by Tim Heath
“What do you think?” Charlie shot back, dropping a handful of Swiss francs onto the table, more than enough to cover the cost of their drinks. He got up and went to the door. Out on the street, there was initially no sign of Anya, but then he saw her over by the water on the far side across a busy road. She was sitting on a bench looking out at some boats. When there was a break in the traffic, Charlie crossed over and approached her. She saw him coming, and half smiled. He sat next to her.
“I’m sorry about all that,” he said, wanting to be the first to speak.
“I’m sorry, too,” she said. They sat there, at either end of the bench so as not to be too close, for two minutes just looking out over the water. Charlie’s stomach rumbled.
“Look, we still need lunch. I spotted a Burger King when we were walking earlier. Let’s go eat,” and he stood up, ushering her to follow, which she did reluctantly after a moment’s pause. She didn’t do fast food.
“As long as you’re paying,” she smiled and caught him up.
In the afternoon they returned to the hotel. The weather was changing, rain showers picking up in intensity, and it was feeling much colder. They talked further, all business, and then agreed to go their separate ways. It had been a good trip for Charlie. He had a sense there was still more to be uncovered, however. They agreed that meeting again, while increasingly difficult, was probably the safest way forward. Neither wanted to risk the telephone. Charlie was due back on the daily flight, but Anya needed to keep her cover story intact, so headed for the train station, where she caught the express to Geneva and from there a slower train that took her into the skiing region in southern France. She stayed there for two nights, skiing a little on her rented equipment on the last day, before making the drawn-out journey home, eventually flying out from Marseille's Provence Airport on her final evening in France. Landing back in St Petersburg, there were now just seven days before the planned execution of William Hackett.
The following morning, in central London, it was a sombre atmosphere as Charlie brought people up to speed on the latest developments. Outside the rain continued to fall, echoing their feelings at that moment. There was a heavy, overshadowing sense hanging on everything. Sombre reflection soon gave way to outright anger towards the actions of Russia.
“I mean, who in the world do they think they are?” was the phrase spoken by an MI6 manager that summed up the mood.
“I’ll get onto Moscow straight away,” added another person, who was there from the Home Office. The last month or two had been a difficult time for them, and this latest news was only going to make matters worse.
“And this contact of yours, Charlie, is completely trustworthy that what she says is indeed the case?” was a sentiment which had been raised several times before that morning.
“Absolutely,” Charlie replied. Few knew who the contact was, besides those closest to him in MI6. He intended to keep it that way.
“Still, we can’t rule out the possibility that they are not as informed as you are making them out to be,” said another ageing dinosaur from the Home Office.
“Believe me when I tell you, for the last goddam time. It is happening, this is real-time information, and this is now.” Charlie had done well at holding his feelings about bureaucrats in for as long as he had, but this guy was sapping every final ounce of his reserve.
“That’s enough,” said his boss, gently enough in Charlie’s left ear for it to be kept between them.
“Do we let the press know? They’ll find out soon enough, no doubt, and if it comes to light that we were holding back information...” the press secretary from Downing Street was saying before being cut off by Charlie.
“We’ll leave the press out of this at the moment, no matter what it will look like to you lot. This is an ongoing operation, and that type of information getting out is going to hamper my chances of getting what I need to find out.”
“An ongoing operation my arse!” said the ageing dinosaur. “You have no idea what you are doing over there, from what I can see. Whatever sort of mission you think you’ve been playing has got us nowhere with Russia.”
“You listen to me you…” Charlie said, doing everything in his power to hold his tongue for a moment and not follow up with something he’d regret. Charlie’s eyes were wild and bore into the face of the man across the desk from him. Charlie continued after a few seconds; “You’ve been stuck in an office for so long you've forgotten what the real world looks like, shuffling papers as you do and trying to look like you’re doing a real job. The world changed a long time ago. All you've come here to do is challenge my facts and see if your chums at the Home Office and the sitting government might still have jobs by New Year.”
“Now you listen here...” the man started to say, his fat cheeks on his face wobbling as he shook his head a little, making him look like the Fat Controller from Thomas the Tank Engine.
“Gentlemen!” barked the most senior MI6 agent present, who’d served a long time in the Home Office previously, a man that knew both worlds and had worked in the field as well, though was also behind a desk mostly now. The room became silent for a moment. Enough feathers had been ruffled. “That is enough, Charlie. I realise you feel strongly, but that is no way to speak to this committee. Let us look at this calmly. If what Charlie has told us is accurate, and we have nothing to tell us it is anything but, then we have less than a week before a British citizen is going to be executed by firing squad in Russia. A man they claim is a spy. That’s surely the angle we need to work on most. They are using this to drive a wedge between our countries even more than there is already. They thrive on conflict, and while we understand the pressure that there is on the Home Office and the government over this whole situation, Charlie is right. We have to be thinking about the integrity of the ongoing mission before we start talking to the press. While the damage it might do is regrettable if and when the news comes to light, our primary focus has to be on William Hackett and getting the Russians to change their planned course of action.”
