Manhunt (5 page)

Arkin grunted. ‘Now I remember,’ he said. ‘Our people opened an envelope, as I recall, but the contents were passed immediately to SIS.’

‘Correct.’ Moore nodded briefly, and continued. ‘Wingate handed the briefcase over to A Branch of the Security Service – Operations and Resources – for examination.
Their technicians opened the briefcase without any particular difficulty, and they examined the contents. Most of it was just routine but, as Mr Arkin has said, there was one thick A4-size envelope
that was heavily sealed and gave a destination address of SVR Headquarters at Yasenevo. After consultation with the MI5 and SIS duty officers, it was decided to open the envelope and copy its
contents.’

‘A “flap and seal” artist?’ Simpson asked.

Moore shook his head and smiled. ‘No, the march of technology continues unabated. We no longer even have operatives trained to do that. Instead we have a large grey machine that cuts open
the envelope, and then reseals it using the actual fibres of the paper itself. Like the briefcase, the envelope was X-rayed first, to ensure that there were no anti-handling or other security
devices, but it was found clean, and then the machine proceeded to open it.’

In the pause that followed, Arkin gazed intently at Moore. ‘Inside,’ Moore continued, ‘we found one hundred and thirty-seven sheets of paper. It was a complete listing of the
directory structure and all the file names listed on the London Data Centre System-Three computer.’

‘Oh, fuck me,’ Arkin said very quietly, leaning back in his chair.

Monday

Sluzhba Vneshney Razvyedki Rossi Headquarters, Yasenevo, Tëplyystan, Moscow

Raya Kosov got up from her black plastic swivel chair, picked up her pocket binoculars and walked across to the window. Working in the new Russian-designed and built
extension at Yasenevo had many disadvantages – including the distance from the staff canteen located on the first floor of the main building – but it also offered some
compensations.

One of these was certainly the view. From her window on the west side of the extension, she could see a panorama encompassing most of Moscow, albeit somewhat distant and largely obscured by the
ugly tower blocks of nearby housing estates, and of that splendid view she never tired. Most of the offices occupied by senior officers were situated on the other side of the building, looking
south over a peaceful vista of the lake and trees, but Raya much preferred her north-facing room.

The first time she had brought her binoculars to Yasenevo, she had immediately been suspended, her superiors duly informed and the binoculars confiscated. Her explanation, that she simply wanted
to look out at the city of Moscow, had been rejected without comment.

The binoculars had then been examined in detail by the Technical Services staff, who had dismantled them, looking for the camera, tape-recorder or other such device that the SVR guards were
certain would be hidden inside. It was with some disappointment that Technical Services, some three weeks later, announced that the binoculars were just binoculars, and therefore of no possible
security concern.

A week after that, the binoculars were returned to Raya, and her right of access was restored. Her superior officer gave her a mild reprimand for wasting time – her own time in looking at
the view, and Technical Services’ time in examining the binoculars – and then she went back to work.

Raya smiled at the recollection as she adjusted the focus. It was a clear day, and she could clearly see the green roof and yellow and white facade of the Great Kremlin Palace. Out of sight from
her vantage point, lying slightly beyond and to the right of the palace, lay the Lubyanka. It was the former headquarters of the KGB and for Raya, in many ways, a far more interesting place.

She was still standing at the window, staring northwest, when her office door opened.

Paxton Hall, Felsham, Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk

In the silence that followed Arkin’s remark, the sound of approaching footsteps became audible outside the room. The footsteps then terminated with a double knock on
the library door.

‘Come,’ Sir Malcolm Holbeche said, raising his voice slightly.

The door opened and one of the SIS resident staff poked his head around it. ‘Mr Willets has arrived, sir.’

‘Good,’ Holbeche nodded. ‘Send him in.’

‘Willets?’ Arkin looked enquiringly at the head of the Secret Intelligence Service. ‘I don’t think I recognize that name.’

‘I’m glad to hear it, Arkin,’ Holbeche replied. ‘In fact, I’d have been worried if you did know him. Roger Willets is the Chief Security Officer at the London Data
Centre, so he’s directly involved in this serious breach.’

