‘Yes.’
‘Anything unusual?’
‘Unusual?’ queried Fredericks.
The man knew what he meant, for Christ’s sake! Charlie said: ‘Facial hair. Or lack of hair. Scars. A limp. Missing fingers. Jewellery. Odd-shaped rings. That kind of unusual.’
Fredericks decided that Charlie’s mind was sharper than his suit. He said: ‘No.’
‘No what?’ pressed Charlie, determinedly.
‘Nothing unusual whatsoever. No facial hair. He’s not losing it up top, either. Full head. No scars or limps. Doesn’t wear any jewellery at all, not even a ring,’ itemized the American.
‘Full head?’ isolated Charlie. ‘Do you mean he’s got more than you’d expect, for a man of his age?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Colour?’
‘Lightish brown.’
‘Lightish brown? Or a tendency to greyness?’
Fredericks paused and then said: ‘I’m sorry. Would you like a coffee or a drink or something?’
‘Nothing,’ said Charlie, refusing a deflecting interruption. ‘Genuine light brown or greying?’
Beneath the desk, Fredericks gripped and ungripped his hands in frustration. Why this guy, of all people? ‘Genuine brown.’
‘You said light brown,’ reminded Charlie. ‘So what is it, light brown? Or brown?’
‘What the hell is this, a fucking inquisition!’ erupted the American, at last.
‘If you like,’ agreed Charlie, unperturbed by the outburst. ‘You’ve already told me it’s my ass. And it is. And I’ve already told you that I’m not risking it until I’m satisfied. Which I’m not … not by a long way. If I don’t get it all, then we both get nothing…’ He hesitated, wondering if he should take the risk, and thought shit, why not? He said: ‘London confirmed my authority to abort, didn’t they?’
‘Wouldn’t you have checked?’ said Fredericks, defensively.
‘Of course I would. That’s what I’m doing now,’ said Charlie. No doubt about it: General Sir Alistair Wilson was a bloody good man to have watching your back. Or ass, which seemed the buzzword.
‘Light brown,’ capitulated the American. ‘His hair is definitely light brown, without any grey.’
‘Eyes?’
‘Blue.’
‘Light blue or dark blue?’
‘Dark blue.’
‘Spectacles?’
‘Yes.’
Charlie came forward slightly in his chair. ‘Don’t you regard that as an unusual feature?’
‘No,’ said Fredericks.
‘Of course it is,’ disputed Charlie. ‘Heavy framed, light frame, metal frame or frameless?’
‘Heavy,’ replied Fredericks. There was very little he was going to be able to hold back, for themselves.
‘Heavy what?’
‘Plastic, I guess. Black.’
‘Thick lens?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘So they could be false, some sort of minimal disguise?’
‘It would be minimal, wouldn’t it?’
‘That’s all it’s got to be, in most cases,’ lectured Charlie. ‘People, even trained people, respond to immediate impressions, not careful studies. Heavy black glasses are a feature, and if they are missing when you expect them the immediate impression might be that it’s the wrong person … the sort of hair you’ve described can easily be tinted, to heighten the change …’ Charlie stopped, annoyed at an oversight of his own. ‘Is it parted?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Fredericks.
Charlie noted the hesitation. ‘Which side?’ he said.
‘Left,’ said the American. The hesitation was still there.
‘You sure?’
‘Yes,’ said Fredericks, doubtfully.
Charlie hoped the photographs were good: they were a bonus he shouldn’t forget. He said: ‘And if Kozlov really needs glasses, then the opportunity for an appearance change is still there. He could use contact lenses and even alter the proper colour of his eyes.’
‘Why!’ demanded Fredericks, annoyed there was more. ‘What’s the point of debating disguise! The man isn’t trying to hide from us.’
The point was intentionally to cause an apparent side issue to lure the other man into disclosing everything there was to learn, but Charlie didn’t tell him that. Instead he said: ‘I would have thought that if this thing goes ahead the possibility of disguise might be pretty important to you.’
