Inside Enemy (15 page)

‘All bets are off,’ Peter repeated. ‘If I find they’ve done anything that threatens Grigory.’

What did you expect? Charles wanted to say to the tense pale face behind the mesh screen. That your betrayal of trust, your betrayal of friends and colleagues, your giving our secrets to a
corrupt and brutal regime that means us harm, would be accepted in silence? That we wouldn’t tell our closest ally, some of whose secrets you betrayed and who helped us catch you? It was
surely that same dissociation from reality, the same failure of consequential imagination, that had tempted Peter down this path in the first place. His wishes continued to father his thoughts. It
was a fatal disjunction.

There was movement around them and a change in the voices, with some people standing.

‘Thank your mother,’ said Peter. ‘She’s a very nice lady. Tell her I understand that she’ll be disappointed when she hears what I’ve done but that I hope one
day to see her again and explain all. And tell the Office that if Grigory suffers anything through anything they’ve done, I’ll bring the whole house of cards down. I mean that,
Charles.’

It would have been easy, at that moment, to torpedo his assumptions about Grigory, to leave him with only the consequences of his actions to brood on and no consoling imaginary cause. You were
set up, Charles could have said. They saw you coming and they tasked Grigory to recruit you by pretending to be your friend. The oldest trick in the book and you fell for it. If Grigory went
further than he should that’s his problem – and yours. Whatever happens to him now is the fault of the SVR and you, not the FBI. But he left without saying anything. They had not spoken
since.

Grigory Orlov’s house of cards came down soon afterwards, very publicly. It first broke in the American papers as the story of an un-named predatory Russian official at the UN whose
frequent advances to junior UN staff were upsetting diplomatic protocol. Next it came out that the official was gay, then that he was an undercover SVR officer who seduced young men into spying for
him, despite the fact that gays were disapproved of within Russia and the SVR. Finally, Orlov was named and it was announced that he was being withdrawn to Moscow. The
New York Times
quoted security sources as saying that the SVR was believed not to have realised that their officer had sexual relations with a British diplomat, since withdrawn, and that it was possible that this
was also an intelligence relationship. The story was picked up in the British press and the link soon made to charges under the Official Secrets Act against an unnamed official. When Peter came up
for trial it was relaunched as a leading news story, with much comment on gay rights. Orlov’s fate, and that of his family, was unknown.

There was also much comment on the severity of the sentence. With the ending of the Cold War espionage began to be seen as a not very serious offence, with trivial consequences. A sentence of
twenty-three years, taking into account Peter’s guilty plea, was condemned as excessive.

Also taken into account by the judge, but unknown to the wider public, was what Peter was discovered to have done during his time on remand. As the Orlov story percolated into the British press
he became uncooperative and increasingly insistent upon his rights, real and perceived. He also began attending Catholic mass as well as Friday prayers with the Muslim imam. The prison authorities
had seen this as what it was for many prisoners: a break from routine, the assertion of a right and time out of the cells. It was MI5 that discovered that Peter was using his association at mass
with a couple of Irish terrorists, and at Friday prayers with Islamist terrorists, to pass on the identities and addresses of MI6 agents and staff, Charles’s among them. MI5 first learned of
it from an agent within the prison, then had confirmation from sources outside who were in touch with inmates.

Surprisingly, Peter didn’t change his guilty plea, calculating perhaps that it would benefit him in the long run not to do so. He was sentenced and moved to a high security prison in
Yorkshire. After some years there he was assessed as no longer a high-risk threat and moved to a more relaxed category B prison in Surrey. Good behaviour and pressure on prison places qualified him
for release after less than half his sentence. The puzzle was why he had chosen to escape now, with only a year or two left to serve. Charles, though lacking any evidence, thought he knew.

S
arah was relieved to be alone when she reached home that afternoon. It was late but there was still time to collect herself before telling Charles
about the attempted blackmail. Not that there was any question of wrong-doing or cover-up by either of them but as head of MI6 he was reputationally vulnerable if the story was spun in the right,
or wrong, way. Dredging up all that business again was the last thing they wanted. She felt responsible because it was baggage she brought with her. Talking to Mr Mayakovsky made her feel dirty.
She showered and washed her hair.

