Kings of Many Castles

18

The death of Lev Maksimovich Yudkin ratcheted up by varying degrees the pressure upon everyone and marked the beginning-although at the time unrealized-of eventual awareness of a few of them.

Sir Michael Parnell personally, unavoidably, reinvolved himself and was waiting with Richard Brooking when Charlie and Anne Abbott reached the embassy. The premature relief of both diplomats to their overeager, overinterpretative acceptance of the ballistics information was abruptly tempered by Anne’s explanation that there still appeared a prima facie case of conspiracy against George Bendall. That explanation stretched to a detailed summary of accusations possible under Russian law up to and including terrorism, which, like conspiracy to murder, carried the death penalty. She hoped to be able to give them better guidance the following day, after her initial meeting with the Russian lawyer engaged to lead Bendall’s defence.

Charlie used the same need-to-bring-myself-up-to-date escape finally to end the empty encounter, which he did with a hopefully self-benefiting assurance to both knicker-wetting-or perhaps more distastefully knicker-fouling-diplomats that he would alert them to anything professionally relevant. Charlie had actually left the embassy and was making his way past the zoo before he realized that in their totally consuming objectivity he and Anne had parted in the embassy as professionals, making personally disassociated arrangements for the following day, and not as lovers who had explored every sexual depth and height together.

It was at about the same time of the still unembarrassed return that Charlie remembered, too, he hadn’t followed up his embassy arrival message on Natalia’s personal Lesnaya answering machine that he was finally on his way home and by then there wasn’t anyoint in calling. She was at the mansion apartment when he got there. She looked tired, positively careworn, the skirt of her suit creased from several day’s wear. It was still water-pocked from bathing Sasha and her hair was straggled. For the first time Charlie was conscious that although there wasn’t any gray Natalia’s once lustrous auburn hair was fading.

She gestured towards herself and said, “I expected you to call again. Tell me you were on your way.”

“I was … it was a heavy meeting … you look wonderful.”

“I’ve had a heavy day, too. Sasha’s asleep. I didn’t tell her you were coming home in case you were delayed. She’s missed you.” It came out like a read-from-a-card statement.

“What about you?” demanded Charlie.

“What about you?” returned Natalia, in an echo.

“Do you have to ask that?” Bastard, he accused himself.

“It was your question.”

“Yes I missed you. And worried about you. And missed and worried about Sasha, as well.” Double-treble-bastard.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

“This is for you.” It was a diamond bar brooch he’d bought from the don’t-forget jeweller’s shop in the Dorchester foyer.

She stared into the box for several moments. “It’s lovely. And thank you. But I told you not to.”

“I’ll leave Sasha’s beside her bed, to be there when she wakes up.” As he positioned the ribbon-tied package Charlie saw an identical doll already perched on the edge of Sasha’s toy box, one eye collapsed in what looked like a wink. “I forgot. It was from the last trip, wasn’t it? Shit!”

Natalia, who’d come into the bedroom with him, said, “We can say it’s a sister.”

“Or that her father is an idiot!” To what-or involving whom-did that excoriation apply?

“It’s a sister,” insisted Natalia. Why was he so on edge?

The awkwardness between them wasn’t entirely of his making, Charlie tried to assure himself. There was an over-politeness, two people who didn’t know the other very well each anxiously waiting for the other’s lead. He said, “We didn’t kiss hello.”

“No we didn’t, did we?” she agreed. She sounded uninterested.

When they did kiss that was polite, too. Dutiful. Back in the main room he went through the familiar drink making ritual and as he handed Natalia her wine he said, “You’ll have more to talk about than me.”

She did and it was thirty minutes and another drink later before she finished, ending with the decision to arraign Bendall in open court.

“You’ve got the monkey, not the organ grinders!” protested Charlie.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“We haven’t got the real assassins, just their performer.”

“It’s publicly-politically-necessary now that the president has died.”

“Who’s pushed for it to be so quick?”

“The militia, initially. Now the Kremlin’s taken over.”