Fredericks swallowed, uncomfortable at the lapse. ‘Getting Kozlov out is our problem, not yours,’ he said, belligerently.
‘How tall?’ resumed Charlie.
‘Five ten.’
‘Weight?’
‘About 168 lbs,’ said Fredericks.
Charlie, who had never adjusted to the American weighing system, made the quick mental calculation: twelve stone. He said: ‘So what’s his appearance, average, heavy or what?’
‘Average.’
‘No gut?’ said Charlie, instinctively breathing in. ‘It’s possible, even though the weight is about right for the height.’
Fredericks shook his head. ‘He’s completely nondescript.’
Charlie decided that it was the first time the other man had said anything to indicate that Kozlov might be genuine. Fredericks, with his distinctive bulk, must find operational work difficult. But then, thought Charlie, in contradiction, he hadn’t isolated the man during the arrival-day surveillance. Subjugate the irritation! he told himself. He said: ‘He admits to being Executive Action?’
‘Yes,’ said Fredericks.
‘Did you take him through it?’
‘Through enough,’ said Fredericks.
Enough for you but not for me, thought Charlie. He said: ‘Tell me about it.’
‘It came out the first time,’ recalled Fredericks. ‘He always insists on stipulating the meeting places: sets out several so that we can’t stake them out properly and then chooses the one at which to make the contact …’
‘So he can check and ensure he’s not going to be jumped, cither by you or his own people …?’ clarified Charlie.
‘That’s the reason he gives.’
That was certainly professional, judged Charlie. ‘You were talking about the first meeting?’ he encouraged.
‘It was at Tsukuba, where the ‘85 Expo was held,’ resumed Fredericks. ‘Good choice. Crowded with people. He identified me …’
‘How?’ came in Charlie. It was a genuine and important question, but he also wanted to jolt the other man from the prepared, withholding delivery he suspected.
‘Part of his proving himself,’ said Fredericks. ‘Claims to know every Agency man on station here. The instruction was that I should simply tour the various stands and the exhibition site and wait for an approach … it came in a revolving theatre, in the Hitachi Pavilion …’
‘How?’ broke in Charlie again. ‘How did that instruction come, in the first place? How did the CIA learn Yuri Kozlov wanted to come across?’
Charlie Muffin was a bastard who didn’t deserve to be readmitted into any intelligence environment. But Fredericks realized the man wasn’t the jerk he’d accused him earlier of being. As he prepared to answer, Fredericks thought again how much the defection was his personal operation and felt a fresh surge of annoyance at the degree of cooperation that was being surrendered. He said: ‘It was direct, to me. There was a reception, at the Swiss embassy. Low-key affair that the ambassador didn’t even bother to attend. I only went for a drink. There was an anonymous note in my car, when I left.’
‘Wasn’t the car locked?’
Fredericks smiled, in further grudging admiration at Charlie’s attention to detail. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Kozlov seems to enjoy showing how good he is.’
Don’t we all, thought Charlie. He said: ‘Was the car alarmed?’
Fredericks nodded: ‘That too. He by-passed it. I checked with the guards. No one heard a thing.’
‘What did the note say?’ demanded Charlie.<
br />
‘Just that I was to go to the Expo site.’
‘No indication who it was from?’
‘No.’
‘Not even Russian?’
‘No.’
‘So why’d you go?’ said Charlie.
‘Because whoever it was who’d written it had got into a supposedly secure CIA car without anyone knowing about it,’ listed Fredericks. ‘Because whoever it was knew who I was; it was addressed to the CIA Resident. Because the word “Resident” was used, it had to be from someone who was in intelligence.’
‘All of which could have been setting you up.’
‘Wouldn’t you have gone?’
‘The note said something else,’ insisted Charlie. ‘It just didn’t say “Go to the site of Expo ’85”.’
Fredericks felt a renewed burst of anger at how easily the other man appeared to have backed him into a corner. ‘“I have killed and now I want freedom”,’ recited Fredericks. ‘That’s what it said.’
‘That the lot?’ insisted Charlie.
