Читать книгу Cut to the Chase - Ray CW Scott - Страница 6

Sir William Wainwright, Director of British Intelligence, picked up his telephone and gave an irritated ‘Hallo!’ He was in the process of compiling a difficult report for the Home Secretary and did not wish to be disturbed. His deputy, Richard Murray was on the other end.

‘Interesting development, Bill,’ Murray said. ‘I have news of a defector.’

‘Oh Christ!’ Wainwright felt his heart sink. ‘Not one of ours?’

Murray gave a dry chuckle.

‘No, far from it,’ he replied. ‘A Russian cipher clerk walked into the CSIS (he pronounced it Seesis) building in Ottawa a few hours ago and asked for political asylum. They were somewhat taken aback, it took them some time to arrange an interview, but they’ve now placed him in protective custody.’

‘Has he said anything yet, anything that affects us?’

‘CSIS informed Ron Carraway of MI 6, he’s arranging to send two operatives over there to interview him and see what he’s got.’

‘Well that’s interesting. Keep your eye on it Richard.’

‘Will do.’

Francis Burton, head of Australian Security and Intelligence, waved Alan Kelsey to the vacant chair opposite his desk. Kelsey moved the chair slightly to one side, the afternoon Canberra sun was streaming in through the window and tended to hit Burton’s bald head and reflect sunlight in all directions. Having removed himself from the line of fire Kelsey sat down and raised one eyebrow.

‘You said it was urgent.’

‘I lied,’ responded Burton. ‘Urgent…no! But important – yes! It’s about Operation Weasel.’

‘Weasel?’ Kelsey raised one eyebrow. ‘Oh God! Is the bloody government on our backs again?’

‘No, it’s better than that. We’ve had a wire from CSIS in Ottawa, apparently a Russian defector has walked into their building with a sheaf of papers, computer discs and flash drives. I haven’t much more information than that as yet, but according to Esme Lewis of CSIS this chap…er…what’s his blasted name… hold on…Leonid Radchenko, used to work in Moscow Centre on their South Pacific desk and, amongst other things, apparently has information in his possession that could identify this bloody mole that we’ve suspected has been here for years.’

‘Who is it?’

‘We don’t know yet, I had their Assistant Director Ken Paget on the blower this morning. This Russian defector is being very cagey so far and is demanding guarantees, he’s holding onto as much of his information as he can until he gets what he wants, but Ken said that one hint he’s given is that there’s a Russian mole in the Canberra Defence Ministry and that he knows who he is.’

Kelsey sat back and felt adrenalin surge through his system. In his capacity of Assistant Director-General Counter Terrorism and Counter Espionage this had been a problem he, and others, had been living with for over three years. Over that period of time ASIO had been aware that confidential information had been leaked out of government offices and passed to Moscow Centre and that the leak could only be in one of the government Ministries. They had received intelligence via London, who had their own sources of information from within the Russian administration, that information was being leaked to Moscow from Canberra. They also had some idea what class of information had gone walkabout, but despite trying to track those who had access to this information within Canberra so far nobody had been isolated or apprehended. According to the MI 5 and MI 6 sources the flow of information had slowed in recent months, which to Kelsey indicated that the mole could be aware of procedures being taken to track him down, and consequently had slowed his activities, but so far they had nothing to establish the mole’s identity.

‘How long before we have something concrete?’ he asked.

‘Depends what his demands are,’ snorted Burton. ‘No doubt he wants a free ticket to the United States, new identity, an expensive house and an unlimited supply of women.’

‘That sounds reasonable.’ commented Kelsey. ‘I’d probably ask for the same.’

Burton chuckled and shuffled the papers on his deck.

‘I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything, Alan.’

The telephone on the desk rang; Murray Craddock was standing some distance away chatting to the head of department, Alfred Peabody, when the latter drew his attention to it.

‘Your telephone is ringing,’ said Peabody. ‘You’d better answer it.’

Craddock nodded and made his way over to his desk and picked up the phone.

‘Hello! This is Craddock,’ he said.

