Red Star Falling: A Thriller (16 page)

The pine-needle carpet was so thick—and the approach so professional—that his housekeeper guard was practically upon him before Charlie realized the man’s presence, despite the intensity with which Charlie was both listening and expectantly looking.

‘It’s easy to become disorientated, lost, in woods this dense,’ said his house guard, conversationally.

‘I was just turning back,’ responded Charlie, still waving his arms around his head. ‘And I’m being badly stung.’

‘They’re a particularly vicious type of mosquito,’ said the man, turning. ‘It’s easier if we go back this way: shorter, too.’

It was, conceded Charlie, shuffling gratefully behind. He’d probably get away with the same experiment once more but after that he’d have to find something different. But this had been an encouraging confirmation.

*   *   *

It was not until she re-entered the enquiry that Jane Ambersom fully realized that she could, if sufficiently adept, at least humiliate and at best expose as a lying megalomaniac the man who’d tried to destroy her professionally. And if that near-hypnotic intensity with which Monsford was staring at her was attempted intimidation, it wasn’t going to be any more successful than his thick-fingered seduction efforts when she’d been his deputy.

‘Let’s get on,’ formally reconvened Sir Archibald Bland, mirroring the open surprise of almost everyone else at Aubrey Smith’s announcement that Jane would open the MI5 questioning.

Bullet points were set out for her on a single sheet and John Passmore, close beside her, had a second sheet of corollary targets dependent upon Harry Jacobson’s initial responses. Following the first written prompt, Jane said, ‘We have been left to assume a great deal, perhaps too much, from what you’ve told this enquiry. I’d like you to be far more specific because what little you’ve offered so far is very directly contradicted by MI5’s understanding of events.…’

A stir went around the chamber, the concentration settling upon Monsford and Jacobson who remained like statues in their seats.

‘So let’s start from the absolute beginning,’ Jane continued. ‘Maxim Mikhailovich Radtsic approached you at a French-embassy reception?’

‘That’s what I’ve already deposed,’ said Jacobson, the words measured.

‘How?’ Jane demanded, sharply.

Jacobson shifted, uncertainly. ‘I don’t understand that question.’

Jane exaggerated the sigh. ‘How, exactly, did Radtsic approach you?’

‘He came up to me; I was standing alone.’

‘And said? I’m sure you can recall his words exactly.’

‘“I want to talk to you of something of great importance,”’ quoted the man.

‘Just that: just those eleven words?’

‘Yes.’

‘What was your reaction?’

‘I asked him who he was. He said he was someone who could be of great interest and value to my country.’

‘Did he identify himself?’

‘No.’

‘Did he address you by name?’

It was another sharp question and almost imperceptibly Jacobson moved to look to Monsford for guidance, the gesture stopped as quickly as it began. ‘He called me Mr Jacobson.’

‘In English?’

There was another hesitation. ‘Yes.’

‘And you acknowledged the identification by continuing the conversation?’

‘I believed it was an approach that could prove useful.’

‘Why?’

‘He’d arrived as part of a Russian-government group.’

‘In front of which he openly approached you, addressing you, in English, by name and in such a way that showed he knew you were an intelligence officer attached to the British embassy? Didn’t it occur to you that you were being targeted by Russian intelligence?’

‘Of course it did!’ insisted Jacobson, indignantly. ‘It was my immediate thought then and remained my concern throughout the entire extraction.’

‘What’s the purpose of all this!’ abruptly intruded Monsford. ‘This officer successfully brought to England Maxim Mikhailovich Radtsic, the executive deputy director of Russian intelligence. What is there to be questioned, beyond that?’

Satisfaction surged through Jane at the opportunity, openly and in front of his peers, to confront the man she loathed. ‘So very, very much. We believe it’s important to discover how many inviolable precautions against entrapment your officer ignored, and which could have led to subsequent events at Vnukovo Airport. We also want to learn, which I imagine also to be of primary importance to you, if there were any indications of Radtsic’s alleged treason from exchanges James Straughan might have had with your officer. And then there’s—’

‘I don’t think there’s any need for you to expand any further or for this intervention to have been made.’ broke in Geoffrey Palmer, from his joint chairman’s position beside Bland. ‘Let’s continue with the examination.’