‘That was it,’ said Fredericks. ‘“I have killed and now I want freedom.” Expo site. 27 …’ He stopped and then added: “That indicated the date, February 27. The Swiss reception was on the 24th.’
It was coming, decided Charlie. Slowly — too slowly — but the snippets were there. Would there be enough, though, to build the sort of picture he wanted to see, to be satisfied? ‘Dramatic!’ he said.
‘Good enough to go,’ insisted Fredericks.
‘So it wasn’t at the first meeting you learned he was a killer?’ questioned Charlie. ‘You knew, from the note?’
‘If you want to be picky,’ sneered Fredericks.
‘I want to be picky,’ insisted Charlie. ‘So what happened, in the Hitachi Pavilion?’
‘I just wandered about,’ said Fredericks. ‘That first time he didn’t set out a route, like he has done since.’
More professionalism, recognized Charlie: the note could have been intercepted by someone other than Fredericks if Kozlov had been seen planting it, so the Russian would have needed as many escape routes as possible. He said: ‘Didn’t you have back-up?’
‘Two guys,’ said Fredericks. ‘That was the first occasion we got some photographs.’
‘If Kozlov knows the identity of every Agency person, he would have identified them.’
‘He did,’ admitted Fredericks. ‘He said he was glad I was a cautious person and just that time he would allow it, but in future it had to be one for one. Like I said, he enjoys proving himself.’
‘Has it been?’
‘Of course not.’
‘So you’ve endangered any crossing already?’
Despite the air conditioning, Fredericks was conscious of the perspiration moving down his back, a physical irritation to match the other he was feeling at having to make a further concession. ‘He didn’t tell me until the third meeting that he knew them all and I’m not convinced he does, anyway.’
‘You told me there have been four meetings,’ remembered Charlie. ‘Did you go to the fourth meeting by yourself?’
‘I told them all to be careful.’
‘How about the guy you sent after me?’ said Charlie. ‘Didn’t you tell him to be careful?’
‘Kiss my ass!’ said Fredericks, in a fresh eruption of anger. ‘I’m not answerable to you!’
Charlie was as unperturbed as before, aware of how successful it had been to anger the man and juggle the interview. He wondered if Fredericks realized the importance of what he had just admitted. ‘Let’s go back to the first meeting,’ he said, quietly.
Fredericks blinked again, assembling his disarrayed thoughts, and said: ‘I said he was nondescript and he is. That time he was alongside me before I realized it and it’s happened that way since. He thanked me for coming …’
‘In English …?’
‘He speaks it very well …’ resumed Fredericks. ‘It’s an unusual theatre. It revolves in front of various stages. I’d taken a seat and was just watching the show, thinking the whole thing was some sort of dumb hoax. And then there he was, suddenly beside me. Like I told you, he thanked me for coming …’
‘Just like that? “Thank you for coming”?’
‘Yes.’
‘No!’ said Charlie.
‘What the hell do you mean, no?’
‘You said he knew your name?’
The American began feeling drained. He said: ‘“Thank you for coming, Mr Fredericks.”’
‘Mr Fredericks? Or Art Fredericks?’
‘Does it matter, for Christ’s sake!’
‘Of course it matters,’ said Charlie. ‘Mr Fredericks indicates some subservience: that he was uncertain. Art Fredericks would show that he was proving himself again. Haven’t you ever carried out any in-depth debriefings?’
Fredericks hadn’t, but wished now that he had. ‘He used my first name. He said: “Thanks for coming, Art. That is your name, isn’t it? Art Fredericks?”’
‘Exact words?’
‘Exact words.’
‘What then?’
‘I asked him what he wanted.’
‘How?’
‘This is ridiculous!’
‘How did you ask?’ persisted Charlie.
‘I said: “OK, I’ve come here: what is it all about?”.’
‘You sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure!’
‘You’d gone to an exhibition after a mystery note in a locked car, wandered about for a long time, sat down in a theatre believing you were wasting your time, and suddenly a man sits beside you and says “Thanks for coming, Art. That is your name, isn’t it? Art Fredericks?” And you didn’t ask him how he knew your name!’