“We know it wasn’t Bendall’s bullet that killed Yudkin,” reminded Charlie, urgently. “In fact it doesn’t look as if Bendall shot anybody.”

“Doesn’t look like it to whom?” demanded Natalia.

She listened to Charlie’s account as intently as he’d listened to hers. When he finished she said, “I see what you mean.”

“Then make others see!” urged Charlie. “It’s going to be a show trial, like the show trials of the 1930s! But this time not just the outside world but Russia will recognize the staging, recognize that the people responsible aren’t going to be accused. Politically it’ll be a disaster!”

“Yes it will be,” Natalia agreed, in further understanding.

“Argue against it!” insisted Charlie.

“It’s not a decision in which I’m personally involved, have any part of.”

“You’re at the very center of everything!”

“Except this.”

“You’ve got the ear of people! The Federal Prosecutor and Yuri Trishin, for Christ’s sake! Who can be more involved that those two!”

“Maybe it needs rethinking,” Natalia conceded.

“You told me Okulov backed you when you confronted Karelin,” further reminded Charlie. “That strength-his confidence-will be known now wherever it’s necessary to be spread. An empty trial, which this will be, will make Okulov look ridiculous.”

“It’s an independent legal decision.”

“Bollocks!” rejected Charlie. “It’ll be twisted by Okulov’s opponents to be his decision, in his eagerness properly to take over as president.”

Natalia offered her glass, to be refilled again. As Charlie was doing it she said, “We’re talking politics, Russian politics at that. I thought our job-your job particularly-was to solve a crime.”

“Okulov backed you against the FSB. I don’t-we don’t-want Okulov displaced.”

Natalia was silent for several minutes. “I hadn’t thought that far forward.”

“Now we have.”

“You have. I’ll make the point.”

“As strongly as you can,” encouraged Charlie.

“As strongly as I can,” promised Natalia.

They prepared dinner together-starting with the Beluga he’d bought at the airport-and halfway through Charlie realized that the polite reservation had gone. That night though, when he reached out for her, Natalia had turned her back. He changed the gesture into arranging the covering more closely around her before turning, sleeplessly, on to his back. Somewhere he’d professionally missed something, he decided, something that he was sure, even though he didn’t know what or where it could be, was important. Vital even. Then he wondered what Anne was doing and wished he hadn’t.

Arkadi Semenovich Noskov was a huge man, both in height and girth and made to look even bigger by the full, unclipped beard like a black canopy over his chest. The bass profundo voice rumble from low within the barrel chest and Charlie thought the man would have better occupied one of the opera stages Natalia had tried so unsuccessfully to convince him he should enjoy than a courtroom. Charlie hoped that in the theater Noskov had chosen he wouldn’t be called upon to sing too many tragedian lament, although the performancein which Charlie had so far featured that day weren’t encouraging Charlie’s biggest frustration was not being able to disclose the Russian intention to arraign George Bendall, which made largely pointless this first conference with the lawyer. Charlie’s dissatisfaction was compounded by the outcome of every telephone call he’d so far made, in attempted anticipation of the meeting.

The first had been to the incident room and after outlining the British ballistic opinion he said, “The rifle-and the bullets-aren’t any longer at the American embassy. They were withdrawn-physically removed by Olga Melnik-when the militia walked out of the cooperation arrangements. Our ballistics experts will only provide a definitive opinion-testify if called upon to do so-if they can scientifically examine Bendall’s weapon.”

“And it’s not usual for the prosecution to make physical evidence available for defense analyses, either,” rumbled Noskov. “I’m surprised they did, in the first place.” He looked directly at Anne. “And you know from your consultations in London that it’s unlikely they’ll limit themselves to one charge.”

“Which brings us back to mental impairment,” said Anne.

It was Charlie’s cue to recount his London meeting with the Home Office psychiatrist, which he concluded with a forewarning from another of his unproductive calls. “I’ve tried to speak to Olga Melnik but was told she’s unavailable. I’ve left messages, telling her we’re going to the hospital.”

“We’ve been officially told we won’t be able to interview Bendall alone,” reminded Anne.

