The Blind Run (8 page)

Without a watch or a window to judge from the changing light Charlie found it difficult to calculate the time but he guessed it was three hours before anyone came. Maybe longer, he thought, as he was marched back through the administration wing, where there were windows, through which he could see that it was dark. Did it really matter, whether it was day or night? Did anything matter, any more?

Charlie’s depression – his fear – was absolute so the stretch of euphoria was a physical reaction when he got to the governor’s office and saw, among the assembled people, the man who’d looked blank-faced at him in the dock of the Old Bailey on the day he got his sentence. Charlie stopped, so that the escorting officer following actually collided with him and he said ‘Thank Christ,’ aloud, careless of their knowing of his relief.

Sir Alistair Wilson stood – because it was more comfortable for him to stand, although Charlie didn’t know that – to the left of the governor, right against the window, half-perched upon the radiator. To Armitrage’s right was the deputy governor, Collis, and deferentially next to him was the chief prison officer, whose name was Dexter. One of the bastards.

Armitrage had made a concession by approaching Wilson and he knew it and everyone else in the room knew it and he tried to cover the weakness by immediately imposing his control over the meeting, nodding curtly towards Charlie as if it were an order to stop. He said, ‘I don’t think you can have any idea what has been involved in creating this meeting. Other departments, apart from the Home Office, have had to be involved and Sir Alistair here …’ the man paused, turning his head towards the Director. ‘Sir Alistair has shown a very great public attitude by coming here, at such short notice. His attendance was your condition, Muffin. And it is one that I have deferred to. If, having heard what you have to say, I conclude that this whole episode was the farcical invention I fear it to be, I shall have you charged before visiting magistrates with secreting a weapon, with intent to facilitate an escape and make a prosecution plea that an additional sentence is imposed upon you. Further I shall endorse your file against any parole consideration, for as long as regulations permit such suspension.’

Fuck you, thought Charlie. He was home. Home and dry. Steady, he thought, in immediate warning. He’d considered he had a deal before with Wilson and the bastard had reneged upon it.

‘All right,’ said Armitrage, still attempting to appear forceful. ‘What is it?’

Charlie talked not to the governor but to Wilson. ‘What about our deal?’ he demanded.

‘What deal?’

Charlie looked around the other assembled men. ‘You want me to talk about it here, like this?’

‘What deal?’ repeated Wilson.

‘I could have run, in Italy,’ reminded Charlie. ‘I knew you’d found me but I could still have run. But I didn’t. Because I knew our own ambassador there had gone over to the Russians I stayed and did everything you wanted me to, so you could not only stop it but reverse it, to try to create as much harm as you could …’

‘Which was all set out at your trial,’ interrupted the Director.

‘Bullshit!’ rejected Charlie. ‘It wasn’t set out, like you say it was. It was mentioned, almost in bloody passing. But the deal was that you’d make sure the judge understood. That there would be a consideration, not the maximum sodding sentence possible. And that after the sentence, you’d see I got out …!’ Charlie’s anger grew, as he remembered the promises Wilson had made to him. ‘Didn’t you?’ he said, careless of the rise in his voice. ‘
Didn’t
you?’

‘I will not have Sir Alistair interrogated!’ broke in Armitrage. ‘Any more than I will tolerate any longer this ridiculous charade.’

‘It’s all right,’ placated Wilson, from behind the governor. To Charlie he said, ‘Approaches were made to the judge. I could only give you undertakings, not guarantees. He decided that what you did in Italy was a very small mitigation against the damage you did. There was no way I could prevent that.’

‘What about getting me out, afterwards?’ persisted Charlie.

It was Armitrage, not the Director, who responded. ‘Sir Alistair has been in contact both with the Home Office and myself, long before today, seeking the earliest parole opportunity for you,’ said the Governor. ‘It was because of that earlier contact that I was able to get into touch so quickly. And why Sir Alistair responded, with matching speed.’

‘Oh,’ said Charlie, momentarily deflated.

‘There’s only so much I can do, to circumvent the existing system,’ said Wilson. ‘There’s a consideration hearing in six months’ time. I’ve already indicated I’ll support any parole application you make, even though, of course, you’ll have to serve the required minimum, even if that parole is granted.’

‘I didn’t know,’ said Charlie.

‘There’s no way you could,’ said Wilson. He added, ‘Or should.’