“Do we inform the family?” came another comment, this time from Scotland Yard’s very own Zoe. Charlie had not seen that she was present when he’d arrived.
“Zoe, I think, for now, that is not the right thing to do. It would be the same as going directly to the press. The family have been on every news channel since their father was arrested. If they are told about this latest development, the news will break straightaway.”
“But their father is about to be executed, and we can’t let them know that?”
“We don’t have a choice. And of course, there is always the chance something will change.”
“I just can’t work out what the Russians stand to gain in all this,” Zoe said. At that moment a young lady came back into the room and went to speak with the team from the Home Office. She left again, and their man spoke up.
“Moscow is refusing to speak to us. We went to them directly, demanding to know why the appeal had been heard already, why the sentence had been upheld and why they were so silent about the outcome.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” Charlie exclaimed, getting up from his chair and starting to walk over to the man before his boss stood up and blocked his path. “You’ve only just gone and told them the very thing we’ve been discussing that we didn’t want to do! Brilliant. Just brilliant!”
The room fell silent. Charlie’s boss spoke up next.
“Charlie, why don’t you leave us now? Keep speaking to your contact and see what more you can find out. And be careful.” Charlie didn’t take a moment, turned and left the room. Zoe went after him. “The rest of us,” he continued as Charlie was walking through the door, “need to work out a system where we communicate together. That call to the Kremlin has put us in a tough position. We don’t have a lot of options left. This one has to run through our office from now on, regardless of who’s involved. Am I clear?”
“MI6 is taking control?” said the man from the Home Office, not
sounding at all impressed with the prospect.
“Yes, we are most certainly taking control of this situation. No one does, says or releases anything unless we give you the go-ahead. Have I made myself crystal clear to you all?” Everyone said yes.
In the canteen, Zoe sat with Charlie, a can of fizzy drink shared between them both in two glasses.
“Are you okay?” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“Just let me think,” he said. She sat there taking little sips of the drink. A minute later Charlie got up without saying anything more and left. Zoe finished up and left herself.
25
In St Petersburg, Anya had returned from France and had been informed as soon as she arrived in the office that her mother wanted to see her again. She was instantly a little wary of the news but needed to take up the invitation. To not have done so would only raise suspicion, plus she wanted to know more anyway. She caught the late flight to Moscow once more, landing at half eleven, going directly to her mother’s house this time. The lights were on as the car pulled into the drive, her mother had sent a driver to collect Anya from the airport. It was gone midnight by the time she walked in, but her mother was there to greet her personally.
“Anya, so good to see you.” She was noticeably more formal.
“Mother, I’m sorry that it is so late.”
“Nonsense. I don’t sleep much before two nowadays anyway. Do you want a drink?”
Her mother was holding a glass of something, probably vodka, that she’d been working on for a while. Her face was a little flushed, a family trait Anya shared with her mother when alcohol was consumed.
“Just a small one then,” Anya said.
“That’s my girl,” and she proceeded to pour two enormous shots into both her glass and a spare glass on the side. She handed the other one to Anya. “A toast,” she added. “To Russia!”
Both women downed the drink, as was the tradition. Her mother couldn’t help but watch her daughter as if looking for any lack of patriotism, though she didn’t see any. Anya noticed the stare, but she didn’t return the gaze and pretended she hadn’t seen anything. Her mother quickly refilled both glasses, despite Anya’s attempted protest. She walked into another room, where Anya followed. It was a large lounge with big leather sofas surrounding a fine antique coffee table. A fire was roaring in the open fireplace behind it. Her mother sat down in her usual chair, Anya opting for another facing her. The coffee table sat between them, like a kind of safety fence.
“How was your skiing trip?” she asked. Clearly, they’d been looking into her. “I called your office to invite you down, and they told me you were in France,” she added as if sensing the connection her daughter just made.
“It was a wonderful three days,” she said, doing her best to shrug off the concern. She had no idea how much her mother knew, but it seemed to satisfy her for the time being.
“I’m glad you are back safely. Skiing can be so dangerous and especially as you are always doing it alone. When are you going to settle down and produce me a grandchild?”
“So this is what this is all about, Mother,” she said, feigning concern that she’d come all the way to Moscow for her mother to start up on this one again.
“It’s just that, ever since that despicable Charles character, you have not dated anyone unless there is something you aren’t telling me? Someone you are keeping hidden from me in St Petersburg?” The soppy mother routine did not suit her at all.
“His name was Charlie, and no, Mother, there is not a man in my life at the moment, nor has there been since I left London.”
“And I’m glad you did finally leave. That man was no good for you. We all saw it. Even your father did! It’s the one thing we seemed to agree on. I guess you’ve not been in touch with him since then.” Now she was getting somewhere. Suddenly her mother wanted to know about her ex-boyfriend who happened to be running the case for MI6.
“That was two years ago, Mother. It’s history, and I’d rather not talk about it.”
