Red Star Falling: A Thriller by Brian Freemantle Page B

the order to assassinate Charlie Muffin, whom David Halliday had chanced upon at the Savoy Hotel bar they’d used together during Charlie’s embassy-murder assignment. But that all-important incoming-telephone record existed, to validate the story no-one could prove to be a lie.
    Timpson hesitated, reflectively. ‘I’m not clear of the connection with James Straughan. How does this have anything to do with the FSB learning of Muffin’s London address?’
    ‘I hadn’t finished,’ bullied Monsford. ‘Briddle also told me that Halliday, maudlin drunk, had talked of arguing with Straughan about an FSB double agent in Rome. Briddle said it hadn’t made sense because Halliday was so drunk but that it involved finding Charlie in London: that Charlie had been his friend and he didn’t want Charlie physically harmed or betrayed, as Straughan had persuaded him to betray everything and everyone else.’
    ‘Does Rome have any significance to you?’ asked Timpson.
    All the superciliousness had gone, Monsford recognized, satisfied: the sort of man Shakespeare called the resty sloth. Shaking his head once more, Monsford said, ‘No. But that’s why I’m pointing you towards Straughan’s file: if there’s anything, it should be there.’ And would be, Monsford knew, because he’d proposed using the FSB’s Rome double to leak Charlie Muffin’s otherwise totally secure London address as part of his original assassination distraction to cover Maxim Radtsic’s defection. Just as he also knew that in his log note Straughan, the consummate, rule-observing professional, would not have identified him as the source of the instruction.
    ‘If Straughan was the mole he’d hardly leave proof behind, would he?’
    Monsford shrugged. ‘I’m offering all that I know in the hope of resolving this eroding uncertainty within my service. If it comes to nothing, if I’m wasting your time, then I’ll apologize. And as I do so, be glad that an officer I always regarded with the highest respect did not, after all, betray his country.’
    ‘We appreciate what you’ve told us,’ said Timpson, rising. ‘As of this moment it’s the focus of our investigation.’
    Monsford was surprised at the call from his deputy, smiling in expectation of a grovelling apology, deciding as he lifted the receiver of their internal line that he’d pressurize her further by rejecting whatever she said.
    ‘There’s been another Moscow announcement,’ said Rebecca Street. ‘Denning and Beckindale, our two other officers with Briddle, were arrested during the shooting. The statement says they are co-operating fully.’
    *   *   *
     
    ‘How was it last night?’ asked Barry Elliott.
    ‘Not as bad as I’d feared,’ said Jane. They were in bed again, finishing off the dinner wine.
    ‘What, exactly, did you do wrong?’
    ‘Lost my temper: openly challenged Monsford, which was stupid of me.’ She stretched, careless of the bedcovering falling away from her. ‘This apartment really is more convenient than mine: it took me less than ten minutes to get here tonight. And your kitchen is better equipped than mine.’
    ‘You going to stay over tonight?’ asked Elliott, pleased at the way the conversation was going.
    ‘The Watch Room would use my cell phone if there was no reply from my flat but it would mean my wearing tomorrow the same clothes as today.’
    ‘Why not move some of your stuff in?’
    ‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’ she asked, smiling sideways across the bed.
    ‘I think it’s a very good idea,’ encouraged Elliott. ‘Washington isn’t pleased with me, either, so I might need a shoulder to cry on.’
    ‘What’s their problem?’
    ‘Not knowing what the hell’s going on in Moscow, of course.’
    There was a familiar pause. ‘We think Monsford set Charlie up for assassination.’
    Elliott shifted directly to face the woman. ‘You’ve got to be joking!’
    ‘It started out as a considered diversion but we think that