to the right of the palace, lay the Lubyanka. It was the former headquarters of the KGB and for Raya, in many ways, a far more interesting place.
She was still standing at the window, staring northwest, when her office door opened.
In the silence that followed Arkin’s remark, the sound of approaching footsteps became audible outside the room. The footsteps then terminated with a double knock on the library door.
‘Come,’ Sir Malcolm Holbeche said, raising his voice slightly.
The door opened and one of the SIS resident staff poked his head around it. ‘Mr Willets has arrived, sir.’
‘Good,’ Holbeche nodded. ‘Send him in.’
‘Willets?’ Arkin looked enquiringly at the head of the Secret Intelligence Service. ‘I don’t think I recognize that name.’
‘I’m glad to hear it, Arkin,’ Holbeche replied. ‘In fact, I’d have been worried if you did know him. Roger Willets is the Chief Security Officer at the London Data Centre, so he’s directly involved in this serious breach.’
The London Data Centre, known as the LDC, was British intelligence’s most secret computer centre and occupied three floors underneath Whitehall. The first floor housed the hardware itself, the next one down was the location for the terminals and the system servicing staff, and the lowest and most secure floor held the data disks. Access to the Centre was through the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, since the FCO’s entrance was used by so many people that it would be difficult for enemy agents to identify and target the Centre’s staff specifically.
‘However,’ Holbeche continued, ‘Willets is also a computer specialist, and I’ve asked him here because there are some technical factors involved in this problem which need explaining.’
Holbeche stopped speaking as the door opened again and a tall and excessively thin man entered the room. Moore made the introductions, and Willets sat down next to Simpson.
‘Right,’ Arkin said, ignoring Holbeche. ‘Let’s have it.’
Willets glanced towards Holbeche, who nodded almost imperceptibly, then he cleared his throat. ‘You’ve heard what was recovered from the Russian courier?’ he began, addressing no one in particular.
William Moore nodded, but Arkin butted in before Willets could continue. ‘Let’s get one thing quite clear,’ he said. ‘Is there any possibility that this printout the Russian was carrying was not the real thing? It couldn’t, for example, have been just a clever fake, part of some deception operation that’s being run by SIS without them telling the rest of us?’
Willets opened his mouth to reply, but Holbeche beat him to it. ‘Categorically not,’ he snapped, ‘and that is a wholly improper suggestion. No “deception operations”, as you describe them, are run by my organization without my prior knowledge and approval, and I invariably ensure that all interested parties are kept fully informed.’
Willets nodded his agreement. ‘There’s no possibility that the data was faked,’ he said. ‘I checked a copy of the printout with the LDC system administrator — without telling him where it had come from, of course — and it is definitely the real thing. I should emphasize,’ he went on, ‘that the printout is not in itself a serious security breach, as it only lists the computer directory structure and the names of the files, but not the actual contents of those files.’