“But you saw him in London when you arrested that spy.”
“Of course, we both know I did.” They’d been over this before.
“So you’ve not spoken to him since then? He’s not tried to contact you?”
“Why would he, Mother?”
“Because he's a man.” That seemed to be her answer to a lot of things, and yet she worked with so many men. Anya wondered how she had managed to make such a mark in Moscow.
“I’ll be careful,” she playfully said as if being the dutiful daughter taking her precious mother’s friendly advice.
“Do be very careful. He is a dangerous man. The British will stop at nothing to get to us, you know. That’s why it was so important this spy was brought to justice. His appeal failed, I see.”
“That’s not public knowledge yet, Mother.”
“Come on, Anya, you know me. I had lunch with the three appeal judges only yesterday.” It didn’t surprise her one bit.
“And had you seen them before the appeal?”
“I know all the judges, darling.”
“I meant these three in particular, and concerning this trial. Had you met with them to talk about the outcome?”
“Of course I hadn’t, Anyechka. What do you take me for?” But there was no emotion there. “Are you going to go to the execution?”
“Why would I, Mother?”
“Well, you were at the appeal hearing and did not need to be. You seem to be showing more interest in this trial than is merited, so I was just wondering, that’s all.” She was doing more than that, and they both knew it.
“I was there on official business, that was all. I have no intention of being there for the execution if that is what's going to happen.”
Her mother put her glass down on the table, very deliberately.
“But that very definitely is what's going to happen, Anya. Regardless of what you might have heard otherwise.”
“I’ve not heard anything otherwise, Mother. You just never know. Russia hasn’t killed anyone in a long time, that’s all.”
“Believe me; we’ve killed plenty of people but true, we’ve not executed a criminal in over a decade. But for treason, a murder of this size, it was the only warranted outcome.”
“That’s what I’ve never understood in this case. Where is the treason angle? What was it about Fernandes that has made it such a big case, as you put it?”
“There you go again, showing interest in a case beyond where it’s merited. I’ll say this before we move the conversation on from this topic for the final time. Fernandes was no one, but he was well connected in the Kremlin. He obviously had something on this spy that got him killed. An act of murder done against anyone, but especially one of those in the inner circle, is an act that needs the harshest of punishments. It was a crime against the state. That, in a nutshell, is treason.”
“But what was the crime against the state? I don’t get it.”
“Enough already. I’m tired of going around in circles on this one. You’ll just have to let this one drop, Anya. For your own good. And stay away from that MI6 agent should he try to contact you. We think he has someone on the inside working against us.” Anya nearly dropped her glass. Her mother spotted the reaction, sensing something was there. “Anyone that gets near to Charlie is putting themselves in the line of fire.”
“Nothing is going on between us, for the last time, Mother!”
“Good, good, I was just concerned about you, darling.” There was a growing distance forming between them. Anya wasn’t sure who her mother was anymore. It was her mother who changed the subject next, however. “Are you coming down for New Year, Anyechka? It’s going to be an amazing display this year. Please say you’ll join me.” The fireworks in Red Square were always spectacular. Spending another New Year with her mother was the last thing she wanted right now.
“I’d love to,” she lied. The fire was dying down
, and her mother noticed that now.
“I’ll just go and get some more wood for the fire. I’ll have someone take your things to your room, as well,” and with that, she got up and walked out of another door that Anya hadn’t spotted before. Anya placed her glass back on the table. She hadn’t finished the second drink. The first was already too much for her.
It was now nearly one thirty. They talked a little more, but it was all superficial stuff. The real work had already been done. Anya was the first to retire for the night, the last few days starting to catch up with her. She was shown to her room, which was upstairs. She had her own bathroom connected to the room, and she looked out over the back of the property, though it was pitch-black outside. There was a queen-size bed which looked as inviting as any hotel bed on which she’d ever slept. But she was far from a guest, even in her mother’s home. She couldn’t wait to get away from there.
Charlie had been a busy man for the last twenty-four hours. The meeting yesterday morning had set him on a course where he wasn’t going to take any more crap from anyone. After walking away from Zoe in the MI6 canteen, she had finally tracked him down some hours later. They’d had a bit more of a talk, the beers helping to loosen his tongue.
Throughout these various encounters, the young MI6 agent was being followed by a sophisticated tail. Five Russian FSB agents, all unknown to the British as working for the Russians, were tracking his every move. They were there when he met with Zoe. They saw that she was interested in Charlie more than he was with her. They would store that information as anything and everything might come in useful further down the line. At the moment their instructions were just to follow and observe. It was imperative that they remained unseen. The five-person team at least allowed them every chance at being hidden, rotating people regularly while keeping it natural. In the bar, when Charlie was sharing a drink with Zoe, it was more normal for the same two agents to sit observing them from a distance in the bar. Once on the streets, it was better to split up and if possible be waiting at the venue ahead of Charlie getting there. They did this on two occasions, but that was because they’d picked up him mentioning the places to Zoe.
