‘Certainly? Sure that’s all?’
‘There are telephones, in the code room?’ Let him work that out.
‘Of course.’
Charlie recognized the standard design, trying to remember the first time he’d ever enclosed himself inside a secure capsule like this: certainly he’d been younger than Cartright. An inner, sealed chamber was supported by four metal struts he knew were tested weekly against electronic interception. The chamber was reached across a small walkway which lifted, separating it from the outer shell and isolating the occupant completely. The door had a system operated from the inside which displayed on the outer part a colour code designation, indicating the degree of sensitivity of the material being transmitted or received inside the sanctum, pink for the lowest through a varied rainbow to purple, the highest. Charlie itemised red, which was an exaggeration, and direct-dialled Hong Kong: Harry Lu’s telephone would not be secure, of course, but the electronic gadgetry in the code room prevented any trace of source if the conversation were intercepted.
Harry Lu answered on the third ring, gruff-voiced from the sixty cigarettes a day. Charlie identified himself at once and then without pausing said: ‘You clear your end?’
‘No,’ confirmed Lu, aware at once from the query that it was an official call. ‘You?’
‘Yes,’ said Charlie, telling the other man he was in an embassy somewhere.
It was still difficult for Lu to contain himself. ‘Charlie! For Christ’s sake, Charlie! I thought you were dead!’
‘Almost was,’ said Charlie. ‘Very much like it at least.’
‘Somewhere local, Charlie?’ asked Lu, guardedly.
‘Nearby,’ said Charlie, with equal caution.
‘Near enough for a meeting?’
‘No.’
‘Pity, I’d have liked that. Talk over old times.’
Charlie smiled at the cue: the man was bloody good. ‘Maybe new times as well,’ he said.
‘Not a lot of contact with head office,’ warned Lu.
‘Accountants are out to rule the world,’ guided Charlie.
‘Always a problem,’ said Lu, understanding.
‘Doing anything else?’ probed Charlie.
‘Things are very quiet,’ said Lu.
‘Maybe possible to put something your way.’
‘I’d like that,’ said Lu. ‘Be good to meet, too.’
‘Not going anywhere?’ asked Charlie, an important question. He wanted Lu instantly available if the need arose, as it might if he decided Kozlov’s defection were genuine: certainly now he wasn’t sure that he and Cartright held tickets for the same performance.
‘Best time of the year in Hong Kong,’ said Lu. Still searching, the man said: ‘What’s the weather like where you are?’
Charlie grinned at the most frequently asked question during any long distance call, admiring again Lu’s expertise. He said: ‘About the same as yours, I would think.’
‘We’ll keep in touch then?’
‘Definitely,’ said Charlie.
‘Soon?’
‘Difficult to say, at the moment,’ cautioned Charlie. ‘Lot of clients to meet.’
‘Hope it goes well,’ said Lu, played the part.
‘Me too,’ said Charlie. ‘Might be some sticking points over the contract.’
‘Contracts can sometimes be difficult.’
‘This one might be particularly so.’
‘Good luck then, Charlie.’
Hong Kong didn’t become part of China until 1997, and as a British possession it was certainly the best transit point in the area through which to smuggle something (or someone) Britain didn’t want the world to know (or see) was happening. Alerting Harry Lu was wise insurance, then: and it would be bloody good to see and work with the man again. Maybe even sort out the nonsense of making a few quid on his expenses. He said: ‘We’ll be in touch.’
‘I hope so, Charlie,’ said the other man. ‘I really hope so.’
Charlie replaced the telephone, warmed by the contact. It was a comforting thought to have a consummate professional just down the road: well, practically, anyway. Other things were still uncertain. He had definitely expected some indication from London whether or not the Americans had called his bluff. And hadn’t got it. So there was no alternative but to continue bluffing. If the Americans had caught him out, he’d discover it soon enough.
Fredericks answered at once and said: ‘I know this is a secure call.’
Too anxious to recover, judged Charlie. He said: ‘You can train monkeys to watch embassies. What happened to your guy on the train this morning?’
‘Aren’t you the smart-ass!’ said Fredericks.
‘Thought it was proving time,’ said Charlie. If the chain were to be pulled, flushing him down the toilet, the hand had to be reaching up by now. So there was no further point in blowing bubbles at each other. He said: ‘So OK. Are we going to meet?’
The silence lasted for several moments and then Fredericks said: ‘Of course we have a meeting. I thought we decided that last night.’
Charlie grinned at the blank wall in front of him. He’d demanded a review as well as an encounter with Kozlov, and if Fredericks were agreeing to that then he was also agreeing to his seeing Kozlov. Things were on an upswing. Charlie said: ‘I’m glad things are working out,’ letting the sentence trail, so that ‘my way’ was clearly inferred.
‘This afternoon?’ suggested Fredericks, who got the point.
The response showed yet more anxiety, like coming to the hotel the previous night. Recognizing that it was bridge-building time, Charlie said: ‘Why don’t I come down to see you at the embassy?’
‘That’ll be fine,’ said Fredericks, tightly.
Charlie signalled his emergence from the code room and Cartright was waiting when he lowered the walkway and went back into the main body of the embassy. ‘Always feel uncomfortable in these things: like I’m in one of those funny spy films where people have code names and kill each other,’ said Charlie.
‘Sometimes it happens, and it isn’t in films,’ said Cartright.
‘You know something?’ said Charlie. ‘Until now it’s been a great day. You just pissed all over it.’
‘Well?’ demanded Wilson.
‘It could have been luck,’ said Harkness, with insufficient thought.
‘Luck had nothing to do with it,’ insisted the Director. ‘It was intelligent assessment from a damned good operator …’ He paused and said: ‘Disappointing that Witherspoon didn’t establish any possible connection.’
Witherspoon was a protegé of the deputy director, who ignored the remark. Instead he said: ‘How did we get such an immediate confession out of Knott?’
Wilson smiled and said: ‘Promise of an early parole review and a five-year reduction of the sentence.’
‘We’re going to do that!’ exclaimed Harkness, surprised at the concessions.
‘Of course not,’ said Wilson, surprised in his own turn. ‘I wanted a confession in a hurry and that was the way to get it. The bastard will serve his full time, with no remission or parole consideration.’
‘What about Herbert Belclass="underline" he’s dangerously in place.’
‘Don’t want another espionage trial, so soon upon the other one,’ said Wilson. ‘It would unsettle NATO more than they are at present: particularly the Americans. And I definitely don’t want any uncertainty between us and Washington, no matter how peripheral, until this business in Japan is settled.’
‘We can’t just leave him,’ protested Harkness. ‘He’s been positively identified as a Soviet spy.’
‘I’m not going to leave him,’ said Wilson. ‘I’m going to use him. I’m going to make Herbert Bell a conduit for as much confusing disinformation to Moscow as I can possibly manage. And then, when we do arrest him, the Russians won’t know what they can and what they can’t trust, out of everything he’s sent, for years.’