“They’re making simultaneous recordings,” Noskov pointed out. “We’d hardly gain anything by being by ourselves with the man.”

“Do we have Russian psychiatrists available?” asked Anne.

The huge man nodded. “But I want to see Bendall by myselfwith just you two-first. I want to gain my own impression before getting theirs.”

Charlie half expected Olga Melnik to be waiting for them at the Burdenko Hospital, but she wasn’t. There was no attempted body search by the foyer protection squad but they insisted upon examining the briefcases that Noskov and Anne carried. Only Guerguen Agayan waited beyond the cordon.

At Bendall’s ward Noskov said to the obviously alerted second group, “Two of you stay. The rest get out, to make room.”

“I’ll stay, too,” insisted the psychiatrist. “I don’t want another collapse.”

Charlie was impressed by the lawyer’s unchallenged command. Even with only two guards and the doctor remaining, Noskov’s size meant the room was crowded, as the embassy car had been bringing them, Anne squashed into a corner of the rear seat with Charlie gratefully relegated to the front, beside the driver.

From the moment of their entering the solitary ward Charlie’s concentration upon George Bendall was absolute, registering the man’s consciousness of everything around him, instantly isolating the intentness with which Bendall’s eyes followed the initial chairshuffling uncertainty of accommodating themselves in the confined space. Charlie was very aware of how close to him Anne had to sit; he had to learn across her, physically touching, positioning the tape recorder carefully away from the already operating Russian equipment.

“Remember me, Georgi?” invited Charlie. Noskov had agreed during their cramped drive that Charlie should try to follow the London psychiatrist’s direction.

Bendall didn’t respond, his attention entirely upon the gargantuan Russian lawyer.

“It’s good to see you out of bed,” said Charlie, who hadn’t imagined the man would have been fit enough to be put into a chair. The injured shoulder didn’t look to be wrapped so heavily and without the head bandages the fair hair flopped, greasily.

Bendall continued to look unwaveringly at the bearded Russian.

Charlie said, “You’ve given us a hell of a lot of work, Georgi. And we’re getting nowhere. You really planned everything very well, didn’t you?” The attention faltered, briefly, Bendall’s eyes flickering towards Charlie who went on, “I don’t just mean us, the British. Everyone else, too. America. Russia. You’re really leading us by the nose.”

Bendall finally looked properly towards Charlie, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. The wailing hum was almost inaudible.

Charlie said, “I don’t know what we’re going to do. Admit we’re beaten, I guess.”

The dirge grew stronger. Noskov shifted, creaking his overburdened chair.

Charlie said, “You knew you could do it, didn’t you Georgi? Beat us?”

“Course I did.”

“That’s what everyone’s going to recognize, how much better than anyone else you’ve been.”

“I know.”

“I wonder if that KGB guy will realize it; the one who talked to you with your father that time?”

Bendall frowned but said nothing.

“You remember that time?”

“Wasn’t frightened.”

“I’m sure you weren’t, not someone capable of doing what you’ve done now.”

“Wouldn’t do what they wanted, when I got in the army.”

Charlie thought he heard Anne’s intake of breath. “What was that, Georgi? What did they want you to do?”

“Doesn’t matter, not now.”

“It would have mattered to them, if you refused.”

“Thought they had me, but they didn’t.”

“Why would they think that, because of your father?”

“No!” rejected Bendall, loud voiced. “Didn’t need him! Never needed him!”

“Always your own man,” flattered Charlie. Could he chance it? “They helped you get in the army, though?”

“Didn’t become their man because of it. Not like my father. Taught them a lesson.”

This could be the opening of the gate, thought Charlie, hopefully. If the KGB had got Bendall into the army he would have had a Control. “They must have been pissed off at that, made life difficult. Had people argue with you, try to persuade you?”

“Tried. Didn’t work.”

“He must have got into a lot of trouble, the man who tried to persuade you?”

“Took him away.”

The lead, at last! “There was a man who came to see you, like they came to see your father?”

“Yes.”

