studies and an acknowledged experton the revolutionary movements of the region, who had been pitchforked from academia into intelligence in a knee-jerk reaction to Islamic fanaticism. Smith’s way was ingrained from that academic background to consider and judge events from every perspective. It had seemed to chime with Charlie’s independent way of working and he enjoyed having Smith’s confidence, which in matching measure had alienated him from Jeffrey Smale. And, survival savvy as he was, Charlie was well aware that his job security depended upon Smith emerging the victor in the current department power struggle.
For once Paula-Jane Venables and David Halliday were in their offices, both doors closed with NOT TO BE DISTURBED signs in their occupancy slots, which Charlie ignored, still with time to fill before his appointment with the embassy lawyer. The woman jerked up irritably at his unannounced entry, relaxing when she saw who it was.
“This is proving to be an absolute fucking nightmare!” she announced, unasked.
“How bad could it be, bottom line?” asked Charlie. His being forbidden to share anything upon which he was engaged was no obstacle to his learning as much as he could about everything else in the embassy.
“God only knows. I’m going to have to admit gaps in the telephone log I’m supposed to have kept but haven’t.”
“Don’t admit anything,” advised Charlie, the survival expert. “Wait until you’re asked, answer one question at a time, and don’t volunteer anything.”
“At the moment, I’m guessing the bastards could have listened to something in the region of a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty, incoming and outgoing calls.”
“What about written stuff?”
“Luckier there. I do have a full log of the sensitive e-mail material and it’s all gone through the communications room, which your friend Harry Fish tells me isn’t compromised.”
“You’re not supposed to rely upon luck,” reminded Charlie.
“You’ve been seconded to the internal inquiry team as well!” she challenged.
“No,” said Charlie, mildly. “But if I were, that would have been the wrong response. You didn’t open the doors to let the bad guys in. As far as I am aware, it was Reg Stout, under Dawkins’s authority, condoned by an ineffectual ambassador. You haven’t got any reason to be defensive. All you’ve got to do is warn the guys who are coming from London of anything the FSB might have learned.”
“I just told you, my telephone logs—the logs they are going to want to examine and question me about—aren’t complete.”
“How much—how many—can you remember of what you haven’t logged?”
“Most of it, I’m pretty sure.”
“So verbally include from memory whatever’s missing from the log when you’re questioned in detail about your telephone records.”
“Considering the way I greeted you when you arrived, you’re being very kind,” said Paula-Jane, smiling.
“Who told you I was anything otherwise?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” said the woman, her initial uptightness easing. “I want to make amends!”
“I’m not sure you’ve got any amends to make,” coaxed Charlie, curious to know who’d been digging the mantraps ahead of him.
“I am,” she insisted. “I’ve been invited to a dinner party tonight by the current CIA guy at the American embassy. And I don’t have a partner. Would you have a problem filling the vacancy?”
Charlie found an immediate response difficult, the uncertainty of Natalia’s reaction to his letter in the forefront of his mind. If she missed him on her first call, she’d phone again, came the quick reassurance. It was unlikely there’d be any professional benefit socializing with the Americans, but there was always the possibility of the unexpected. Which was all Charlie ever asked for, a simple possibility. “That could be fun.”
“Let’s try to make sure it is.”
“Don’t tell me it’s
For once Paula-Jane Venables and David Halliday were in their offices, both doors closed with NOT TO BE DISTURBED signs in their occupancy slots, which Charlie ignored, still with time to fill before his appointment with the embassy lawyer. The woman jerked up irritably at his unannounced entry, relaxing when she saw who it was.
“This is proving to be an absolute fucking nightmare!” she announced, unasked.
“How bad could it be, bottom line?” asked Charlie. His being forbidden to share anything upon which he was engaged was no obstacle to his learning as much as he could about everything else in the embassy.
“God only knows. I’m going to have to admit gaps in the telephone log I’m supposed to have kept but haven’t.”
“Don’t admit anything,” advised Charlie, the survival expert. “Wait until you’re asked, answer one question at a time, and don’t volunteer anything.”
“At the moment, I’m guessing the bastards could have listened to something in the region of a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty, incoming and outgoing calls.”
“What about written stuff?”
“Luckier there. I do have a full log of the sensitive e-mail material and it’s all gone through the communications room, which your friend Harry Fish tells me isn’t compromised.”
“You’re not supposed to rely upon luck,” reminded Charlie.
“You’ve been seconded to the internal inquiry team as well!” she challenged.
“No,” said Charlie, mildly. “But if I were, that would have been the wrong response. You didn’t open the doors to let the bad guys in. As far as I am aware, it was Reg Stout, under Dawkins’s authority, condoned by an ineffectual ambassador. You haven’t got any reason to be defensive. All you’ve got to do is warn the guys who are coming from London of anything the FSB might have learned.”
“I just told you, my telephone logs—the logs they are going to want to examine and question me about—aren’t complete.”
“How much—how many—can you remember of what you haven’t logged?”
“Most of it, I’m pretty sure.”
“So verbally include from memory whatever’s missing from the log when you’re questioned in detail about your telephone records.”
“Considering the way I greeted you when you arrived, you’re being very kind,” said Paula-Jane, smiling.
“Who told you I was anything otherwise?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” said the woman, her initial uptightness easing. “I want to make amends!”
“I’m not sure you’ve got any amends to make,” coaxed Charlie, curious to know who’d been digging the mantraps ahead of him.
“I am,” she insisted. “I’ve been invited to a dinner party tonight by the current CIA guy at the American embassy. And I don’t have a partner. Would you have a problem filling the vacancy?”
Charlie found an immediate response difficult, the uncertainty of Natalia’s reaction to his letter in the forefront of his mind. If she missed him on her first call, she’d phone again, came the quick reassurance. It was unlikely there’d be any professional benefit socializing with the Americans, but there was always the possibility of the unexpected. Which was all Charlie ever asked for, a simple possibility. “That could be fun.”
“Let’s try to make sure it is.”
“Don’t tell me it’s
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