The London Data Centre, known as the LDC, was British intelligence’s most secret computer centre and occupied three floors underneath Whitehall. The first floor housed the hardware itself,
the next one down was the location for the terminals and the system servicing staff, and the lowest and most secure floor held the data disks. Access to the Centre was through the Foreign and
Commonwealth Office, since the FCO’s entrance was used by so many people that it would be difficult for enemy agents to identify and target the Centre’s staff specifically.

‘However,’ Holbeche continued, ‘Willets is also a computer specialist, and I’ve asked him here because there are some technical factors involved in this problem which
need explaining.’

Holbeche stopped speaking as the door opened again and a tall and excessively thin man entered the room. Moore made the introductions, and Willets sat down next to Simpson.

‘Right,’ Arkin said, ignoring Holbeche. ‘Let’s have it.’

Willets glanced towards Holbeche, who nodded almost imperceptibly, then he cleared his throat. ‘You’ve heard what was recovered from the Russian courier?’ he began, addressing
no one in particular.

William Moore nodded, but Arkin butted in before Willets could continue. ‘Let’s get one thing quite clear,’ he said. ‘Is there any possibility that this printout the
Russian was carrying was not the real thing? It couldn’t, for example, have been just a clever fake, part of some deception operation that’s being run by SIS without them telling the
rest of us?’

Willets opened his mouth to reply, but Holbeche beat him to it. ‘Categorically not,’ he snapped, ‘and that is a wholly improper suggestion. No “deception
operations”, as you describe them, are run by my organization without my prior knowledge and approval, and I invariably ensure that all interested parties are kept fully informed.’

Willets nodded his agreement. ‘There’s no possibility that the data was faked,’ he said. ‘I checked a copy of the printout with the LDC system administrator –
without telling him where it had come from, of course – and it is definitely the real thing. I should emphasize,’ he went on, ‘that the printout is not in itself a serious
security breach, as it only lists the computer directory structure and the names of the files, but not the actual contents of those files.’

‘Agreed,’ Moore said, ‘but that rather misses the point. The vital fact is that whoever supplied that listing obviously has access to the computer system, and can presumably
supply copies of whatever files the Russians would like to see. Or, at least, those files that his own security clearance allows him to access.’

‘In fact,’ Richard Simpson interrupted, ‘the listing is simply a shopping list for the SVR, to let them pick and choose what they want to see. And that may actually be good
news for us.’

‘Why?’ Holbeche asked.

‘Because it’s possible that no secrets have so far been betrayed by this unknown source. This looks to me like one of the first steps in a treacherous relationship and, whoever this
source is, he’s proving to the Russians that he has the necessary access. And by getting them to choose whichever files they want to see, he can avoid copying data which would be of no
interest to them. There’s also the financial angle, of course.’

‘Explain that, please,’ Arkin said.

‘The only things missing from the shopping list are the prices. My guess is that our source is waiting to see what files the Russians want, before he tells them what it’ll cost
them.’

Moore nodded. ‘Yes, that makes sense, and you might be right. Maybe the leak hasn’t started yet, and we can stop it before things go any further. In fact, we might even be able to
make capital out of this, by turning it into a disinformation operation.’

Warming to his theme, he leaned forward. ‘If we can identify the source, and then intercept the instructions sent to him by the SVR, we can achieve two things. First, we’ll find out
what particular areas are of interest to the Russians, which will to some extent show what their current objectives are. Second, we can create faked copies of the files they ask for, and thus
misdirect them.’

There was a brief silence, then Holbeche spoke. ‘There seem to be rather a lot of “ifs” in that scenario, William. Identifying the source won’t be easy, which is one
reason why Mr Willets is here.’

Holbeche gestured for Willets to speak. ‘Perhaps this is the time to discuss the purely technical aspects of this matter?’

Willets nodded. ‘For obvious reasons, our security precautions are stringent,’ he said. ‘We rigidly control access to and from the LDC floors, and all personnel are subject to
physical searches of their briefcases and other bags on leaving the section. This volume of paper simply could not therefore have been removed from the LDC.’

