Overkill (24 page)

‘That was simple enough as well, because it was in Newman’s work diary.
Schtchit
was Payne’s recognition signal to Karelin, and the response
Stukach
meant that
Karelin had succeeded in identifying another potential source at Pechora, something Newman had asked him to do. Payne was just being used as a messenger boy.’ Taylor leaned back.

‘And
Chernozhopy
?’ Richter asked.

‘That,’ Taylor admitted, ‘is what we don’t know. Payne couldn’t find a reference to the word anywhere in Newman’s files or records. Our best guess is that the
word was intended to be used as a recognition signal for the new agent Karelin was trying to recruit.’

‘OK, I’ll buy that,’ Richter said, after a moment. ‘One other question. According to Payne’s file, his French and German are nowhere near fluent, so how did he
manage to translate for the group of businessmen he was with?’

‘No problems,’ Taylor replied. ‘Apparently the Frenchmen and the German understood English well enough to cope.’ Richter reached for the coffee pot and poured two more
cups. ‘By the way,’ Taylor asked, his voice even quieter, ‘why are you tooled up?’

Richter’s jacket had swung open to reveal the substantial butt of the Smith and Wesson, and he hastily concealed it. ‘I’m having trouble with the bailiffs,’ he said.

Taylor grinned at him. ‘These would be Russian bailiffs, perhaps?’

‘Perhaps,’ Richter agreed. Taylor frowned slightly, and Richter leaned forward. ‘Yes?’ he said, encouragingly.

‘I’m not sure that it’s relevant,’ Taylor said, ‘but some of our Cousins were scrabbling around looking for favours this morning.’

‘The Company?’ Richter was surprised. ‘I thought it was usually the other way round. What were they after?’

‘Mainly,’ Taylor said, ‘access to a high-level source in Moscow.’

Richter’s eyes widened. ‘They don’t want much, do they? They don’t want the keys to the Kremlin as well?’ Richter glanced round the lounge. ‘Have you such a
source?’ he asked.

Piers Taylor shook his head. ‘You know I can’t tell you,’ he murmured. ‘Need to know, and all that. However,’ he went on, ‘I think you can assume that if we
had such a source we would not willingly risk compromising him without very good reason.’

Richter nodded. ‘And the Company couldn’t come up with a good reason?’

‘Not good enough,’ Taylor replied. ‘Just a lot of unsubstantiated stuff about a covert assault on the West.’

Richter sat straighter. ‘Covert assault? That’s sounds serious enough to me. What data did they supply?’

‘That’s the problem. They supplied almost nothing. They claim to have cultivated a high-level source of their own in Moscow, and that source started the hare running. The whole thing
is subject to a NOFORN caveat, and they can’t, or won’t, be specific about any of it.’

‘Why don’t they get their source to confirm the data?’

Taylor shook his head. ‘They can’t,’ he replied. ‘They’ve had no contact with him since he sent this assault message.’

‘Hence the reason for them sniffing round SIS,’ Richter said.

‘Exactly.’

‘Have you told them you can’t help?’

‘Not yet,’ Taylor replied, ‘but we’re going to.’

Hammersmith, London

Richter delivered a negative report to Simpson.

‘So where does that leave us?’ Simpson asked.

‘No further forward,’ Richter replied. He was almost thinking aloud. ‘If Payne’s presence at Sosnogorsk was simply to service an existing source, it can have nothing to
do with the Blackbird over-flight a week later.’

‘We know that,’ Simpson interjected suddenly, ‘but the Russians didn’t.’

Richter looked at him with sudden respect. ‘That’s right,’ he said slowly. ‘They didn’t. Maybe it was just a horrible coincidence. If they have got something
devious going on in that area that the Americans know about and haven’t told us, and if they had identified Payne as the Moscow Station Deputy Head, his visit to Sosnogorsk could easily be
interpreted as an investigation by SIS. In that case, snatching Newman, as Payne’s superior, for questioning does make some kind of sense.’

They sat silently for a moment, both considering the matter from this new angle. ‘Recommendations?’ Simpson was suddenly icily efficient.

‘Two,’ Richter said. ‘First, I think I should talk to JARIC again and see if the vehicle concentrations they noted were anywhere near Sosnogorsk. Second, I wonder if
we’re missing the obvious. The Americans are the ones who started this hare running when they flew the Blackbird. I think you should talk to the CIA London Chief of Station and try to find
out what the hell it is that they think they’ve found up there.’

