Kompromat

‘Politically speaking, it was quite unnecessary. The government wasn’t under any kind of threat. The prime minister wasn’t under any kind of pressure, and so at the time, however delighted I might have been in a personal sense, I simply couldn’t imagine why he had done it. Of course, Hartley made it clear later on in his speech that he would fight hard – “heart and soul” I think were the very words he used – to ensure that the UK stayed in the EU, but that wasn’t the point. The genie was out of the bottle.’

Yuri Yasonov pushed a flash-drive across the table and after a pause Barnard surreptitiously pocketed it. ‘Take a look at this.’

CHAPTER SIX

The eighteenth-century Kharitonenko Mansion at 14 Sofiyskaya Naberezhnaya, situated on the bank of the Neva River directly opposite the Kremlin, serves as the residence of the United Kingdom’s ambassador to Russia, properly known as the Russian Federation. It is probably one of the most important buildings in Moscow, not only because of its fine construction and setting, but also because of its beautifully crafted, ornate interior.

A recent major overhaul and refurbishment had, so the UK security services hoped, removed the listening devices installed in the post-war years by successive Kremlin regimes. Unfortunately, the renovations had taken much longer than originally anticipated, the delay being due – in part at least – to fears that as the old bugs were being ripped out, new bugs were being installed, even though the workforce, comprising mainly ethnic minorities from Central Asia, operated at all times under close supervision. These fears were almost certainly justified. All ambassadors were officially warned before they moved in to assume that all their conversations in the Residence would be routinely bugged.

They were also advised that the residence’s domestic staff – cooks, waiters, chauffeurs and so on – would most likely be in the direct pay of the FSB, the successor to the KGB. Even those not actually on the FSB’s payroll were, it was to be assumed, able and willing to report to the Russian security services.

Sir Andrew Boles, KBE, KCVO, the current ambassador, was not a man to be put off by minor inconveniences. He had served in Laos and Angola, as well as having spent a stint at the United Nations in New York.

So when his old friend, Edward Barnard, MP, arrived for dinner one evening on his way back from the Russian Far East and the now famous tiger encounter, he greeted him with enthusiasm.

‘Great to see you, Edward! It’s been far too long. Julia’s out somewhere playing bridge, and the staff have a night off, but they’ve left dinner for us, I’m glad to say. Let’s go straight up to the small dining room.’

Boles pointed at the ornate ceilings in the entrance hall, and the heavy wood-carvings on the stairs and walls; ideal places for eavesdropping devices of whatever sort.

‘Ah, the small dining room! Yes, of course!’ Barnard took the point quickly.

The two men kept their conversation to the banal as they climbed the stairs to the first floor.

‘Pavel Ivanovich Kharitonenko, the man who built this house, was just a peasant when he started, you know,’ Boles explained. ‘But he became a great sugar magnate. The offices for his sugar factories were here and he decided to build a family mansion here as well.’

As they climbed the grand staircase, Boles continued, ‘This mansion has hosted the British Embassy since 1931. Winston Churchill entertained Stalin here during the War. The Queen stayed here. And Princess Diana too.’

‘Ah, Princess Diana. What a wonderful woman. What a tragic end.’

Barnard spoke loudly and clearly. If the FSB logged his visit as they certainly would, they would note the sympathy he had shown for the late Princess of Wales. Nothing wrong with that.

The two men only got down to business when they reached their destination on the second floor. ‘Small dining room’ was a palpable misnomer, since the term was used to refer to a solid, cube-shaped construction, which sat incongruously in the middle of an otherwise empty reception room. The cube was clad in heavy, green material designed, so Barnard assumed, to foil any penetrating radiation.

The ambassador swiped his card and the door swung open. It was, Barnard thought, a bit like a prison cell, and as sparsely equipped; the furniture consisted of a table, four chairs, a jug of water and some glasses.

The room was well lit, but Barnard was intrigued to notice that there were no plugs or sockets of any kind. You can’t plant a bug in a socket, he thought, where there aren’t any sockets.

‘Do you want me to turn off my phone?’ he asked. Barnard knew that phones could be used as ‘microphones’ by distant listeners.