“A soldier, like you. I bet he wasn’t as good as you with a rifle?”

Bendall smiled at the continued blandishments. “Wasn’t a marksman.”

Charlie breathed in deeply. “What was his name, Georgi?”

“Don’t remember.”

The reply was too quick but it would be wrong to press, to risk the gates closing. The Control would have joined Bendall’s unit around the same time as Bendall was installed, giving them a date from which the name could be deduced from the man’s withdrawal.

“I suppose you had to use all the skills you learned in the army to set your White House operation up? It must have taken a lot of time, a lot of planning?”

“Clever.”

“Certainly that. You’re going to be very famous. They’re going to know Georgi Gugin. There’ll be books written.”

Bendall’s eyes moved back to the lawyer, who was sitting with his head slumped, beard flowing over his chest. Part of the preparation was for Noskov to remain unidentified. Charlie said, “No, that’s not right. There won’t be books.”

The remark brought Bendall back to him, frowning. “Yes there will.”

Charlie shook his head. “Not the way you’ve organized it. There’s not enough known for anyone to write a book, a book needs all the facts and information. We do know about Vasili Gregorovich, though; know that he was killed, drugged and left to die in front of the train. I really don’t understand that. Vasili Gregorovich Isakov was your friend: your special friend. Why did he have to be murdered? Wasn’t he doing things properly, obeying orders?”

Bendall’s uninjured arm began to twitch, violently, and Charlie tensed for another uncontrolled outburst. Agayan came forward, too. Bendall said, “The bastard killed him.” The voice was uneven, snagging the words.

Agayan said, “Easy, Georgi, easy now.” To Charlie he said, “You’ll have to stop.”

“Who’s the bastard, Georgi? Tell me,” encouraged Charlie, ignoring the warning.

“That’s enough!” insisted Agayan.

“I know who,” said Bendall, more controlled.

“He’s all right,” Charlie told the psychiatrist. To Bendall he said, “They should be punished, for killing Vasili, attacking your group.”

“Have been.”

Charlie knew he’d lose it-lose Bendall-with one wrong word but he didn’t know how to go on. “People should be told, know what happens to anyone who attacks you.”

“Yes.”

There was movement from the doorway, where the two guards were, but Charlie didn’t look, wanting to hold Bendall’s eyes. Which were very clear and quite alert. The man knew what they were talking about, understood what was being said. By comparison Charlie felt he was blindfolded. Into Charlie’s mind echoed the psychiatrist’s words. I got the impression that he wants to tell someone. After all his life being discarded and downtrodden he’s suddenly someone, the focus of everyone’s attention. “The television of the shooting was incredible. It’s been seen in every country in the world. Millions of people have watched.”

There was a positive smile. Bendall didn’t speak.

“A world stage, with you on it.”

The smile stayed. “Yes.”

Charlie saw a way to continue. “That’s how it should go on.”

“I want it.”

“There’ll be cameras at the trial. Everyone will be watching you: listening to you.”

Arkadi Noskov stirred. There was more movement noise from the doorway. Bendall said, “That’ll be good.”

It was the prearranged time, determined Charlie. “Arkadi Semenovitch Noskov is your lawyer. He’ll be with you in court, we all will be.”

“To help you,” came in Noskov, perfectly on time. “There are things you want to tell the court?”

“Maybe,” withdrew Bendall, cautiously.

“You want them to know, don’t you?” The earlier, ordering command had gone from the sonorous voice, it was coaxing now, inviting.

“Maybe.”

“They’ll have to know everything, to understand. And it’ll be important not to miss anything out.”

Able for the first time to break his total concentration Charlie saw that despite their tape recorder, Anne was hurriedly scribbling notes on a large legal pad. He couldn’t see beyond the two remaining guards at the door. Agayan was sat back, seemingly content with Bendall’s recovery.

“Nothing will be missed out,” said Bendall.

“We’ll have to prepare carefully. Make sure of that.”

“Yes.” Bendall’s smile was back.

