Free Red Star Burning by Brian Freemantle Page A

that if left in Moscow, Natalia represented a national security problem for Britain. And he’d already double-locked the door from both sides—and bolted it top and bottom—against that contention. His entirely truthful and personal defense against Official Secrets prosecution was that they’d never exchanged the secrets of either side. To vary that now could lead to charges being proffered while at the same time further nullifying any possibility of gaining their freedom.
    And then, physically blinking at its total clarity, the unarguable resolution came to him. He doubted that Natalia would cooperate by disclosing the secrets of a twenty-year-long Russian intelligence career, but Smith and Monsford wouldn’t know that until she and Sasha were safe. And it didn’t matter, either, that her refusal would expose his deception, making it impossible for him to remain in the service: he was already in a protection program anyway.
    He could make it work! Charlie told himself. He had to make it work!
    *   *   *
     
    The sphinxlike Aubrey Smith glanced fleetingly at Monsford’s offered photographs before putting them to one side and said: “Yes. Boris Kuibyshev.” The Director-General took other, different prints from a side drawer and handed them in return to the other man. “This is Igor Bukharin, who’s also listed in the embassy’s finance section. Did you miss him?”
    Monsford didn’t hurry taking the easy chair to which Smith gestured, inwardly furious at the mockery. “We only began the check last night. We wouldn’t have bothered if you’d told me you were already monitoring the place.”
    “It was such an obvious precaution I didn’t think it necessary.”
    “You considered the possibility that they might burgle it, as well?” demanded the MI6 Director, struggling to keep up.
    Smith smiled, wanly. “I’ve been expecting them to, ever since we identified the surveillance. It was swept clean the day we put Charlie into the protection program. There’s nothing for them to find. Except the surprise I’ve got in place.”
    “What about the answering machine, with Natalia’s voice on it?” Monsford retaliated.
    The condescending smile remained. “From inside the flat, the receiver appears disconnected. The line’s on divert, to our technical people who pick up every incoming call as well as the slightest audible sound of forced entry. They’d also hear if there were an attempted outgoing call if the Russians do go in and try to report back to their embassy Control.”
    Monsford hoped the fury, which was making him physically hot, wasn’t registering on his face. “What’s the surprise you’ve got waiting for them?”
    The MI6 Director listened with his head bowed, more to conceal any facial redness than in concentration. When Smith finished, Monsford said: “I’d have appreciated hearing all this earlier.”
    “It’s a contingency plan that might never be activated,” reminded Smith. “Of course you would have been told in advance. If it became necessary.”
    At least he had more time to decide if there could be any benefit to him, Monsford realized. “It’s the PM’s personal decision we cooperate, so it’s right I should tell you that we’re getting indications from Moscow of something happening within the FSB.”
    Smith gave no response to the implied rebuke. “What?”
    “I’ve ordered a specific inquiry,” said Monsford, inadequately.
    “You suggesting there’s a connection?”
    “I’m suggesting it’s a possibility that shouldn’t be overlooked.” He needed more, much more, agonized Monsford.
    “Let’s not overlook it then,” patronized the Director-General.
    “What’s your feeling about Charlie Muffin’s interrogation?” asked Monsford, unsettled by the other man’s superiority.
    “I think they’re using Natalia as bait.”
    It wasn’t just dismissiveness, decided Monsford. The bloody man was positively excluding him. “What’s Ambersom’s