Charlie M Read Online Free

hadn’t made one, of course. Instead, the knowledge had piqued his conceit and it had become a battle between them, an exercise in wits, like a game of postal chess. And Charlie had won, proving he was slightly the better of the two. So, added to Berenkov’s admiration was an attitude of respect.
    â€˜Why weren’t you at the trial?’ Berenkov asked, settling at the table and taking, uninvited, one of Charlie’s cigarettes.
    â€˜It was decided it was too dangerous,’ said Charlie, un-convincingly repeating Cuthbertson’s explanation. ‘We didn’t want to risk identification. Your people would have photographed everyone going into the Old Bailey, wouldn’t they?’
    Berenkov frowned for a moment, then smiled at Charlie’s lead, looking up at the light.
    â€˜Oh yes,’ he agreed. ‘Every picture will be in Moscow by now.’
    That would put the fear of Christ up the Special Branch and Cuthbertson, Charlie knew. They’d had four men of their own photographing everyone within a quarter of a mile vicinity during the week-long trial. It would take them months to identify every face; but Cuthbertson would insist upon it — ‘mountains are just pieces of dust, all gathered together’ was a new catch phrase from the department controller. Now he’d be shit scared there was the risk of his own men being identified.
    â€˜So Snare and Harrison got all the credit,’ jabbed Berenkov.
    The Russian was bloody good, thought Charlie. It was not surprising he’d held the rank of General in the K.G.B. for the twenty years he’d operated in the West. His capture would be an enormous blow to Russia: perhaps even greater than they had realised.
    â€˜Something like that,’ agreed Charlie.
    â€˜They’re no good,’ dismissed the prisoner. ‘Too smart … too keen to shine and impress people. Their performance in court was more like Sunday Night at the London Palladium. Send them on a field operation and we’d use it as a training exercise.’
    Oh God, how I’d like to be with Cuthbertson when the tapes are played back, thought Charlie. Please God let Snare and Harrison be there.
    The Briton thought again of the life style that Berenkov had followed until his arrest six months earlier: despite the apparent bonhomie, the man must be suffering, he decided.
    â€˜What’s it like here?’ asked Charlie, curiously, gesturing to the prison around them.
    â€˜Known worse,’ replied Berenkov, lightly.
    And he would have done, Charlie knew. The Russian admitted to being fifty, but Charlie assessed him ten years older. He’d have served in the Russian army during the war, probably as a field officer on the German Front. Certainly it was from Germany that he had appeared, posing as a refugee displaced by the division of his country, to enter Britain.
    â€˜But forty years!’ reminded Charlie.
    Berenkov stared at him, frowning, imagining for a moment that the Briton was serious. He shrugged, agreeing to whatever Charlie wanted to achieve.
    â€˜Don’t be stupid,’ he answered. ‘I won’t serve forty years and we all know it. I guess two, but it might be shorter: I’m very highly regarded in the Soviet Union. They’ll arrange an exchange. All they need is a body.’
    And they almost had one four months ago at Checkpoint Charlie, remembered the Briton.
    The K.G.B. general leaned back, reflectively.
    â€˜I tried to outwit you, Charlie. You know I did,’ he began, unexpectedly. ‘But more to cover up my network than for myself.’
    He was being truthful now, realised Charlie, the recording apparatus disregarded.
    â€˜You know what my feelings were, realising you were after me?’ Berenkov stared across the table, intently.
    â€˜What?’ prompted Charlie.
    â€˜Relief,’ answered Berenkov, simply. He leaned forward, arms on the table, gazing straight at the other