Simpson nodded. ‘Good idea. I’ll catch him at the next meeting of the Joint Intelligence Committee.’

‘Has anything come in since about the Blackbird surveillance films – from the Americans, I mean?’

Simpson shook his head. ‘Nothing. We had a brief note – sent direct from Langley to SIS, in fact – stating that the results had been negative. That was a couple of days after
we released the films to them.’

‘Did you believe that?’

‘Of course not. Would you?’

‘No,’ Richter said. ‘There’s no way that the Americans would have made an over-flight of Russian territory in the Blackbird, risking a major international incident,
unless they were certain that there was something there to find. And they certainly wouldn’t then simply drop the whole thing like a hot brick and do nothing about it. Something is going on,
and I get the distinct feeling that we’re about to be handed the shitty end of a heavy stick. There’s something else you should know,’ he added, ‘which may make you decide
to talk to the CIA London Chief of Station sooner rather than later.’

‘What?’

‘According to Piers Taylor, the Cousins have information that some sort of covert assault is in progress, directed against the West by Moscow.’

‘Details?’ Simpson snapped.

‘That’s the problem. There aren’t any. The Cousins are really cagey about it, Piers said, not least because Langley has slapped a NOFORN caveat on the whole thing. But they are
serious,’ Richter continued. ‘They actually asked Piers if SIS had a high-level source in Moscow who could confirm the data they have.’

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘You move in more exalted circles than me,’ Richter said. ‘Have you heard any whispers? Anything at all?’

‘Nothing,’ Simpson replied. ‘Has Taylor any corroboration of this assault?’

Richter shook his head. ‘No, but he’s definitely taking it seriously. He thinks SIS will be tasking us with investigating it any time now.’

‘Right,’ Simpson said. ‘Try your contacts in the CIA. See if you can get any hint of what’s going on from them. Then try JARIC again – there must be something on
those bloody films. I’ll try to get some sense out of the CIA Chief of Station or his deputy.’

Theatreland, London

Harvey Sharpe did not fit the popular image of a CIA officer. Short, balding, around fifty pounds overweight, and perspiring freely in the London heat, he gazed pinkly at
Richter through thick-lensed glasses from the far side of his second dry Martini. He mopped ineffectively at his brow with a large green handkerchief, and Richter ordered him another drink from a
passing waitress.

‘I wish you limeys would discover air conditioning,’ Sharpe complained. ‘This room is hot even without the crowd.’ It was seven twenty, and they were sitting at a tiny
corner table in a packed wine bar just off Drury Lane, where the buzz of conversation made anything they said to each other completely inaudible to anyone else.

‘We’ve got a lot to learn from you, I’m sure,’ Richter said, and Sharpe gazed at him suspiciously.

‘Why the meeting, Paul? I’ve got a wife and kids I’d like to get back and see.’

Richter looked at him for a moment. He had three possible contacts in the London CIA – two in the Intelligence Division, and Harvey in Research. In fact, ‘Research’ was
something of a misnomer, as the Division was in charge of technical intelligence, which included atomic weapons technology and, crucially, satellite and surveillance aircraft photographic
interpretation. Harvey was a photographic and technical analyst – if anyone knew about the Blackbird films, he would. ‘Harvey,’ Richter said, ‘we have a problem. We
don’t seem to be getting the co-operation from your Company that we used to. In fact, we seem to be getting nothing at all.’ Sharpe gazed back at him, and took another sip of his
Martini. ‘You heard about the Blackbird?’ Sharpe nodded, somewhat reluctantly. ‘Do you know what the films showed?’ The American nodded again, more slowly. ‘Care to
share it with me?’

Sharpe drained his glass and, as the waitress appeared with the Martini Richter had ordered, he seized it gratefully. ‘I can’t,’ he said finally.

‘Why not?’ Richter asked. ‘We’ve exchanged before, Harvey. I’ve passed you a lot of good, solid data. We really need to know about this, and I’m calling in
the favours.’ Sharpe shook his head again. ‘Harvey,’ Richter said, his voice hard and cold, ‘don’t freeze up on me. We lost our Moscow Head of Station over
this.’

Sharpe looked up, startled. ‘You mean—’

‘I mean terminated, Harvey,’ Richter replied. ‘With, as you used to say, extreme prejudice. Probably in the Lubyanka, and that’s a real hard way to go.’

