Wormwood Scrubs after he’d been jailed for forty years as a Soviet spy at the height of the Cold War,” broke in Charlie, anxiously establishing what he considered the first of several important facts in his favor.
“I’m familiar with the records.…” Jane paused, to counter Charlie’s defense with another point. “The official records, I mean. So, once more calculated against the known dates and those you have provided, your affair began about six months after the Russian acceptance that your defection was genuine?”
“Yes,” confirmed Charlie, cautiously. He shouldn’t have interjected: she was obviously building up to what she considered an undermining question.
“Tell us about those six months.”
“What about them?” hedged Charlie, reluctant to answer such a generality.
“The Russians had accepted you: believed you had joined their little band of traitors. Did you ever meet, socialize, with those other defectors? With Philby or Blake, for instance?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Are you sure?”
Charlie hesitated, seeking the trap. Unable to find it, he smiled, condescendingly shaking his head. “It’s hardly likely that I would forget meeting such people, is it?”
“Unless you’re lying!” she said.
Not undermining at all, if that was her best attempt. “I am not lying!”
“What job did the Russians give you, having accepted you as genuine?”
He could use this question, Charlie recognized. “I was assigned to a training school.”
“What sort of training school?” There was a note of triumph in the woman’s voice.
“A training school for intended KGB intelligence officers,” answered Charlie, comfortably.
“Intended to operate in which countries?” The triumph was growing.
“The English-speaking West: the United Kingdom, America, Canada.”
Jane Ambersom again staged her preparing pause, and when she did speak she spaced her words to heighten her supposed incredulity. “You—taught—KGB—agents—selected—to—operate—against—the—United—Kingdom?”
“No,” Charlie denied, seizing his chance. “My function was to assess during one-to-one sessions—one spy was never allowed to encounter another—whether their training was sufficient for them to assimilate successfully into a Western culture without arousing suspicion. I handled a total of eight. In each case I dismissed their training as inadequate. By doing so I gained limited access but comprehensive insight into Russian espionage-training methods and systems, about which I created a manual on my return to this country. I believe that manual was later used as a textbook at our training academies. I also, of course, learned the identities of the eight with whom I worked, although the names were obviously not those they were assigned in the West. Over the course of the four years after my return to this country, in addition to active field assignments, I regularly examined photographs of Russians posted under diplomatic cover to the Russian embassies in London, Washington, D.C., and Ottawa. I managed to identify five, none of whom were expelled but allowed to remain, observing the principle that the spy you know is better than the one you don’t. All, I believe, were fed disinformation by us and the counterespionage organizations of America and Canada.” Charlie paused, dry throated, and gestured toward Jane Ambersom’s dossier. “Everything I’ve told you is set out in greater detail in my file, even the names of the eight Russians. You should be able to confirm it all very easily.”
Jane Ambersom was puce faced yet again. Monsford actually had his hands cupped over his face to conceal his reaction to the put-down. Smith’s head was lowered intently toward the floor. And Charlie burned with self-fury. The bloody woman had got under his skin. But what the fuck was he doing fighting her, humiliating her, like this! He couldn’t afford to fight or humiliate anyone upon whom he
“I’m familiar with the records.…” Jane paused, to counter Charlie’s defense with another point. “The official records, I mean. So, once more calculated against the known dates and those you have provided, your affair began about six months after the Russian acceptance that your defection was genuine?”
“Yes,” confirmed Charlie, cautiously. He shouldn’t have interjected: she was obviously building up to what she considered an undermining question.
“Tell us about those six months.”
“What about them?” hedged Charlie, reluctant to answer such a generality.
“The Russians had accepted you: believed you had joined their little band of traitors. Did you ever meet, socialize, with those other defectors? With Philby or Blake, for instance?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Are you sure?”
Charlie hesitated, seeking the trap. Unable to find it, he smiled, condescendingly shaking his head. “It’s hardly likely that I would forget meeting such people, is it?”
“Unless you’re lying!” she said.
Not undermining at all, if that was her best attempt. “I am not lying!”
“What job did the Russians give you, having accepted you as genuine?”
He could use this question, Charlie recognized. “I was assigned to a training school.”
“What sort of training school?” There was a note of triumph in the woman’s voice.
“A training school for intended KGB intelligence officers,” answered Charlie, comfortably.
“Intended to operate in which countries?” The triumph was growing.
“The English-speaking West: the United Kingdom, America, Canada.”
Jane Ambersom again staged her preparing pause, and when she did speak she spaced her words to heighten her supposed incredulity. “You—taught—KGB—agents—selected—to—operate—against—the—United—Kingdom?”
“No,” Charlie denied, seizing his chance. “My function was to assess during one-to-one sessions—one spy was never allowed to encounter another—whether their training was sufficient for them to assimilate successfully into a Western culture without arousing suspicion. I handled a total of eight. In each case I dismissed their training as inadequate. By doing so I gained limited access but comprehensive insight into Russian espionage-training methods and systems, about which I created a manual on my return to this country. I believe that manual was later used as a textbook at our training academies. I also, of course, learned the identities of the eight with whom I worked, although the names were obviously not those they were assigned in the West. Over the course of the four years after my return to this country, in addition to active field assignments, I regularly examined photographs of Russians posted under diplomatic cover to the Russian embassies in London, Washington, D.C., and Ottawa. I managed to identify five, none of whom were expelled but allowed to remain, observing the principle that the spy you know is better than the one you don’t. All, I believe, were fed disinformation by us and the counterespionage organizations of America and Canada.” Charlie paused, dry throated, and gestured toward Jane Ambersom’s dossier. “Everything I’ve told you is set out in greater detail in my file, even the names of the eight Russians. You should be able to confirm it all very easily.”
Jane Ambersom was puce faced yet again. Monsford actually had his hands cupped over his face to conceal his reaction to the put-down. Smith’s head was lowered intently toward the floor. And Charlie burned with self-fury. The bloody woman had got under his skin. But what the fuck was he doing fighting her, humiliating her, like this! He couldn’t afford to fight or humiliate anyone upon whom he
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