“That’s my job,” said Noskov. “Making sure nothing’s left out. You want everyone to know about Vasili Isakov?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll need to talk about it, for me to know all there is. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I suppose so.”

Charlie was nervous of the obvious doubt, aching to reenter the exchange but that wasn’t part of their car cramped rehearsal.

“It all has to come out, to make the impact you want,” encouraged Noskov and Charlie relaxed.

“I want to think about it.”

Charlie abruptly realized that Bendall was relaxing, too, formulating proper sentences instead clippping his responses to one or two words.

“I’d like you to do that,” urged the lawyer. “You’ve thought about it already, haven’t you?”

“Of course I have.”

“People will be surprised, won’t they?”

“It’ll be sensational.”

“We know it will. We’ll have to go through it before we get to court, though. So that I can guarantee we don’t forget anything.”

“I won’t forget.”

“It’s best that we talk about it first. There might be things I’ll have to do, evidence I’ll have to find to confirm what you’re going to say.”

“I want to stop now. Think,” declared Bendall.

“I’d like to talk a little further,” tried Noskov.

“When I want to,” insisted Bendall, exercising his imagined control. “Not when you want to.”

“I don’t want him pushed,” said Agayan.

The British psychiatrist’s assessment had been remarkable accurate, thought Charlie. Compared against all the other interviews, they’d made quantum leaps forward. But did he have a comparison against all the interviews, now that the Russians weren’t sharing information anymore? The situation between himself and Olga Melnik had to be resolved as quickly as possible.

“We’ll come again tomorrow. At the same time,” Noskov was saying.

“I’ll see,” postured Bendall. “Go now. I want to think.”

Charlie had to stand to reach across Anne again for their tape machine and as he did so he saw Nicholai Badim in the outer corridor. Olga Melnik was expressionless beside him.

They needed the large waiting room, not Badim’s smaller office. From the way Olga went through the ritual of introduction to Arkadi Noskov, Charlie guessed she knew of the man’s reputation, even if she hadn’t met him before. Olga’s attitude towards Anne Abbott was cursory to the point of being dismissive. No one sat. The hospital surgeon-administrator looked hopefully for guidance between everyone else in the room but was disappointed. Agayan sat quietly in a corner.

Charlie told Olga “I’ve been trying to reach you.” He wondered what he could conjure from this encounter.

Olga said, “I got the message, that’s why I’m here.”

“You and I have a lot of operational things to discuss, apart from today,” said Charlie.

“Those ‘operational things’ have changed.”

“Not between you and I, our two countries.”

“The investigation has moved on,”

“To what?” It was encouraging. Charlie thought.

“It’s officially-legally-under the direction of the Justice Ministry.”

“How can that be?” Noskov’s voice was like a thunder roll.

“The facts have been laid for an official arraignment.”

The declaration removed the restrictive frustration between himself and the two lawyers, but as always part of Charlie’s mind was way ahead of the current conversation, looking for darkened alleys and hidden side tracks. He didn’t believe Olga’s being there was in direct response to his earlier attempted contact, although his messages was that he would be at Burdenko. Was she trying to separate him further from the Americans by the premature announcement? If she were there was every reason to go along with the invitation, even though he was sure by now that Natalia was not keeping anything back. As pivotal though they both imagined her to be, a lot could be withheld from Natalia: if not positive information, attitudes and intentions it was important for them personally, always protectively, to get indications of before they were instigated.

Noskov’s attention was on the doctor. “Is Bendall fit enough to go to court?”

“For an initial arraignment,” confirmed the man.

“And mentally he’s capable,” added Agayan. “He simply mustn’t be crowded, pushed.”

Responding to Anne’s whispered aside, Noskov said, “I’ll seek independent medical advice on that.”

“There are restrictions on access,” said Olga.

“I’ll want those examinations to be in the presence of this doctor, a hospital panel if necessary.”

“You can make your application,” condescended Olga.

“I don’t see how Bendall can be arraigned on what I understand so far to be the available evidence,” protested Noskov.

“That’s a matter for legal judgment and interpretation,” avoided Olga, easily.

