He turned to her. “What is it?” he asked.
“You have a problem.”
“With what? The operation—it’s still going ahead?”
“It is,” she said. “But that’s not the problem. There’s been a change of plan.” She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I only have ten minutes. I’m supposed to be at the hotel. They think I’m getting ready to leave.”
“I don’t understand. Leaving? Where to?”
“Anastasiya Romanova has been in contact with Vauxhall Cross. She couriered a letter to the consulate in Vladivostok.”
Primakov clenched his fists. “Saying what?”
“That she wants to defect. She said that she had asked her father to help, and that the Russians killed him. But she hasn’t given up. She proposed a meeting the day after tomorrow and said that VX should send someone to get her out of the country.”
“Where?”
“Komsomolsk,” she said.
Primakov dug his nails into his palms. “She’s been there all the time?” he said.
“It seems so.”
“What will the British do?”
“They’re sending one of the agents to go and get her—John Smith.”
“Alone?”
“No,” she said. “That’s why I can’t stay. Smith doesn’t speak Russian, so they’re sending me, too.”
Primakov felt the buzz of anticipation; this was better news. “When?”
“We’re booked on a flight in the morning.”
“When and where has she proposed to meet?”
“The railway station. Saturday, at midday.”
“Well done. You must go back to them now. They must not suspect you.”
“What will you do?”
“I will send a team,” he said. “Two of my best men will lead it.”
“What do I do?”
“Whatever they’ve told you. Will you be going to the rendezvous?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I expect so.”
“We will be there. We will arrest them both. If anything changes, you must contact me. Do you understand?”
“Of course,” she said, with a little bite in her voice.
Primakov knew that the British had consistently underestimated her, and that she hated it; he reminded himself not to make the same mistake. She had already demonstrated tradecraft well beyond what he would have expected in one so young and so inexperienced.
“What about me?” she asked him.
“You’ll need to get away. Smith won’t be able to expose you. He will be locked up. They will have given you an emergency exfiltration route—what is it?”
“It hasn’t been mentioned. That might be down to Smith. I have a lot of time with him until the meet.”
“Follow it,” he said. “I’ll see to it that you can leave the country. Tell them that there was an ambush and you managed to escape. They know they have a leak. They will suspect that it is you. They will interrogate you, and it won’t be pleasant. You will have to win back their trust when you return.”
“I can do that,” she said.
“Go back to the hotel,” he said. “We will be waiting at the rendezvous.”
She started to leave, but paused. “Be careful,” she added.
“Of what?”
“Smith. There’s something about him. He makes me uncomfortable.”
“Don’t worry, Jessie,” Primakov reassured her. “He is here, in Russia, far from home. He might be dangerous, but he will be outnumbered. There will be nothing that he can do—you have seen to that.”
She nodded her agreement and, again, he marvelled at her composure. She had the potential to be the most important Russian agent since Philby and the others. She was young and already embedded within the institutions of British intelligence. There had been early successes, most notably her seduction of the private secretary to the foreign secretary, a coup that had delivered strong results before it had been brought to an abrupt end by the politician’s wife. Even with that, Primakov knew that she hadn’t even started to deliver everything of which she would eventually be capable; she could provide him with years of gold-plated intelligence. It would not be a simple thing to protect her now but, even given her potential future value, he was prepared to take the risk that she would be blown. There would be an inquest in London, but Ross was good and Primakov concluded that she stood a decent chance of continuing to fool them.
“Your flight—is it through Vladivostok?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I will send my man to speak with you there. There is a business lounge there—the Laguna Lounge. Two hours before your flight, tell Smith you intend to take a shower. He will meet you then, once you are alone. Yes?”
She nodded.
“Good luck, Jessie. You are doing valuable work. I am grateful—we’re all grateful.”
“Be sure that shows in my next payment,” she said, and, from her expression, Primakov knew that she was serious. She was driven by avarice; Primakov could ignore that when her production was so good.
Ross headed in the direction of the Metro and Primakov went to his car. He took out his phone and called Stepanov.
“Good evening, General.”
“Report, please.”
“The agents are in the hotel.”
“Who?”
“One of the men we have been following and another I don’t recognise.”
“Listen carefully, Major. I need you to abort.”
Stepanov couldn’t hide his surprise. “Sir?”
“Abort the mission. Do not interfere.”
“I don’t understand, sir. They will kill our agents.”
“I know that,” Primakov snapped. “How many men are with you?”
“Just me and Boris.”
“Good. You are not to mention this matter to anyone. Come to Yasenevo once it has been done—tonight. I have something very important that I need you to do for me.”
He ended the call and put his phone back into his pocket.
He knew that he had just signed the death warrants for two Russian heroes, but, at the same time, he knew that it was the right thing to do. The British couldn’t know that they had been compromised, and they would if his chistilshchiks killed their agents before they could carry out their orders. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but swallow it he must. Natasha’s future depended on him silencing Anastasiya Romanova, and Ross had given him his chance to do that. He would salve his conscience with Smith. He would bury him in Lefortovo Prison and let Stepanov have his way with him. They would squeeze every last drop of intelligence out of him, try him for espionage and then inter him in the foulest, most unpleasant camp that they could find.
And then, in time, they would take him outside, put him against the wall, and shoot him.
PART IV
Moscow
61
Stepanov had been waiting in the hotel all evening. The surveillance team had reported that the British agent had collected a bag from the locker at Leningradsky station, and then met with another man at the Romanovsky Obelisk. It was clear that the two agents would make their move tonight; as far as they knew, Timoshev and Kuznetsov would be moved elsewhere in short order, and their new location might be more difficult to access.