Jane only just held back the smile of triumph at the public rebuke to the MI6 Director, conscious that Rebecca Street hadn’t tried so hard to conceal the quick facial twitch. ‘You were telling us of your fear of entrapment?’ Jane picked up. ‘Did you follow the prescribed MI6 procedure for defections: particularly a defection of this importance? There were, after all, sufficient MI6 officers on Moscow station for protective surveillance during your encounter with Radtsic.’

There was a further hesitation from Jacobson. ‘My orders were to keep Radtsic’s extraction quite separate from those MI6 officers involved in Muffin’s operation.’

The man’s reply opened several pathways, and Jane chose the most personally important. ‘Orders from whom?’

This time Jacobson completed the look towards Monsford, answering the question without needing to speak, which he did anyway. ‘The Director.’

Jane hoped there hadn’t been sufficient rehearsal. ‘You had a resident officer, David Halliday, permanently on station with you.’

‘He was also precluded.’ The answer was less assured.

‘Upon whose orders?’ She scarcely needed the bullet-point prompts, Jane decided.

‘The Director.’

‘Was Radtsic’s extraction controlled entirely by the Director?’

‘Not entirely.’

The man was apprehensive of an unanticipated question, Jane knew, that thought at once replaced by another at Rebecca’s shift on the opposite side of the table. ‘With whom else did you deal directly?’

‘The operations director, James Straughan.’

There was another stir around the room. ‘With whom did you deal the most, the Director or James Straughan?’

Jacobson appeared to consider the question and again Jane decided the rehearsal had been inadequate. ‘I would estimate more with Straughan than with the Director.’

‘Were some of the exchanges shared or were they always one-to-one?’

‘As far as I am aware, they were always one-to-one.’

‘Again, as far as you are aware, were the conversations between yourself, the Director, and James Straughan always recorded?’

‘It’s standard practice for them to be recorded.’

‘Were you aware of any exchange, with either man, being unrecorded?’

‘No.’

‘Would you have been aware?’

‘Not unless I was told: it’s always done from London.’

‘So there’s a full voice record of everything that passed between yourself, the Director, and the operations director, James Straughan?’

‘I told you the recording systems are operated from London. I was in Moscow. I cannot say whether everything was recorded or not.’

On his secondary sheet Passmore marked a series of exclamation marks. Time for another question she didn’t imagine had been rehearsed, decided Jane. ‘How many one-to-one, presumably recorded, discussions did you have with your deputy director, Rebecca Street?’

Jacobson moved to speak but seemingly changed his mind, briefly looking down at the table before saying, ‘I don’t recall any
direct
discussion between us.’

‘Not thirty minutes ago you suggested there had been!’ challenged Jane.

‘I didn’t mean to convey that impression.’

‘So any exchanges that might have involved the deputy director, Rebecca Street, were shared either with the Director or James Straughan?’

‘They would have been, yes.’

‘And as it is standard practice, they would have been recorded, providing a positive log of every occasion in which Rebecca Street was involved, along with the subjects of whatever those conversations were?’

‘Yes.’ The admission strained from the man.

‘From your exchanges with either the Director or James Straughan, did you get the impression that Rebecca Street was being excluded, as people in Moscow were excluded?’

‘No, I did not get any such impression.’

‘But let’s stay with impressions,’ encouraged Jane, disregarding her prompt list entirely, totally confident of where she was going and how to get there. ‘What were your impressions of the operations director throughout all your dealings with him?’

Jacobson stared across the table, appearing nonplussed. ‘I’m not sure I got any particular impression!’

‘Let me help you,’ intentionally patronized Jane. ‘Was it your impression that he was competent?’

‘Yes,’ said Jacobson, uncertainly.

‘Was there ever an instruction or a remark from which you got the impression that James Straughan was trying to obstruct or misdirect you?’

‘No.’ The man frowned, still uncertain.

‘Did the operations director ever appear stressed, out of control?’

The frown deepened. ‘No, never.’

‘To whom did you first speak about Maxim Mikhailovich’s approach to defect?’

‘The Director,’ replied Jacobson, at once.

‘How soon afterwards did Straughan become involved?’