“What are the formal court charges going to be?” demanded Noskov, imperious voiced again.

Olga wasn’t as cowed as the ward guards. “Again, a decision for the Justice Ministry and the federal prosecutor. The militia function has been to present the evidence.”

Charlie saw the opening. “Evidence it is officially agreed between our two countries-between London and Moscow-should be shared. I know you have withdrawn material from the American incident room but I expect that agreement still to exist between the two of us.”

“Again that is no longer a matter for me,” said Olga. “All the evidence has been passed over to the federal prosecutor. It has to be his-and the ministry’s-decision if the arrangement still exists.”

“We will make formal, diplomatic requests,” said Anne.

“Of course you will,” patronized Olga.

Charlie gestured back along the corridor. “You have just duplicated the recording of a conversation between Bendall and his legal advisors.”

“There is no legal prohibition upon our doing that.”

Noskov nodding his head, in agreement. Charlie said, “Has there been any further interrogation-Russian interrogation-since the claimed injection.”

“Medically proven injection,” corrected the woman.

“Medical proven injections,” gritted Charlie and waited.

“There may have been.”

It was her first overconfident lapse. “Olga Ivanova! You are the chief investigating officer. You would personally have conducted any subsequent interviews!”

Color spread up from the Russian detective’s throat. “Any subsequent interviews would form part of the evidence already filed on record and held by the federal prosecutor.”

“And forbidden to us?” demanded Anne.

“I’ve no way of knowing what the ministry or prosecution response would be to an official request for access.”

“Which will be legally filed,” promised Noskov.

“And diplomatically made as well, according to the terms of our agreement,” supported Anne.

Olga Melnik was a messenger boy-or girl-Charlie realized, answering his earlier uncertainty. But well briefed. By whom? he wondered.Don’t get sore, get even, he reminded himself, invoking one of the axioms of life. “As our professional cooperation appears to be over you can’t expect me to pass on the evidence that’s been gathered in London?”

Olga’s hesitation was so long it was as if the breath had been taken from her. At last she managed. “I most certainly would if it contributed to the further progress of the investigation!”

“Which I thought was being pursued independently now?” goaded Charlie. There’d been a miscalculation, he guessed. Briskly he said to the lawyers, “Let’s go to make those representations as quickly as we can. Hopefully get things back on course. There’s a lot else for us to do, as you know.”

In the car Noskov said, “It’s political.”

Anne said, “But stupid.”

“Or something,” said Charlie. His feet throbbed, to a metronome beat. Espionage had been a fucking sight easier than this.

Charlie arrived at the American embassy just before noon, dropped off at Novinskij Bul’var by the two lawyers on their way back to their respective offices to file their respective protests, promising both as he got out of the car that he’d call if he thought there was anything relevant from the now isolated American investigation. The FBI station chief was waiting in the incident room, closely flanked by Donald Morrison. After the younger man’s back-up during his London absence Charlie didn’t have the heart to exclude the man now that he’d returned.

Charlie anticipated some sort of outburst from the crumpled, cigar-perfumed American at the news of the impending court appearance but John Kayley remained reflectively silent. He didn’t initially interrupt, either, when Charlie began outlining the Bendall bullet disparity but then abruptly held up a stopping hand to lead the way through the linking corridor to the improvised laboratory and the American ballistics scientist.

Willie Ying said at once, “We’ve been waiting for your corroboration.”

“Is that why it isn’t computerized yet?” angrily demanded the ignored MI6 man.

“It’s your defense, against a murder charge,” said Kayley, in a smooth defense of his own. “You wouldn’t have wanted the Russians knowing about it in advance if it had only been a temporary walkout, would you?”

The don’t get sore, get even philosophy was American, remembered Charlie: it would be good somehow to give Morrison his personal chance. But not now. And the man was soon going to learn how things were eked out. “Did you get actual test firings, before the rifle was removed?”

The Chinese smiled. “Twenty, fired at measured graduation from in front and from behind the measurable distance from which Bendall shot. Not a score mark on any of them. Not that distance has got anything to do with it. The best guess is that Bendall’s bullets went off somewhere in the park, behind the White House.”