‘What about someone removing it a few pages at a time, sandwiched inside a newspaper, say?’ Arkin asked.

The question was directed at Willets, but it was Moore who answered. ‘We looked at that, but it’s not possible,’ he said. ‘The listing we found in the Russian
courier’s briefcase was printed on continuous stationery, without any breaks. That means it was an original printout.’

‘And there’s another problem,’ Willets went on. ‘The printers used in the LDC – apart from the dot-matrix units on the second floor, which are used only by the
system support staff – are all lasers. This printout was done on a twenty-four-pin dot-matrix printer.’

‘How do you know?’ Arkin asked.

‘We counted the indentations that the print-head made on the paper,’ Willets replied briefly.

‘And what about the second-floor staff? From what you’ve said, they have the right kind of printer, and they also have unrestricted access to the computers. That gives them both the
means and the opportunity, and puts them right in the frame, according to my book.’ Arkin thrust his chin forward, somewhat aggressively.

He had made few friends during his rise through the ranks, not least because his investigations were characterized by a thoroughness that bordered on the obsessive, and he had no objection to
treading – or more accurately stamping – on others’ toes.

‘You didn’t mention motive,’ Willets said mildly.

Arkin smiled somewhat sadly. ‘Money, perhaps?’ he suggested. ‘I don’t suppose you pay the staff that much. Maybe one of them reckoned he could do a little unofficial
overtime for the Russian Embassy, and make himself enough to retire on.’

Holbeche had turned slightly pink, but Willets seemed unfazed by Arkin’s attack on the integrity of the LDC staff. ‘We think alike,’ he said. ‘That was my first reaction,
too – but it’s impossible. Precisely because of the access those staff have, and the sensitivity of the data stored at the LDC, the second floor has a total surveillance system. And I
do mean total.’

He leaned forward, tapping his pencil on the table for emphasis. ‘As I’ve already said, every bag, briefcase or other package that the staff take in or out is physically examined.
This may include X-raying if the security personnel think that necessary. Second, the only entry to or exit from that floor is through specially adapted turnstiles which include metal detectors,
and anyone triggering the detectors is subject to an immediate and complete body search. Third, the entire floor is under video surveillance twenty-four hours a day. And finally,’ Willets
concluded, ‘every keystroke made on every computer console on the floor is recorded, and warnings are automatically generated if certain actions are even attempted. These “certain
actions” include directory printouts, file printouts and file copying.’

Willets paused and looked directly across at Arkin. ‘About the only thing I am quite certain about here,’ he said, ‘is that this printout was not made on the second floor of
the London Data Centre.’

Sluzhba Vneshney Razvyedki Rossi Headquarters, Yasenevo, Tëplyystan, Moscow

Major Yuri Abramov, the Yasenevo Data-Processing System Network Principal Manager, stood in the office doorway and gazed with ill-concealed appreciation at Captain Raya
Kosov’s back view. As he did so he reflected how it would have contrasted so sharply with that of his wife had they been placed side by side. Abramov had married early, far too early, and the
slim and charming peasant girl with the rosy cheeks had turned within ten years into the shapeless, bulky woman with whom he now shared his life, and his small apartment. The rosy cheeks were still
there, but three children and the genes of fifteen generations of farm girls had obliterated almost everything else in her that he had originally found so attractive.

The first time he had met Raya, Abramov had seen in her something of Eugenia as she had been when they got married, and as a result his feelings for his young subordinate had never been entirely
dispassionate. Of course, he had never shown Raya any special sign of affection or extended her any special treatment – that would have been considered
nekulturny
or uncultured –
but without doubt he enjoyed having her as his senior computer-systems specialist.

Raya had known who her visitor was as soon as the door opened, and she turned very slowly to face him. Like any woman who enjoys the admiration of a man, she was perfectly aware of his feelings
for her, and ensured that she looked and acted to please him. She smiled a welcome to Abramov, then stretched, lifting her arms slowly above her head, her fingers interlaced, and elaborately failed
to notice the way his eyes widened as her blouse tightened over her breasts.