The phone rang just as she put the hairdryer down and heard Charles’s key in the latch. She picked up the bedroom extension. It was the MI5 duty officer. She called to Charles from the top
of the stairs and could see from his face how much he welcomed it the moment he got in. He took it on the kitchen extension.

Later, hair done and wearing comfortable old jeans and jersey, she went downstairs. He was still on the phone. She offered tea in sign language and he nodded. He continued listening, asked a
couple of questions, then gave directions to the house. When she turned on the kettle he took the cordless phone into the drawing room. She waited until he had finished, then took the teas in,
looking at him questioningly. He took the tea as if he wasn’t seeing her.

‘The police liaison officer from MI5 wants to bring the police round to talk about Viktor. Then there’s an emergency meeting of that committee I was telling you about in the Cabinet
Office.’

Clearly not the best time to tell him, unless it was really a police matter. She wasn’t sure. ‘They’re coming here, now?’

‘They’re on their way.’

‘Everything’s such a mess. They’ll think we live like this all the time.’ She tried a smile. ‘There’s something we need to talk about.’

He nodded but still looked preoccupied. ‘When’s that wedding, your nephew’s?’

‘Danny’s? The 16th, two weeks, just under. He should be back now. I can’t remember when his ship – boat, he calls it, his submarine – was due in. They never seem to
have a date but he told everyone he’d be back in good time. I must ring my sister.’ A car drew up outside and three men got out. ‘That was quick. I suppose they’re only just
round the corner, aren’t they? I’ll leave you to it.’ This time her smile elicited a brief response. She went upstairs to unpack boxes in what was to be her study.

Charles sat them round the kitchen table. They all said yes to tea. They were from SO15, part of the counter-terrorist command formerly known as Special Branch. He knew one of them as DI
Steggles, whom he had privately nicknamed Corduroy. ‘We know each other of old,’ he told the others as they shook hands. ‘He arrested and interviewed me in the bad old days of the
SIA. Did it very well.’

They all laughed, a little uneasily. The outline of his story was known within Whitehall in versions of varying vividness and reliability, and Steggles would no doubt have mentioned it in the
car. Charles had always been open about it but now, it seemed – because of his new position – no-one would mention it in front of him. It was therefore better he did, and made light of
it.

He described what had happened to Viktor, giving them the background to the case but not Viktor’s contacts with his cyber expert brother. ‘We need to ensure that the local police
have all they need for a proper investigation while also trying to ensure that the details of his work for us aren’t leaked,’ he concluded.

‘Best brief from the top down,’ said Steggles. ‘If you give me the name of the investigating officer you dealt with we’ll brief the assistant chief constable. May I say
you’ll be available to help at any time, sir?’

Discussion turned to the Russians, whom everyone assumed to be behind the murder. The MI5 liaison officer said they would have used an illegal, someone unconnected with the embassy who would
have been sent to Britain from a third country for that operation only. He would probably have been abroad again within hours. The police thought that nevertheless an alert should be sent to ports,
albeit it was useless without a description. MI5 surveillance on the Russian Embassy, abandoned during the optimism of the immediate post-Cold War years and reintroduced only with the break-up of
the SIA, would be briefed to report any unusual comings and goings or signs of heightened community activity.

Charles did not argue. It was possible, all of it – perhaps even likely – and there was no evidence for his alternative theory. But the more he thought about it, the more he believed
in it. ‘Nice to be back in harness again,’ he remarked to Steggles, as they stood to go.

‘Very much so, sir. Nice to see you back.’

‘Are they keeping you busy?’

‘Here and there. Nothing as interesting as this, though.’

‘There’s Peter Tew.’

‘The old spy from your lot? Done a runner, hasn’t he? Won’t be having him back, will you?’ He laughed.