“We’ve actually looked,” said Kayley. “I had guys examine the most obvious trees-anything that might have stopped a bullet-in the line of fire. Came up with nothing.”

There was a shift of increasing anger from Donald Morrison but before the younger man could speak Charlie said, “I need those testfired bullets. From the runaround I got from Olga Melnik this morning I don’t think I’ll get the rifle for my people to test.”

“You got it,” guaranteed Kayley.

“We’ll need testimony as well,” pressed Charlie.

There was a shrugged, head-nodding exchange between the two Americans. Kayley said, “You got that as well. It’ll be good to show the bastards how wrong they were, walking out on us.”

Charlie couldn’t quite adjust the reasoning but it wasn’t something to dispute. He didn’t physically need the rifle and Anne had her dramatic defense to at least one of the charges likely to be brought. One good turn deserves another, Charlie thought. Offering that morning’s tape he’d brought to be copied into the evidence collection, he said, “George Bendall wants to tell us all about it.” He wondered if Morrison imagined he was a team player or whether the man realized the rules were only applied one way: it might mitigate the humiliation of his being ignored by the Americans.

Kayley smiled as he listened. Halfway through he ignited an aromatic cigar. When the replay ended Kayley said, “He does, doesn’the?” Then he said, “You take Bendall just a little further down the road and we’re going to have the others. The bastard, whoever he is. And the Russian militia will come crawling back.”

The last part was further reasoning that Charlie found difficulty with but he didn’t dispute that, either. “Let’s hope I can take him further.”

Kayley said, “I’ve got to go upstairs. There are people who’ll want to hear this.”

“They’re bastards, too!” said Morrison, vehemently, as he and Charlie returned to the main incident room.

“Don’t take it personally,” soothed Charlie. “They’d have tried to fuck me if I hadn’t come up with it.”

“You sure?” demanded Morrison.

“Positive,” said Charlie, who wasn’t but wanted to help the other man.

“Hope I haven’t disturbed your room too much,” said Morrison, when they reached it.

To Charlie it didn’t appear to have been occupied by anyone else. He settled into his place with its convenient foot rest and logged on to his computer to bring himself up to date, scrolling patiently through the alphabetically assembled files, stopping abruptly at the name Vasili Gregorovich Isakov. It had been compiled by three named FBI agents and ran to twelve pages, although it wasn’t the written material that immediately interested Charlie. Three photographs had been scanned on to the disk.

John Kayley was again included with the ambassador and the secretary of state for the satellite link with Washington but only Walter Anandale and his chief of staff were waiting at the White House end. He’d have to wait, Kayley knew, but it was difficult.

“So we’ve got a new game,” opened the president.

“Which we need to play very carefully,” advised James Scamell.

“How?” said Anandale.

“I think you need to come back for Yudkin’s funeral.”

“You serious! There are still guys out there who tried to kill me!”

“As serious as it’s possible to be, Mr. President. Your not attending will be read every which way, all of them bad. One spinwill be that you’re too scared. Another that you’re abandoning Okulov, to be beaten by the communists. Who are, incidentally, demanding an immediate election to confirm an elected president. Then there’s the treaty. There’s growing media speculation that there was a hidden agenda, that we never ever really intended to conclude it and that it was a cosmetic dance to go on until Yudkin got confirmed for a second term.”

Wendall North admired the secretary of state’s diplomacy. Scamell wasn’t talking of Moscow’s media pressure. He would have got from his own people at Foggy Bottom that morning’s Washington Post story of a potential paper trail from oil contract firms finally being followed to Anandale’s election funding. The chief of staff said, “I go along with Jamie’s assessment, Mr. President. We’re in a box here, with only one way out.”

“What’s happening with the investigation, John?” avoided Anandale.

