he’d created his own risk of identification.’
‘He said that! That he staged that diversion because he thought he was going to be picked up the moment he arrived!’ came in Smith.
Flood looked uncertainly at Jane before saying, ‘His exact words were, “I fucked it up all by myself but it was fucked up before it ever started to get where we are now. Which has got to be done right.”’
There was a digesting silence.
‘Okay,’ resumed Jane, cautiously. ‘He’d created his own identification problem but the operation was fucked up before it started out from here. Did he explain that?’
‘He said it had never been to extract Natalia, which everyone here thought. He’d suspected it wasn’t right but couldn’t work out why until he learned that Radtsic had defected. But that it was ongoing—’
‘What was ongoing?’ said Smith.
‘MI6’s determination to screw Natalia’s extraction, even though they’d got Radtsic safely away. I said that didn’t make sense. Charlie said he thought it went right back to the Lvov investigation but he didn’t understand how or why.’
‘We’ve gotten away from the movement pattern,’ complained the Director-General. ‘How were Halliday and Briddle moving towards Charlie—quietly, calmly, together or separately?’
Flood toyed with his long-empty coffee cup. ‘Moving quickly, but they weren’t together. Again, it’s an impression but at first I didn’t think Briddle was aware of Halliday behind him, trying to catch up.’
‘That’s what you believe Halliday was trying to do, catch up with Briddle?’ asked Passmore.
‘I’m not sure,’ replied the man, awkwardly. ‘That was my initial thought. I saw Halliday shout, although he was too far away for me to hear what he said. I thought it was to attract Briddle’s attention but Charlie turned as well.’
‘Distances,’ demanded Jane. ‘How far apart were they at this stage: Charlie’s in the queue, then comes Briddle and after him Halliday. How far apart were they?’
Again Flood paused, considering. ‘Charlie just stood there. At Halliday’s shout, Briddle was about eighteen metres away. Halliday was about two metres behind him. It was then that Briddle turned and saw Halliday.’
‘What did Briddle do, after looking around?’ seized Passmore.
‘Started to run towards Charlie,’ replied Flood, again understanding the significance of the question. ‘It was at this point that I heard the first shot. No-one else reacted. Both Briddle and Halliday were running by now—’
‘Was it Briddle’s shot?’ demanded Smith.
There was no hesitation this time. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t see a gun. Briddle was running peculiarly, arms around himself, hugging his jacket around his body. At last people became aware two men were running across the concourse … moved to let them through. Then I did see Briddle with a gun in his hand, a Makarov … saw him fire—’
‘Stop!’ insisted Smith. ‘This is pivotal: at whom did Briddle shoot?’
‘At Charlie,’ replied Flood, again without hesitation. ‘Charlie Muffin was unquestionably Briddle’s target. Everything erupted then: it was pandemonium, gunfire, screaming, people running everywhere. I saw Charlie go down and decided it was time to get out.’
‘And I think it’s time for us to stop and analyze what we’ve got,’ decided the Director-General.
* * *
Gerald Monsford strode determinedly through the safe house, more confident than he’d been for days, actually bemused at how perfectly the pieces were fitting together, knowing before he started how perfectly he could slot Maxim Radtsic into his survival frame. Both Radtsic and Elena were in the favoured conservatory, the television turned to the permanent BBC news channel as Jacobson had predicted. The vodka bottle was still a quarter full.
‘At last!’ greeted the Russian, rising at Monsford’s entry. ‘What news of Andrei?’
Monsford pulled a seat closer
‘He said that! That he staged that diversion because he thought he was going to be picked up the moment he arrived!’ came in Smith.
Flood looked uncertainly at Jane before saying, ‘His exact words were, “I fucked it up all by myself but it was fucked up before it ever started to get where we are now. Which has got to be done right.”’
There was a digesting silence.
‘Okay,’ resumed Jane, cautiously. ‘He’d created his own identification problem but the operation was fucked up before it started out from here. Did he explain that?’
‘He said it had never been to extract Natalia, which everyone here thought. He’d suspected it wasn’t right but couldn’t work out why until he learned that Radtsic had defected. But that it was ongoing—’
‘What was ongoing?’ said Smith.
‘MI6’s determination to screw Natalia’s extraction, even though they’d got Radtsic safely away. I said that didn’t make sense. Charlie said he thought it went right back to the Lvov investigation but he didn’t understand how or why.’
‘We’ve gotten away from the movement pattern,’ complained the Director-General. ‘How were Halliday and Briddle moving towards Charlie—quietly, calmly, together or separately?’
Flood toyed with his long-empty coffee cup. ‘Moving quickly, but they weren’t together. Again, it’s an impression but at first I didn’t think Briddle was aware of Halliday behind him, trying to catch up.’
‘That’s what you believe Halliday was trying to do, catch up with Briddle?’ asked Passmore.
‘I’m not sure,’ replied the man, awkwardly. ‘That was my initial thought. I saw Halliday shout, although he was too far away for me to hear what he said. I thought it was to attract Briddle’s attention but Charlie turned as well.’
‘Distances,’ demanded Jane. ‘How far apart were they at this stage: Charlie’s in the queue, then comes Briddle and after him Halliday. How far apart were they?’
Again Flood paused, considering. ‘Charlie just stood there. At Halliday’s shout, Briddle was about eighteen metres away. Halliday was about two metres behind him. It was then that Briddle turned and saw Halliday.’
‘What did Briddle do, after looking around?’ seized Passmore.
‘Started to run towards Charlie,’ replied Flood, again understanding the significance of the question. ‘It was at this point that I heard the first shot. No-one else reacted. Both Briddle and Halliday were running by now—’
‘Was it Briddle’s shot?’ demanded Smith.
There was no hesitation this time. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t see a gun. Briddle was running peculiarly, arms around himself, hugging his jacket around his body. At last people became aware two men were running across the concourse … moved to let them through. Then I did see Briddle with a gun in his hand, a Makarov … saw him fire—’
‘Stop!’ insisted Smith. ‘This is pivotal: at whom did Briddle shoot?’
‘At Charlie,’ replied Flood, again without hesitation. ‘Charlie Muffin was unquestionably Briddle’s target. Everything erupted then: it was pandemonium, gunfire, screaming, people running everywhere. I saw Charlie go down and decided it was time to get out.’
‘And I think it’s time for us to stop and analyze what we’ve got,’ decided the Director-General.
* * *
Gerald Monsford strode determinedly through the safe house, more confident than he’d been for days, actually bemused at how perfectly the pieces were fitting together, knowing before he started how perfectly he could slot Maxim Radtsic into his survival frame. Both Radtsic and Elena were in the favoured conservatory, the television turned to the permanent BBC news channel as Jacobson had predicted. The vodka bottle was still a quarter full.
‘At last!’ greeted the Russian, rising at Monsford’s entry. ‘What news of Andrei?’
Monsford pulled a seat closer
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