The room had gone silent. One of the policemen spoke, but Liz’s German wasn’t good enough for her to understand what he was saying. She watched Mischa and saw him relax his hold on the lighter. His face returned to normal and he looked at her with a small smile. The policeman stopped speaking and a babble of sound broke out in the café as the two men walked back to the door and left.
‘What was that about?’
‘It’s OK. One of the children from a school group is missing, probably wandered off. They’re asking everyone to look out for her.’
Liz let out the breath she seemed to have been holding for hours and said, ‘I’d like another cup of coffee.’ As she turned to wave at the waitress she noticed that the little group of students was no longer there. She felt increasingly uneasy but resisted the impulse to leave – at least until she had heard what Mischa had to say.
She turned back to him. ‘You were saying that it was a mistake for us to send those two Illegals back.’
‘Yes. The FSB think someone tipped you off. They think you have a source.’
Liz was tempted to point out that once the Illegals started meddling with members of British intelligence, as they had done, there was a fair chance they were going to get found out. Even without the information Mischa had given her. But she said nothing.
The waitress put their coffee on the table. Mischa blew on his and took a sip. Putting down his cup he said, ‘Because of this suspicion, a full-scale inquiry has been launched.’
‘Into how we got on to the Illegals?’
‘Exactly. The FSB has decided someone inside its organisation – or with access to its information – told you about the operation in the UK.’
‘Do they suspect anyone in particular?’
‘Ha.’ Mischa’s laugh was bitter. ‘You must not know the FSB. They suspect everyone. This means my brother and all his colleagues. And it means me, because of my position in the military and the fact that I travel abroad.’ He waved a hand dismissively. ‘If I sold automobiles for a living, they would leave me alone – though they’d still wonder about my brother.’
‘I can see that’s very worrying,’ Liz said. ‘But there’s no reason to think they’ll get any proof of anything. We’ve both been very careful.’ She wondered if this was all Mischa wanted to tell her. She hoped not; she’d wasted her time if all he wanted to say was that he was scared of the FSB.
He looked at her angrily. ‘It is much more than worrying. There will be no mercy if they discover my involvement. And none for my brother – even though he doesn’t know I’ve been talking to you and the Americans. They would never believe him. Mother Russia is quite happy to execute those sons she believes have betrayed her.’
Liz nodded sympathetically. Mischa looked at her and continued, ‘There have been some developments.’
At last, thought Liz. ‘Oh?’ she asked mildly.
‘Yes, but first I need to know how you can help me.’ Liz was thinking how best to reply when he held up his hand. ‘I am not talking simply about money. I need to know that if they decide it is my brother who has been talking – or me – you will rescue us.’
Liz had heard this sort of appeal before from agents who were beginning to realise the increasing danger of their position. She had no ready-made escape plan up her sleeve for extracting from Moscow one or possibly two people under suspicion. It would be a very difficult, if not impossible operation. In any case, she wanted to keep Mischa in place so he could continue to provide information.
She also needed to weigh up how much interest there would be in Mischa as a defector. What would the Americans pay towards the costs; how much interest would there be from British defence intelligence? Not to mention the added complication that Bruno Mackay was off to Moscow with the intention of trying to recruit Mischa’s brother; going, in his own words, straight to the horse’s mouth.
Given all that, it was vital that Mischa remained well disposed to the British. His brother would almost certainly tell Mischa about any approach Bruno made, so it was important that Mischa confirm that the British were reliable.
She said carefully, ‘I don’t believe they would have allowed you to come here if you were seriously under suspicion. But we need a way of keeping in touch. For the moment you should continue to communicate with me via the address you have, as you did this time. But you need to let me know if there’s a way I can safely get a message to you. I will consult colleagues about some faster means of communicating securely. If the inquiry starts closing in on you or your brother, then you must tell us. Meanwhile, keep your head down. We will work on a plan for if the worst comes to the worst.’ She hoped this was sufficiently reassuring, though she had committed to very little.
It seemed to work. ‘You’re good at getting people out,’ said Mischa with a small smile. ‘I’ve heard about Gordievsky.’
Gordievsky had been the KGB Head of Station designate in London in the 1980s – and a British agent. When he fell under suspicion he was successfully exfiltrated from Russia by MI6 in the boot of a car.
Mischa said, ‘His escape is still talked about.’ He smiled again, adding, ‘Though not by senior officials.’
‘I bet,’ said Liz. ‘So, you know then that we look after our sources. But these things are not easy and need a lot of planning.’
‘We would also need to know that we would be looked after once we arrived in your country.’
‘That’s a two-way process,’ said Liz carefully, beginning to feel that too much was being asked and nothing given.
Mischa leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. When he brought his eyes down to the room, he kept them averted from Liz, as if slightly embarrassed by what he was about to say. ‘I am sorry but that is not quite enough. I would like to feel you will be as generous as the Americans have been.’
‘If you are talking about payment now, then I can confirm that while you remain in Moscow you will continue to get the same retainer, whether it comes from us or the Americans.’ She was growing angry now at his avarice, and was keen to put an end to the bargaining. ‘Provided,’ she continued, ‘that you are still useful to us.’
Mischa had picked up on her irritation and seemed to realise that he had got all he was going to get for the moment. Just then the door of the café swung open and a couple came in. Mischa looked at them, then looked away. ‘The couple from the car,’ he said through clenched teeth. When Liz glanced their way, she was relieved to see that the woman was definitely not Sally. The couple stood for a minute, talking to each other in German and looking at a menu the waitress brought to them before seeming to change their minds and leaving.
Mischa was looking nervous now. He spoke quickly, keeping his voice low. ‘Very well. I will trust you and your colleagues, and yes, I have some further information. You will remember that I told you that the FSB were infiltrating Illegals with the aim of destabilising countries they regard as threats.’
‘I do,’ said Liz, hoping he would calm down. His agitation now was obvious.
‘The American operation is over.’
‘Over? Was it successful?’
‘That I don’t know. But you remember I told you the operation was on hold because the Illegal was ill. Now that’s over.’
‘Has the Illegal been replaced?’
‘That’s all I know,’ he said.
Liz’s disappointment must have shown in her face because he went on, ‘There is more. You uncovered those two in the UK, as we know. But I think you did not discover all that they had been doing.’
‘Really?’ Liz was trying not to show her surprise. ‘We investigated their activities thoroughly before we sent them packing.’
‘There was something else,’ said Mischa emphatically. His eyes were roving around the room now, full of fear and distrust. ‘I don’t know exactly; my brother hasn’t told me. But I know the FSB is crowing because part of their operation is still in play – just without a local controller.’