Kayley had risked holding back from either the secretary of state or the ambassador the Russian decision to arraign Bendall, wanting to present it ahead of any official announcement as his personal discovery, despite the breakdown with the Moscow militia. He also explained the ballistic evidence as an exclusive detection of the FBI team he headed. He had to concede the British would be the source of any statement from Bendall from which it might be possible to locate the others in the conspiracy, but did so inferring that Britain needed Bureau manpower and scientific expertise to continue the investigation.

“Find the people who shot Ruth!” picked out the president, instantly.

“If we get the statement the Brits expect,” backtracked Kayley.

“Now we’re getting there!” enthused Anandale.

“I’m giving it to you as it’s come to me,” said Kayley, stressing the impression of urgency at the same time as shielding himself from questions he couldn’t answer. “There’s a lot I need explained further, pieces to fit together.”

“We’ve got things to talk about when I get there, John,” hinted Anandale. To the secretary of state he said, “Is it going to be a State occasion? World leaders?”

“I’d imagine so,” said Scamell.

“Find out,” ordered the president. “Here’s how we’ll run it. I’ll come early, for meetings with the British premier and the French president. Overnight either in London or Paris, so I can be in and out of Moscow from either city the same day as the funeral.”

“You need to meet with Okulov,” insisted Scamell.

“Not to do so would be worse than not going at all,” said North, in continued support.

“I’m not giving anything away for nothing,” said Anandale. “You make it clear, whichever way it’s necessary, that I won’t meet Okulov if their damned investigators don’t come back to the table.” He hesitated. “Everything else stands. I’m out of there the same day, OK?”

“It’s obvious the British are getting through to Bendall,” insisted Olga, taking the Russian copy of the interview tape from the machine on the table between her and Leonid Zenin.

“And we’re getting every word of it,” the militia commander pointed out.

“If we do get a lead to the rest of them, arraigning Bendall will be premature.”

“It’s out of our hands now,” said Zenin. “And it’s not a trial. It’s a public arraignment, for public consumption: the formal laying of the formal charges. The prosecutor can apply for adjournments as long as we ask him.”

“You sure it’s wise, shutting out the British as we’re shutting out the Americans?” pressed Olga. “They’ve obviously got something.”

“Or bluffing.”

Olga shook her head. “I don’t think he was bluffing.”

“We’ll see how their next interview goes,” decided Zenin. “We can easily get back together if it turns out to be really productive.” He was silent for several moments. “In fact it might be an idea if you were actually present, able to see as well as hear for ourselves. We’re going to come out well from this, Olga Ivanova.”

Olga smiled at his automatically talking in the plural, of both of them. “I think we already have.”

“You got it, Charlie!” agreed Anne, excitedly. “An absolute defense to murder! An expert witness, even.”

“I’d still prefer him to be British,” said Charlie. He was distracted by the Isakov file. Like so many other unresolved impressions-frustrations-there was something in it demanding to be seen. But like all the others, he couldn’t see it!

“I’ve filed the diplomatic protest. So’s Noskov, legally.” Anne was disappointed-curious even-at how subdued Charlie was.

“We’re still short of too much else.” He was glad he’d printed off the Isakov material to bring back to the embassy, to go over it further.

“There could be the breakthrough with Bendall if you continue teasing him along as well as you did today. And that could be as early as tomorrow.”

Her ambition was making her over-confidence-or overexpectant-Charlie decided. “Then all our problems will be over. Or just beginning.”

“Misery guts!”

“Realist,” he corrected.

Anne put into its designated order the material Charlie carried into her office thirty minutes earlier and gestured vaguely in the direction of the embassy’s residential apartment block. “The weary end to a long day. You fancy a Happy Hour drink?”

Charlie couldn’t at that moment imagine anything he would have enjoyed more. “No.”

“OK.” Anne showed no offense, no anger at a rebuff, which Charlie hadn’t intended it to be.

That night Natalia came to him in bed and the lovemaking was as uninhibited and passionate as he could ever remember, even from their first, excited, discovery days. Afterwards Natalia said, “I’m sorry, Charlie: sorry for too long being such a shit.”

“We’ve both been shits,” said Charlie and at last felt the overdue and searing guilt.