‘Whatever Sir Alistair intended doing, I shall still block it if all this is a nonsense,’ repeated Armitrage.

He only had their word – Wilson’s word – Charlie realised, recovering. It could all be a bunch of lies. ‘I want another deal,’ he said. ‘This time an absolute guarantee that in exchange for what I’m going to tell you I get out. Get out immediately and I don’t care about existing systems or regulations or parole boards or whatever. I just want to get out.’

‘I won’t bargain with you,’ refused Wilson, quietly calm in face of Charlie’s uncertain control. ‘Certainly not blind. If what you’ve got to tell me is genuine then I’ll make sure it is brought fully before the parole application.’

‘Like you did before the judge!’

‘I told you I couldn’t anticipate his reaction.’

‘Any more than you can anticipate that of the parole committee,’ said Charlie. He decided he had nothing to lose: and that he’d never get such an opportunity again. ‘A deal,’ he insisted. ‘Otherwise you’re all going to look bloody fools. And that’s something I can guarantee.’

Armitrage half turned, so that he could see Wilson. He indicated with his finger something written on a file sheet that Charlie had been unaware of, on the desk in front of the governor.

‘I will guarantee you a transfer to an open prison,’ said the Director. ‘Further, I will guarantee a personal intervention when the parole is considered in six months’ time and I know the governor will support me in that intervention …’ Wilson hesitated. ‘But let’s get one thing straight,’ he went on. ‘So far I haven’t got the slightest indication why I’ve bothered to come all the way here, apart from my interest of which, until today, you were unaware. And that interest is rapidly diminishing. If, as the governor has said, it’s all been a wild goose chase then any help I might have considered giving you ends. You can stay here and rot, like the judge decided you should.’

He was boxed in, Charlie realised. And they realised it too. Belatedly invoking the objectivity, Charlie supposed he was lucky to have got this far. Wilson had made a concession, bothering to come. So maybe the interest was genuine. An open prison would be like heaven, after this. And he’d get parole, for the information he had.

‘All right,’ conceded Charlie. And then he told them, in detail, gaining a passing satisfaction from the reaction from Dexter, one of the stupid sods who’d been impressed by Sampson.

There were several moments of silence after Charlie finished. It was Wilson who spoke first. ‘What luck,’ said the Director. ‘What incredible, fortuitous luck.’

Wilson took complete charge, appearing reluctant even for Armitrage to remain in the room, finally relenting only after going into the deputy governor’s office to make a series of telephone calls. He told the prison officers escorting Charlie to remain unseen in an ante-room, so that stories would not spread throughout the prison that Charlie was unaccompanied in the governor’s office, apart from some outside stranger, but lectured them as well as the deputy governor and the chief prison officer before dismissing them that as government employees they were bound by the Official Secrets Act. He added the heavy warning that if anything were to leak of what they had heard that evening in the office he would personally ensure a prosecution and press for a term of imprisonment. Charlie wondered where the Director had learned that becoming a prisoner, once having been a screw, was a prison officer’s biggest fear.

‘You’ve proved your loyalty,’ Wilson announced to Charlie, in the now cleared office. ‘I was satisfied after Italy, which is why I have been trying to help. But coming forward like this is the absolute proof.’

‘So we’ve got a deal?’ said Charlie.

‘Yes,’ said Wilson. ‘But not the sort you thought.’

‘What the hell …!’ started Charlie, the anger returning, but Wilson raised his hand, in a stopping gesture. ‘I’ll reinstate you,’ said the Director. ‘Not on active duty, perhaps. I guess you’ve probably had enough of that. Or will have. But I’ll bring you back into the department, restore all your allowance and pension rights. Wipe the slate clean.’

Charlie stood head to one side, trying to disguise the bewilderment. ‘What for?’ he demanded presciently. ‘What do I have to do?’

Wilson did not reply directly. Instead he looked down to the still-seated governor and said, ‘A little while ago I warned your officers that what they heard in this room was governed by the official secrets legislation.’

Two patches of red burned on Armitrage’s cheeks. ‘I heard,’ he said tightly.

‘I’m going to repeat that warning, to you. About what you are now going to hear.’

‘Which is insulting and offensive,’ protested Armitrage. ‘I don’t need reminding of my duty. Perhaps you need reminding that so far the only person whom you haven’t cautioned is serving a fourteen year sentence for being a traitor.’

