Kompromat

Eventually Mark Cooper summed things up. ‘We need to consider how the Chinese acquired that tape. If the tape was made by the Russians officially, as it were, say by the KGB/FSB, then why would they have passed it to the Chinese? Why would they help the Chinese discredit our friend, Edward Barnard, when Edward’s actions, namely to help the Leave campaign, appear to be in Russia’s interest? Isn’t it more probable that the Chinese spy network in Russia – and that is a very substantial network indeed – got hold of the tapes from some freelance source and then spliced it all together with a view to persuading Barnard here to jump ship of his own accord and ditch the Leave campaign? Which by any reckoning could be a fatal blow for that campaign and very good news for China. So they try a little gentle persuasion instead. Does that make sense? It does to me.’

Barnard had had enough. They could speculate as much as they liked. It wouldn’t make any difference. Whatever the Chinese thought they might be doing by making that tape, they had picked the wrong man.

If he had been sure, when he was talking to Minister Zhang in Xian that he was on the right path, he was doubly sure now. A line from Shakespeare came to mind. Macbeth, surely? ‘Thou marshall’st me the way that I was going.’

Good old Shakespeare, he thought, as he picked up his notes, you could always rely on the Bard for a pertinent quote.

Mark Cooper walked out with him.

‘We’re taking another look at the Kempinski,’ he said. ‘We’re trying to track down those two Russian women. Whatever they put in your drink could have been very dangerous. Glad it wasn’t polonium, anyway.’ Cooper put out his hand. ‘By the way, I wanted to tell you we haven’t made much progress with that other file you brought back. The home secretary’s rather sitting on it. Some of the emails to and from Number 10 seem to be genuine, not fakes, as we supposed. We’ve got a bit more digging to do.’

‘Dig away,’ Barnard urged. ‘But please let me know when and if you turn something up.’

‘Your car’s waiting for you in the underground car park,’ Cooper said. ‘We can’t have you leaving through the front door. The opposition keeps very close tabs on the comings and goings here.’

‘And who’s the opposition in this particular case?’

‘Good question. We’re still trying to work that one out.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Bud Hollingsworth leaned back in his upholstered chair in the director’s private viewing-room in CIA in Langley, Virginia, with the remote control unit in his hand.

‘All set?’ he inquired.

Wilbur Brown, director of the FBI, who had driven out to Langley earlier that afternoon for a meeting with his counterpart, nodded. ‘Good to go,’ he said.

Hollingsworth pressed the button on the remote.

‘I won’t tell you how we acquired the footage we are about to see. I’ll just say that the FSB is a bit more porous than its predecessor, the KGB, used to be.’

Wilbur Brown nodded. If Hollingsworth wanted to protect his sources, he had no problem with that. In spite of all the changes in the organization of US security in recent years, the broad lines of demarcation between the CIA and the FBI remained fairly clear. The CIA concentrated on gathering, analysing and reporting on intelligence from abroad; the FBI devoted itself to counter-intelligence, notably the threats arising on home turf. So how the CIA went about its job in, say, the Russian Far East was, as far as Wilbur Brown understood the ground rules, their job, not his.

The first couple of minutes of the film showed the Russian president Igor Popov’s helicopter landing in a cleared area in the forest. The next shots showed Popov in combat gear moving through the trees.

‘The Russians call this the “taiga” or boreal forest,’ Hollingsworth explained. ‘Mile upon mile of pine, spruce, larch and birch. You can see Ronald Craig walking fairly closely behind Popov. Behind Craig, there’s that Brit, I believe his name’s Barnard. Ed Barnard, or something like that.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard about Barnard,’ Wilbur Brown said. ‘Used to be environment minister in the UK government. Met up with both Popov and Craig at Popov’s World Tiger Summit. Then they all went off to the Russian Far East to try to see the Amur tigers in the wild. We’re not sure quite what Barnard’s relationship with the Russians is. Some kind of “useful idiot” I suspect. We’re looking into that. So is MI5, I hear.’

The images ran on. ‘Who’s that coming after Barnard?’ Wilbur Brown asked. ‘Is that Ron Craig’s daughter, Rosie? Good-looking girl, eh? And who’s that with her? That’s not Jack Varese, for God’s sake, is it? What’s he doing out there?’

As they watched the screen, they saw the tiger coming down the path towards the presidential party. Shouting and confusion ensued. The microphone clearly picked up Popov’s command. ‘Don’t shoot.’

It also picked up Ronald Craig’s anguished yell: ‘What the fu—!’