‘We want him found. Also, there are a couple of things we’d like to know about. How he spent his time in prison, any contacts outside, particular friends inside, hobbies, attitudes,
anything he said that’s at all unusual. If you can get that sort of thing out of the prison service.’

Steggles took out his notebook again. ‘A big if with that lot. They see any question as an attack. But we’ll have a go.’

Sarah came downstairs when she heard the car pull away. It was remarkable to be in the heart of London yet in a street so quiet that you could listen for individual cars and footsteps. Charles
was putting on his jacket.

‘You’ve got that other meeting now?’ she asked.

He nodded.

‘You’ll be back for dinner?’

‘Hope so. Our first dinner here. Shall I bring a take-away?’

His bachelor assumptions had long roots. ‘It’s all right, I’ve got some bits and pieces.’

‘You’re a genius.’

The COFE meeting this time included Mary Cox and Desmond Bowen, permanent secretaries at the Home Office and MOD. Mary was a distinguished-looking woman nearing retirement, with hair in a bun
and a reputation for calmness and acuity. Desmond was a new appointment, looking improbably youthful, his thick brown hair just edged with grey.

The mood of the meeting was sombre. Tim Corke explained that there had been a
Beowulf
development of which ministers would have to be informed. A decision was needed. He turned to
Charles. ‘
Beowulf
is one of our nuclear subs, one of the four missile boats, and she’s gone missing. Overdue and off air and we don’t know what’s happened. Off
air’s not unusual. They patrol for about three months at a time somewhere in the North Atlantic. No-one, not even in the Admiralty, knows where they are. We transmit to them but they
don’t transmit to us unless there’s real need, in which case they use a delay system, very low frequency burst transmissions from where they were, not where they are. A boat
that’s overdue would normally let us know why. We’ve sent messages asking but answer came there none. Now there’s been this latest development.’ He looked at Desmond.

Desmond Bowen was the only one without a notepad. He spoke rapidly. ‘Being overdue is not so very unusual. In fact, it was quite convenient for a while because
Beowulf
’s
successor on patrol,
Beauty,
had a technical problem,
Bellerophon
is undergoing maintenance and
Battle’s
crew are all on leave. That’s why we need a minimum
of four boats for twenty-four-hour coverage. But overdue without explanation is exceptional and no response to requests for one is unprecedented. Now we have what looks like a mass deployment of
Russian hunter-killer submarines.’ He looked at the faces around the table. ‘Naturally, the Russians are always trying to locate our missile boats, to learn their sonar characteristics
so they can identify them in future. As do we with theirs, of course. They send their hunter-killers out after our boats and we deploy ours to monitor them and to protect the boats by distracting
them. During the Falklands War, when they knew we’d sent all available hunter-killers to the South Atlantic, they deployed nineteen to locate our patrolling missile boat. They failed,
I’m glad to say, but a similar situation seems to be developing now. Up to a dozen, the Americans reckon. And we don’t know why. Or why now.’

‘Coincidence?’ said Angela. ‘A major exercise? They must have them. How do we know they’re looking for
Beowulf
?’

‘We don’t. And that’s the other thing, of course. No more Crown Jewels.’

Tim looked at Charles. ‘Crown Jewels is the name of the cryptographic product that Configure helped us achieve via his brother. Very tightly held, as you might imagine. Basically, it means
we can recognise – not read, recognise – Russian nuclear release procedures. It’s a three-stage process, culminating with the President. There’s no indication they intend
Armageddon despite their more aggressive patrolling, the resumption of daily provocations in our air space and so on, but it means that if ever they did we’d get enough notice for the US
President to activate the hot line. It also means that we can recognise – again, not actually read – exercise signals, concentration and dispersal orders and whatever. Very, very
useful.’

‘But now we can’t. They’ve recently changed their procedures and we can’t even find the signals, let alone interpret them. They may be smuggling them out under something
else or somebody else, as the Israelis used to conceal their signals beneath Arab diplomatic traffic. Satellites picked up the launch of this shoal of hunter-killers but we’re blank on where
they are now, where they’re going or what they’re doing.’