‘No,’ said Wilson. ‘I don’t need reminding. It’s an involved story that isn’t worth repeating, in the time available to us, but as I said a few moments ago I am completely and absolutely sure of Charlie Muffin’s loyalty. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be about to do what I am going to do now.’

‘What?’ asked Charlie, trying to force himself to think beyond Wilson’s offer. Reinstated! With a cushy job in headquarters, where the central heating kept you warm and the roof stopped the rain making you wet. Back doing a job he could do better than anybody else – well, as good as the best, anyway – and which he’d missed like hell for every minute of every day of every year, ever since he’d set them up for trying to set him up. There had to be a catch. There had to be the biggest catch in the history of catches, some utterly impossible demand to match the utterly impossible offer.

‘I want you to go,’ said Wilson quietly.

‘Go?’ said Charlie.

‘Over the wall, with Sampson. And all the way back to Russia.’

Charlie was speechless. He actually opened his mouth, to speak, but his thoughts were too jumbled to form a coherent sentence and so he stood in front of the Director with his mouth gaping.

It was the governor who spoke. ‘Are you telling me – expecting me – to agree to this!’ he said, outraged. ‘Do you think I am going to allow an escape from this jail of two men serving sentence for treason. You’re insane. Absolutely insane.’

Wilson nodded in the direction of the deputy governor’s office, from which he’d made the telephone calls, and said, ‘You will get a summons from the Home Office tomorrow. You’ll meet the Foreign Secretary. The Prime Minister, as well. Your instructions will be to co-operate fully.’

‘Just a minute,’ said Charlie, at last. ‘Now please, just a minute. You expect me to go along with Sampson, break out and go to Russia!’

Wilson turned to him. ‘If you won’t then I shall have you transferred from here tonight, to a maximum security prison. Where I shall personally see to it that you serve every last day of your sentence, never qualifying for parole. Further, I shall allow it to be known that the transfer was for your own protection because you’d grassed on other prisoners. Actually foiled an escape.’

‘Bastard!’ shouted Charlie. The biggest catch in the history of catches, he thought.

‘Yes,’ agreed Wilson, mildly. ‘Because I have to be. Because the prize is worth every sort of venality and pressure I’m capable of showing.’

‘What is it?’ said Charlie.

‘You’ll do it?’

‘I haven’t any choice, have I?’

‘Yes, you have,’ pointed out the Director.

Twelve years, two weeks and three days, remembered Charlie. ‘Acceptable choice,’ he qualified.

‘So you’ll do it?’

‘I’ll try. I don’t know if I can do it until I know fully what it is.’

Wilson smiled, appreciating the professionalism. ‘There’ll only be this one chance for any sort of briefing,’ he warned. ‘So make sure you understand everything completely. About three months ago there was an approach to the embassy, in Moscow. A first secretary retrieved his coat from the cloakroom at the Bolshoi and in the inside pocket there was a letter. Unsigned. Offering intelligence. And there was something else, part of a memorandum of a Politburo meeting that no one in the West had even suspected of being held, discussing the normalisation of relations with China. We were able, later, to establish through Peking that such approaches were being made.’

‘So it’s reliable stuff?’ probed Charlie. Christ it was good to be involved again; to be working.

‘Every time,’ said Wilson. ‘We’ve had three more messages concerning that meeting, plus some material from the space exploration centre at Baikonur. And there’s been crop yield figures confirmed from aerial satellite and details of improved SS20 silo construction around Moscow.’

‘I don’t understand what you want me to do,’ said Charlie.

‘We don’t know the source,’ admitted Wilson. ‘The letter, on that occasion at the Bolshoi, identified a drop. That first time it was a telephone kiosk near the Lenina metro station. That pick-up designated a subsequent drop. And that’s how it’s gone on, ever since.’

‘Blind drops,’ said Charlie. ‘Cautious.’

‘The last message said whoever it was wanted defection. For himself – and we’re assuming it’s male although we don’t know – and his family,’ disclosed Wilson. ‘The message said that everything we’d got so far was to prove his value. And we think that value is something like the most accurate intelligence we’ve managed to get out for years. The message also said that what he’d bring out with him would show everything he had provided thus far to be practically inconsequential.’