The Blind Run

Chapter Fourteen

Natalia wore a severely tailored black suit and a white shirt, open at the throat and she seemed to have taken more trouble with her hair, straining it back into a chignon. Charlie decided it suited her. The outfit, too. Definitely nice tits. There was no welcoming smile and the gesture to the carefully positioned chair was curt.

‘We will talk today in much more detail,’ she announced, making it sound an order.

New approach, thought Charlie: today was aggression day, putting him firmly into his place. He’d determined upon his demeanour, too. It was going to clash. He leaned forward, so that he could reach the edge of her desk and counted out the devices he found in the apartment. As he did so he recited ‘… tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man…’

Natalia pursed her lips, an expression of strained irritation.

Charlie grinned at her and said, ‘It’s a game we play in England, with kids, counting out the fruit pips. Supposed to forecast the future.’

‘You didn’t finish it,’ she reminded him. ‘It ends “beggar man, thief”. What role do you think you’re going to play, in the future?’

‘Not sure, not yet,’ said Charlie. He couldn’t be certain if he were off-balancing her, which was the intention.

‘No,’ said Natalia, pointedly. ‘I’m not sure, either.’

Charlie recognised that she was fighting back but thought the remark had been too heavy. Nodding towards the lined-up devices, he said, ‘How many did Sampson bring you?’

‘Perhaps he was more trusting than you. Or doesn’t like kids’ games.’

‘If he’s more trusting than me then he’s stupid, isn’t he?’

‘Am I supposed to be impressed?’ said Natalia, trying for contempt.

‘Yes,’ said Charlie. He’d have to be cautious, about appearing over-confident. Which he wasn’t.

‘You don’t seem to be taking anything very seriously,’ she said.

‘Believe me, I am,’ said Charlie. ‘For the first time I’m beginning to realise what it’s like, to be out of prison.’

Her face relaxed, very slightly, at her acceptance of the explanation. ‘Is that all you’ve realised?’

It was going very well, Charlie decided. ‘No,’ he said.

This time there was an actual smile. ‘So you’re going to co-operate?’

‘No,’ said Charlie again. ‘I’m going to listen to all the questions and I’ll answer all that I feel able to.’ To concede more than that would be wrong, he knew.

Natalia’s face hardened. ‘That’s not co-operation.’

‘How do you know, until you’ve tried it?’ Charlie wondered what her rank was, in the service.

She appeared about to argue further and then to change her mind, going back again to the folder. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Let’s try it. Start from the very beginning, from your moment of entry. Tell me all about the examinations you took and the tests you underwent. Tell me about the instructional schools you attended and where they were. Tell me about the departments in which you’ve worked and the places where you’ve worked and the people with whom you’ve worked. Tell me about your promotions and demotions…’ She looked up at him, waiting.

‘All that!’ said Charlie, trying for mockery.

‘All that,’ she said, refusing him. ‘For a beginning.’