‘Virtually immediately: the same day, I think. The official recordings will be dated and timed.’

‘And how soon was that after Radtsic’s approach at the French embassy?’

‘The following day. I’m sure it was the following day.’

‘You have told us Radtsic did not identify himself at the French embassy that evening. How were you able the following day to name him, both to your Director and James Straughan?’

‘At the French embassy I gave him one of the reserved contact numbers at our
rezidentura.
He called the following day, to arrange a meeting. At that meeting he told me his name.’

The moment, decided Jane. ‘Was that when you talked of a diversion?’

‘It was…’ started Jacobson, then stopped. ‘I don’t recall mentioning a diversion to Maxim Mikhailovich.’

‘He appears to recall it very easily.’

‘I don’t.’

‘Nor what the diversion was going to be?’ tried Jane.

‘It was never mentioned.’

‘Did the word
assassination
come into it?’

‘This has already been exhaustively covered and denied!’ intervened Monsford, flushed.

‘Do you have any evidence to support this line of questioning?’ Bland asked Jane.

‘Not at this stage, but I would like to register the request to recall this witness after evidence still to be produced by this side,’ conceded Jane.

‘The request is registered but for now move on to other points,’ ordered the chairman.

‘Did you recognize the name Maxim Mikhailovich Radtsic?’ resumed Jane.

‘Of course. He’s named as the FSB’s executive deputy on our watch list.’

‘The additional function of protective surveillance by a fellow officer at this first open meeting would have been to photograph the man,’ said Jane, baiting her trap.

‘There is a photograph on our watch list.’

Jane was aware of Monsford’s discomforted fidgeting. She said, ‘I know the watch list, from my time at Vauxhall Cross. And I know the photograph. It was snatched, from a distance, at a Presidium meeting sixteen years ago.’

‘It was sufficient for initial confirmation of his identity.’

Turning directly to the joint chairmen, Jane said, ‘I would ask that this photograph is subsequently produced to give this committee the opportunity to decide upon its clarity for positive identification.’

‘Let’s have it, shall we?’ Palmer said to Monsford.

‘What reason did Radtsic give for wanting to flee Russia with his family?’ demanded Jane.

‘Radtsic is still being debriefed,’ intruded Monsford, hurriedly.

A second opportunity she hadn’t imagined, seized Jane. ‘It’s our understanding that Radtsic is refusing any co-operation until he is reunited with his son, who in turn has refused to follow his father here. Which surely creates an impasse for you. But that’s another entirely separate matter. I am not asking about any debriefing. I’m asking what reason Maxim Radtsic gave for defecting, which is quite different.’

‘Radtsic’s been given an ultimatum in the light of the hostile penetration of my service,’ persisted Monsford, flushed again by a confrontation he knew he was losing.

‘Which again does not affect my question,’ insisted Jane, in turn,

‘I’d like to hear the reason,’ once more supported Geoffrey Palmer.

Monsford, defeated, jerked his head as if in permission to Jacobson, who said, ‘He told me he was about to be purged, although he had no personal involvement in the Stepan Lvov affair.’

‘Learning much more about that could be key in getting a lot of our people—certainly those innocently caught up—out of Russia,’ unexpectedly declared Sir Archibald Bland.

‘Which I assure you we will learn, very quickly,’ said Monsford, anxious to recover.

Next to Jane, Passmore hurriedly wrote
disclose,
followed by more exclamation marks, on his secondary prompt sheet.

Jane said, ‘An assurance I can also give. In the days immediately prior to her extraction, Natalia Fedova, who was successfully brought to this country despite the events at Vnukovo Airport, had open access to the personnel files of Maxim Mikhailovich Radtsic.’

*   *   *

‘You sure this Fedova woman isn’t the witness Ambersom thinks will cause us the most difficulty?’ demanded Monsford.

Us,
picked out Rebecca, recognizing the familiar responsibility shuffle as quickly as she’d earlier established that the man hadn’t activated his recording system. ‘Of course I’m not sure. I understood it was one of their people who witnessed the shooting but she could have been trying to put us off track.’ Rebecca didn’t think the MI5 deputy had been attempting anything of the sort but she was enjoying unsettling Monsford.