‘Is that Mr Craddock from Redfern or Punchbowl?’

Craddock tensed and looked around him. Anyone within possible earshot was either on the phone or talking to someone else. He turned away so that he faced the window.

‘Redfern,’ he replied.

‘A good choice. There is a situation that affects you,’ said the voice at the other end. ‘One of ours has transferred out. You don’t know him but he knows of you. Action immediate. You understand.’

‘I understand.’

Craddock put down the telephone and looked around. He looked at the clock which indicated that the time was about half past three. He picked up his brief case, checked the contents of an envelope that was inside a zipped compartment inside it, and then extracted the flash drive from his computer. He looked around his office, gave a sigh as he realised he would never see it or the view from the window again and opened his office door.

‘You off, Murray?’ asked a man sitting at his computer monitor at a nearby desk.

‘Yes, I have a call to make, see you on Monday.’

‘Yes, see you later.’

Craddock made his way to the lift shaft, he took a circuitous route around the office to prevent Alfred Peabody catching sight of him as he made his way out, Peabody was an officious bastard who was always checking what anyone was doing or where they were going. The lift arrived and Craddock stepped into it. As the doors eased shut, it seemed to Craddock to be an act of finality.

Francis Burton’s telephone rang. It was Esme Lewis in Ottawa.

‘Are we on a secure line, Francis?’

Burton raised his hand to the telephone set and pressed a red button. There was momentary interference on the line.

‘We are now,’ he replied. ‘Good to hear from you, Esme. What is it?’

‘Our friend has begun to talk, there is much information involved but you’ll need to know of this quickly. I have the name of your leak in Canberra.’

Burton listened as Esme Lewis continued, and jotted down something on his pad.

‘Bloody hell! OK, thanks Esme,’ he said. ‘Yes and to you.’

He put the phone down and picked up the internal phone on his desk.

‘Is that you, Alan? Get over here quickly.’

Heads turned as Burton, Kelsey and Denis Shackleton, another ASIO operative, entered the office floor of the Defence Ministry and headed for the office of Alfred Peabody. They were accompanied by two security men who were wearing uniforms. Peabody looked up irritably as the phalanx entered his office, and he gritted his teeth when he saw that one of the newcomers was Francis Burton. They had a mutual dislike of each other, one that had persisted from the days when they had first met as pupils at a primary school in Canberra.

‘To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure,’ he began, adopting an aggressive and sarcastic tone. ‘Have you forgotten how to knock?’

Burton didn’t waste any time in pleasantries.

‘Where’s Murray Craddock?’

‘I beg your pardon. What right have you to come in here and…?’

‘Look, we haven’t got time to waste in exchanging pleasantries and pointless questions,’ Alan Kelsey intervened, deeming that the antipathy between Peabody and Burton could become a difficult and time wasting hurdle. ‘You have a man named Murray Craddock on this floor under your jurisdiction. We need to know where he is.’

‘Oh dear, what has he done? Has he forgotten to clock in or has he…?’

‘Just stow your sarcastic bloody comments for the present, this is a matter of national security,’ snapped Kelsey. ‘We have reason to believe Craddock has been selling state secrets to a foreign power.’

‘Don’t be utterly…what?’

Kelsey repeated it, and added coldly. ‘Where is he?’

Peabody rose to his feet and peered through the glass partition of his office pen.

‘He normally sits over there, the office by the window,’ he said and pointed his finger. ‘He’s not in today; in fact he wasn’t in yesterday either.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, I don’t know. We hadn’t heard anything from him so I assume he’s off sick. He left the office on Friday at about 3.30. He said he had a call to make.’

‘I’ll bet he had. And you’ve heard nothing since?’

‘No, what exactly is all this about?’

‘Jesus Christ!’ Kelsey turned to Burton. ‘I think we’re too late. I reckon the bird has flown.’

‘Let’s have a look at his desk,’ snapped Burton.

‘You have no right to…!’

‘Yes we have and you’d best come as well,’ snapped Burton.

‘This is a matter of national security now.’