also know that in the intervening two days since I appeared before you, my operational files will have been scrutinized for the slightest indication of failure being attributed to my…” Charlie paused again, directly addressing the woman: “to use what appears to be a favored phrase, consorting with the enemy. No indication whatsoever of which will have been found, because none exists. I want … if you like, I plead for … help to get my wife and daughter out of a situation in which, if our relationship is positively established by the FSB, they could be physically harmed, as it was believed I would be physically harmed for Russia’s failure of the Lvov affair, to prevent which I have been put under protection … protection, not house arrest.”
Once more Jane Ambersom’s face was on fire, either from her confusion or her expectation that Charlie would continue, but again Monsford spoke ahead of her. The MI6 Director, hands clasped over his expansive stomach, said: “That was a very spirited and well-argued defense of a charge not yet alleged. But do you believe that buried in all the legislation to which you’ve referred—the Official Secrets Act the most obvious—there isn’t a legal accusation that one of our specialized lawyers could formulate against you?”
Charlie didn’t think he’d left any gaping pitfalls: certainly Monsford’s response was encouraging, even if the man’s inclusion was unsettling and needed separate, intense examination. Don’t falter, he told himself. “I’m quite sure there are several charges that could be laid. But I’m even surer that they’d be thrown out of court, although perhaps with an admonishment which I’d expect, after it was proven there has never been any breach of security.”
“Haven’t we wandered too far from the purpose of this meeting!” protested Jane Ambersom, finally reentering the exchanges.
“Just one thing!” said Charlie, hurriedly, pleased at the woman’s exclusion and talking directly to the MI6 chief. “Were both those photographs taken two days ago?”
“Yes,” confirmed Monsford.
“So they were both still free: not under detention?”
“Yes, both still free.”
Charlie looked back at the print of Natalia, closely studying the background for the first time. “And she was outside the apartment I identified?”
“When is this session going to be formalized!” again protested Jane.
“Was there any indication of surveillance?” persisted Charlie, snatching at every opportunity.
“None,” confirmed Monsford. For some must watch, while some must sleep. So runs the world away, he thought: why was it that Shakespeare had a comment for every situation? Hamlet, he remembered. This would have a happier ending, he was sure.
Natalia and Sasha were still safe! But how professional had the MI6 photographer been? agonized Charlie, who’d never trusted dawn to follow night. If the photographer had failed to detect Russian observation but been identified himself, he would have hastened an FSB move.
“I really do think we’ve answered enough of your questions,” said Aubrey Smith. “Now answer more of ours.”
* * *
“From the date of your wedding, which we have indeed confirmed, against the date you provided for Sasha’s birth, Natalia Fedova was pregnant before you married?” established Jane Ambersom, taking up the questioning again. Her tone made it sound like an accusation.
No longer “this woman,” Charlie recognized. “Yes.”
“How long had the affair been going on, before the marriage?”
“About eighteen months.” Everything totally honest, Charlie reminded himself. He needed their help, not their antagonism.
The woman shuffled hurriedly between several sheets of paper from her dossier before looking up. “We know the precise dates of your fake defection, of course: it was a recorded operation—”
“And a successful one, discrediting a genuine defector with whom I broke out of
Once more Jane Ambersom’s face was on fire, either from her confusion or her expectation that Charlie would continue, but again Monsford spoke ahead of her. The MI6 Director, hands clasped over his expansive stomach, said: “That was a very spirited and well-argued defense of a charge not yet alleged. But do you believe that buried in all the legislation to which you’ve referred—the Official Secrets Act the most obvious—there isn’t a legal accusation that one of our specialized lawyers could formulate against you?”
Charlie didn’t think he’d left any gaping pitfalls: certainly Monsford’s response was encouraging, even if the man’s inclusion was unsettling and needed separate, intense examination. Don’t falter, he told himself. “I’m quite sure there are several charges that could be laid. But I’m even surer that they’d be thrown out of court, although perhaps with an admonishment which I’d expect, after it was proven there has never been any breach of security.”
“Haven’t we wandered too far from the purpose of this meeting!” protested Jane Ambersom, finally reentering the exchanges.
“Just one thing!” said Charlie, hurriedly, pleased at the woman’s exclusion and talking directly to the MI6 chief. “Were both those photographs taken two days ago?”
“Yes,” confirmed Monsford.
“So they were both still free: not under detention?”
“Yes, both still free.”
Charlie looked back at the print of Natalia, closely studying the background for the first time. “And she was outside the apartment I identified?”
“When is this session going to be formalized!” again protested Jane.
“Was there any indication of surveillance?” persisted Charlie, snatching at every opportunity.
“None,” confirmed Monsford. For some must watch, while some must sleep. So runs the world away, he thought: why was it that Shakespeare had a comment for every situation? Hamlet, he remembered. This would have a happier ending, he was sure.
Natalia and Sasha were still safe! But how professional had the MI6 photographer been? agonized Charlie, who’d never trusted dawn to follow night. If the photographer had failed to detect Russian observation but been identified himself, he would have hastened an FSB move.
“I really do think we’ve answered enough of your questions,” said Aubrey Smith. “Now answer more of ours.”
* * *
“From the date of your wedding, which we have indeed confirmed, against the date you provided for Sasha’s birth, Natalia Fedova was pregnant before you married?” established Jane Ambersom, taking up the questioning again. Her tone made it sound like an accusation.
No longer “this woman,” Charlie recognized. “Yes.”
“How long had the affair been going on, before the marriage?”
“About eighteen months.” Everything totally honest, Charlie reminded himself. He needed their help, not their antagonism.
The woman shuffled hurriedly between several sheets of paper from her dossier before looking up. “We know the precise dates of your fake defection, of course: it was a recorded operation—”
“And a successful one, discrediting a genuine defector with whom I broke out of
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