Liz walked down to the water’s edge and strolled along the shore, casting a casual eye inland at each of the wicker contraptions. Most contained couples; two of them young women who had obviously been swimming and were wrapped in towels. She saw no solitary men until finally, quite far along the beach, she saw the one she was looking for and walked towards it. Putting down her canvas bag, she sat down next to the man already inside.
Mischa was not dressed for the beach. He wore a blue blazer, white shirt, light cotton trousers and smart brogues. Since he did nothing to acknowledge Liz’s presence, she sat beside him in silence at first. Finally she said quietly, ‘Did you have to give a reason for coming to Berlin?’
‘No, my trip was planned. There is a conference here I was long ago asked to attend. A good coincidence.’
‘All clear on your way here?’
‘Yes, I was very careful. I trust you were too.’
Liz ignored this, irritated by Mischa’s usual suggestion of incompetence. She said instead, ‘So here I am, Mischa.’ She hoped this was important, given the time and effort it had taken to get her here.
He seemed to read her thoughts. ‘Don’t worry; I have not brought you all this way for nothing.’ He was staring straight out towards the water as he spoke. ‘I have news, and I am afraid it is not good.’
‘OK,’ said Liz, a wave of anxiety washing over her as various scenarios flashed through her mind. Had Mischa been indiscreet? More likely, it was something to do with his brother Boris – she knew from Geoffrey Fane that Bruno undercover in Moscow had made contact with him. ‘So, what’s happened?’
Mischa turned to look at her. ‘Let me first explain. There is working in the FSB a couple – a man and wife – who returned to Russia several months ago. They were deported from the UK.’ He paused, then added, ‘You know who I’m talking about.’
‘You know I do.’ said Liz, suddenly concerned. Karpis and his wife had been expelled from the UK, where they had been working as Illegals, after their cover had been exposed. Liz had interrogated each of them; neither had given up anything of consequence about their efforts to suborn an MI6 employee, or about anything else they may have got up to. ‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Because they seem to know you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It seems you visited an institution last month. One located in the east of your country, near the North Sea.’
Liz tried to control her surprise. ‘How did you know that?’
‘I didn’t. My brother’s colleagues did. Apparently you were filmed during your visit there.’
The secret camera she had discovered at Bartholomew Manor. ‘Why would your brother’s people know that?’ she said innocently.
Mischa said simply, ‘Because they are involved in the school.’
‘How?’
He shook his head. ‘That I do not know. What I know for certain is that you went there and were caught on film. And this film, my brother says, was shown to many FSB officers, including the couple I mentioned – because they were recently in the UK and were questioned by members of your Service, it was thought they might recognise the woman who visited the school. And they did. It was you.’
‘And?’
He was taking his time. ‘The couple recognised you at once. You told the school you had a son you wanted to place there. But the couple said this was not true. They said you were an agent of British intelligence.’
Liz was stunned. All she could think was that she should have broken the bloody camera when she’d uncovered it – then no one sitting in Moscow, like the Karpis couple, could have identified her.
She realised Mischa was waiting for her to respond. She said mildly, ‘This is bad news, I agree. I don’t suppose you have anything more to tell me.’
He smiled wistfully. ‘No, I do not. I have only worries to discuss.’
‘And they are?’
‘Your presence at this college was discussed at length. Why were you there? Did you know it is not what it says it is? How could you have learned it was being used in a new way? Things like that.’
‘And what were the answers?’
‘That someone must have talked. But not at the college – that made no sense. Someone closer to the planning control room, which, as you now understand, is in Moscow. With the FSB.’
‘They think the leak came from within?’
‘They do.’ Having turned his gaze to the beach he returned it now to Liz. ‘Which we both know is true.’
‘Is your brother in danger?’
‘More than ever before. I have never seen him so… agitated. He feels he is a fish – once too small to be caught, but now with a very fine net over his head. And the net is tightening.’
‘What does he want to do, then?’
Mischa did not answer right away. Liz thought of the possibilities: Boris might want to be exfiltrated with guarantees about what would happen to him in the West – he’d demand a certain style of living, she was sure of that. If for any reason he didn’t want to leave Russia, then she felt confident there would be a demand for ‘danger’ money – and that Mischa would want some for himself as well.
But Mischa surprised her. ‘Nothing. He does not want to do anything at all. You see, there is no direct link between Boris and your Service when it comes to the information that has been disclosed to you. The link is me – and I am his brother. Boris rightfully trusts me. There is therefore nothing for his superiors to discover. Boris is nervous, as I say, but confident he will be cleared, provided…’
‘Provided what?’
‘He’s afraid the Americans may try to approach him. He doesn’t trust you – the English – and he’s worried that you will inform the Americans that Boris is your source. If the Americans then approach him, the result could be disastrous – for Boris and for me.’
‘So Boris knows you have been talking to us?’
Mischa looked discomfited but did not speak. Liz added, ‘But he doesn’t know you talked originally to the Americans?’ She sounded incredulous in spite of herself.
This time Mischa managed a shrug, which Liz took to be an affirmative. She sat back against the wicker back of the chair. ‘Tell me, Mischa, if your brother just wants to be left alone, what do you want?’
‘I want my brother to be safe. That is all.’
‘Really? That’s it? What about you?’
‘If Boris is safe, then I am safe too.’ He turned towards her and she noticed that in line with his smart dress he had spruced himself up – his hair had been cut, and he had shaved that morning. ‘But we will both be most unsafe if the Americans act like they do: you know, go in like elephants – which means, approach my brother. Do you understand me?’
Liz nodded. ‘Yes, I do. And I give you my word that the Americans will leave your brother alone.’ She looked at him.
He held her gaze a long time, as if conducting a kind of visual polygraph. Seemingly satisfied, he nodded and looked away towards the lake. He said, ‘So that is my news. This college is obviously very important to them and they have spotted you. I would take care.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Now I must leave. I would like you to wait here for some time before you go.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Liz, hoping the surveillance team operating around them would not be worried when she didn’t emerge from the wicker pod. She was about to say goodbye to Mischa, but he had already sprung to his feet and was striding away, his brogues slipping on the soft sand.