‘Of course I asked him!’
‘Then?’
‘Yes!’
‘That wasn’t what you said.’
The drained feeling worsened. ‘I asked him how he knew my name and he said he knew all the names … that he knew the two who were with me that day …’
‘Did he …?’
Fredericks nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘By name?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which was?’
‘That’s not important.’
‘A sparrow you saw pissing in the next field is important. Who were they?’
‘Harry Fish and Winslow Elliott.’
Cartright was right, Charlie recognized. ‘Used them since?’
Fredericks paused. ‘They’re experts!’
‘You’re not!’ accused Charlie, wanting the man’s anger again.
‘There’ve been a lot of places to cover: five or six each time.’
Got it! thought Charlie. If Fredericks conducted the meetings and had an extra man at each, that meant a minimum of six, against him. He would have expected more. ‘You asked him again how he knew?’
‘Yes,’ said Fredericks. Maybe he’d let Elliott loose on this guy.
‘And?’
‘He said it was his job to know. Although his English was very good, like I said, I guessed from the accent he was Russian. I said what was his job and he said he was KGB …’
‘He said that!’ demanded Charlie. ‘He said KGB?’
‘Yes.’
Charlie caught the doubt again and said: ‘You sure? Absolutely sure?’
‘He used a Russian word and I said I didn’t speak Russian and he said KGB,’ recalled Fredericks.
Charlie wondered whether to prompt the other man and decided against it. ‘You can’t remember what it was?’
‘I told you, I don’t speak Russian.’
He wouldn’t give it to Fredericks, decided Charlie. The awkward bugger wasn’t giving him anything without a struggle.
‘It is important?’ asked Fredericks.
‘We’ll never know, will we?’ avoided Charlie, easily. ‘What happened then?’
‘I asked him straight away what he meant by having killed and wanting his freedom.’
‘And?’
‘He sa
id he was Executive Action. That he’d murdered and that he wanted to stop but they wouldn’t let him, so he had to defect …’
‘Let’s stop for a moment,’ said Charlie. ‘Is that what he called it, Executive Action?’
Fredericks was cautious now. ‘Not at once,’ he conceded, immediately. ‘I asked him what department he was attached to and he said the First Chief Directorate, and then I repeated what department and he said another Russian word …’
Charlie cut across, decided he had to prompt this time. ‘Taini otdel?’
Fredericks remained cautious, frowning. ‘That sounds like it,’ he said. ‘I can’t be sure but it sounds like it.’
‘It means secret division,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s an expression they sometimes use. What happened then?’
‘I told him again I didn’t speak Russian, so he said “Department V.” I recognized that, but to be sure I said, “Executive Action” and he said, “Yes.”’
‘Who’s he killed?’
‘He won’t say.’
‘He must have given some indication!’
‘He point-blank refused,’ insisted the American.
‘To a direct question: you asked?’ demanded Charlie.
‘Of course I damn well asked!’ said Fredericks. ‘Told me the knowledge was his value and that he’d tell us everything … victims, reasons, dates and locations, Russian rationale, everything … once he was safely across and his wife was safe, too …’
There was no way to discover if Fredericks were lying. There was a pathway he could follow, from what the American had given away so far. He said: ‘Tell me about that; it’s the reason I’m here, after all. Why this separate crossing business, with him and Irena?’
‘He’s frightened of being cheated … of being brought across, sucked dry of everything and then dumped … prosecuted even,’ said Fredericks. ‘I told him we didn’t operate that way: that we kept our word. But he said intelligence agencies were the same anywhere and that he wanted a guarantee.’
That’s what the Director had said, during the briefing, remembered Charlie. ‘He’s right about one thing,’ said Charlie, pointedly and from personal experience. ‘Defectors are always traitors, to whichever side: they’re usually shat on, once their usefulness is over. Did he explain how the splitting of the defections gave him protection?’
‘He talked of going public, in England and America.’
See Charlie Run cm-7 Page 7