Charlie had determined his reaction. He knew he had to impress her and whoever else was involved, assessing the interviews, and that meant convincing them that although he’d made the effort in attempting to retain some little portion of integrity, at the end they would believe they’d got all they wanted. And in fact there was a lot he could tell them that wouldn’t endanger anyone or anything. From the beginning, she’d said. Which was easy, because the training facilities through which he’d gone, in Hertfordshire, no longer existed. Charlie was extremely careful, over-detailing what no longer mattered, avoiding what did. Some of the early operations were as extinct as the Hertfordshire training school and so he had no hesitation about them. It was the period when he established the reputation that was to last and he actually enjoyed the telling, realising as he did so that he wanted to impress Natalia in a way different from anyone else who might study the inevitable tapes and transcripts, that he wanted her to admire him. He was passingly intrigued and even amused. She was, after all, the first woman with whom he’d had any contact for a very long time, so he supposed it was a natural reaction. What, he wondered, would hers be if she knew what he was thinking? Was she married? There was no ring but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Charlie tried to push the intrusive reflection away, hurrying on with the account, anxious to submerge her in as much peripheral detail as possible. The headquarters of MI-6 weren’t in Mayfair any more, so he felt no hesitation about speaking at length about them, bothering with floor lay-out and office apportionment. He didn’t stop at listing the Directors under whom he’d worked, either. Apart from Cuthbertson – who didn’t matter because they knew what he had done to him – none of the Directors whom Charlie had known were still alive and although their identities were supposed to be a secret, even after retirement and death, Charlie knew damned well that it was a nonsense and that the KGB had a complete record. Cuthbertson brought him to Berenkov and Charlie gave every detail of that operation, well knowing that upon his return Berenkov would have been even more fully debriefed and that therefore he was giving nothing away that the Russians didn’t already know. The woman let Charlie make his own pace, only very rarely intruding for a point of clarification and never upon anything that Charlie didn’t want to talk about. Not wanting to interrupt the account, Natalia had coffee and sandwiches brought in at mid day and Charlie was conscious of the deference the woman received and wondered again at her rank. It was late when they finished, already dark outside, lights pricked around the motorway. Charlie ached physically, from the effort and the strain. It had been important to swamp her with minutiae – to make them all believe they were getting something – but he’d spoken for so long that it was difficult for him to remember precisely what he’d said. Which was dangerous because it meant if they weren’t completely convinced – or if a query arose that she hadn’t thought of immediately – then he might get caught out in a re-examination. He’d have to be bloody careful. But then that had always been a requirement.

‘How much longer?’ he said.

‘Longer?’

‘Sessions like these.’

‘Until we’re satisfied,’ she said.

‘About what?’ Charlie knew but he wanted to see how far she would commit herself.

‘That you’re going to be of some use to us.’

‘Thanks, for the honesty,’ said Charlie, trying to sound offended.

‘Isn’t that what we’re trying to establish between us, honesty?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ agreed Charlie.

‘Today was better,’ said Natalia. ‘Much better.’

Was she attempting to reassure him? Deciding it would sound a perfectly natural question, Charlie said, ‘What happens, when you’re finally satisfied. What will I be required to do?’

‘That’s not for me to decide,’ said Natalia. ‘Not even to be finally satisfied.’

Was six months sufficient time, to achieve what he had to achieve? He supposed he could always stay longer, if he thought there was a chance of succeeding and he was sure he’d evaded any suspicion. But how could he tell Wilson, to stop the man panicking? No way, Charlie realised. The moment he went through the embassy doors, there wasn’t any coming out again. So he had to go in with something. If he stayed out, longer than six months, then he’d have to take the chance with Wilson. They should have foreseen the possibility, rushed though the preparations had been. Another if, to go with all the others. He said, ‘Do you like it?’

She frowned up at him. ‘Like what?’

‘What you do.’

She hesitated and Charlie was sure she came near to blushing, which he found a strange response. She said, ‘Yes, I enjoy it very much. I find it challenging.’

‘Catching people out?’

‘If there’s something to catch them out upon, then yes. Is there something to catch you out upon, Charlie Muffin?’

Charlie met her look, unflinchingly. ‘Not me, love,’ he said. ‘You get what you see.’

‘I hope so,’ she said.

Charlie wondered what she meant.

‘I don’t think we should wait any longer,’ insisted Kalenin. ‘I don’t think we can afford to wait any longer. It was Sampson who actually warned us: mentioned it at the debriefing.’

‘Fedova?’ queried Berenkov.

The KGB chairman shook his head. ‘I want you to do it.’

Berenkov accepted the instructions without argument, half expecting them anyway. ‘Normal procedure?’

There was another head shake. ‘I want this settled and I want it settled quickly.’

‘Sampson was very forthcoming,’ said Berenkov. ‘If he’d known more I would have expected him to offer it.’

‘That’s what worries me,’ said Kalenin. ‘So would I.’