Sharpe took another swallow of his drink, and Richter thought that his face had paled slightly. Around them the pre-theatre crowd ebbed and flowed, a meaningless constant background babble.
‘I heard he was killed in a road accident,’ the American said, almost defiantly, ‘before the Blackbird flew.’

‘That’s the official story, Harvey, but we’re quite certain he died under interrogation, and we’re satisfied that there’s a link. I can’t give you specifics,
but we had an SIS officer close to the centre of the ’bird’s flight-path a week or so earlier, and we guess that the Russians connected that with whatever the hell they’re doing
out in the tundra. And your people must know something’s going on up there, otherwise you’d never have flown the Blackbird.’ The American sat silently, sipping his drink and
looking anywhere except at Richter. ‘Harvey.’

‘I can’t tell you.’

‘Harvey, please.’

Sharpe took another drink, mopped his brow again and leant forward. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet Richter had to strain to hear what he was saying. ‘OK, listen to me. We got copies
of the films here last week, but they weren’t like the usual stuff out of Keyhole – the KH–12 satellite. These were restricted circulation, Paul. Analysts and Head of Sections
only, and a NOFORN caveat. You know what that means?’ Richter nodded. ‘Usually they’re just the usual US/UK EYES ONLY,’ Sharpe said. ‘And we had a specific directive
from Langley – no sight, no discussion with any non-US personnel. It’s my job if I tell you, Paul.’

Richter had an idea. ‘Did you ever play charades?’

‘What?’

‘Charades. You know, the parlour game. I’d like to try a variation. I’ll ask the questions, you tell me “yes” or “no”. That’s all, Harvey.
“Yes” or “no”. OK?’ Sharpe stared across at Richter. ‘You wouldn’t be telling me, Harvey. I’d be telling you. That’s not a discussion, is
it?’

Sharpe shook his head slowly. ‘No, I guess not.’

‘OK. Let’s try it.’

Richter paused and marshalled his thoughts. ‘First,’ he said, ‘you know we’ve got copies of the films?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’ve noticed some vehicular concentrations in one area. Is that important?’ The American nodded. ‘Are the Russians building something there?’

Sharpe smiled for the first time. ‘No, they’re not.’

The way he said it made it obvious to Richter that he was way off beam. ‘Were they destroying something?’

Sharpe nodded slightly. ‘Yes.’

‘Something new?’

‘No, very old.’ He leant forward again. ‘And I do mean very old.’

‘What – pre-war?’

His reply staggered Richter.

‘No,’ Sharpe said. ‘Pre-Christian.’

‘What?’

Sharpe shook his head. Richter thought for a few moments, then continued. ‘Was what they destroyed important?’

‘Completely worthless.’

Richter sat back. He hadn’t expected answers like that. ‘Do the films show this thing before they destroyed it?’

‘Which films?’

‘The ones from the Blackbird.’

‘No.’

‘What about the Keyhole satellite pictures? We have some taken about a month ago. Do they show it?’

‘Yes.’

Richter was getting very confused. ‘I’m getting lost, Harvey. The Russians have destroyed something that was over two thousand years old, but of no value whatsoever, miles out in the
tundra, and for that the Company pulled a Blackbird out of retirement at Beale and flew it over the CIS?’

Sharpe nodded. ‘Think laterally, Paul. There are two components to this equation, and you’ve only asked about one of them. Look at the films you’ve got, but don’t look
for something that’s there – look for something that isn’t there. I can’t say any more.’

Sharpe stood up, and a final thought struck Richter. ‘We didn’t receive any data from the radiation detectors on the Blackbird, Harvey. Is that important?’ Sharpe nodded.
‘Do they show a high level of radiation?’ Sharpe shook his head. ‘Do they show any radiation?’

‘No.’ The American leaned forward and almost whispered. ‘Normal background radiation only. Nothing else. Remember that – nothing else.’ He eased his way out of the
corner. ‘That’s it. I’m going home. Good luck, and remember, you didn’t get it from me.’

Richter sat there, lost in thought, as the American pushed his way through the crowd towards the door.

Thursday
Hammersmith, London

The following morning Richter saw Simpson again. Simpson didn’t understood what Harvey had been driving at, which wasn’t surprising because Richter
didn’t understand it either, and he was the one trying to explain it.

‘Who is this guy?’

Richter shook his head. ‘I protect my sources. He’s an analyst with CIA London, and that’s all I’ll tell you.’

‘But he knows what he’s talking about?’