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been his decision, confirmed in the most simple – and therefore the safest – way. The Agency permanently maintained a room –323 –in the Imperial Hotel, with its view of the palace: by some irony, Jimmy Dale, who was now guarding him against any unexpected eventuality, was the man who occupied it, to cover against any hotel staff curiosity. If Kozlov wanted contact, he telephoned a supposed enquiry against the room number, giving the place. Every three days – purporting to be Dale – he called the hotel, checking messages. The American response, if they wanted a meeting, was for the message to be that a conference was necessary, as always leaving Kozlov to be the decider of where the meeting should be. Fredericks had invoked the system on the American part four days earlier, for the first time. The American said: ‘My people aren’t happy, about the British. You’ve no cause to distrust us. We’ll keep every promise that we’ve made: on my life!’
    Kozlov began to move, apparently wanting to view the buddha from a different angle. Fredericks had to go as well, to keep up with him. Kozlov said viciously: ‘You’re trying to trick me, like I always knew you would!’
    â€˜No!’ said Fredericks, worried. ‘We’re doing everything you asked. Hear me out.’
    The other man stopped, using the camera that he carried, ‘What is it?’ he asked.
    Inviting the other man’s understanding, Fredericks said: ‘It’s not me. It’s headquarters. You know what headquarters are like.’
    â€˜What do they want?’
    â€˜It’s unnecessary – they feel it’s unnecessary – to bring the British in …’ Fredericks saw the other man start to speak and said urgently: ‘Wait! Let me finish! You said you wanted $500,000, for yourself. We’ll double it, to $1,000,000, which will give you what you’d get from the British, for Irena. We’ll get you both out: new identities, protection, everything. You can choose whatever house you want, anywhere in America …’
    â€˜We’ve talked through all this,’ dismissed Kozlov. ‘This is a ridiculous conversation.’
    â€˜You’ve no reason to think we won’t keep our undertaking,’ insisted Fredericks, desperately. ‘I’ve been told to offer you whatever guarantee you need.’
    Kozlov, who was a small, unobtrusive man of seemingly apparent calmness, said: ‘I’ve already set out the guarantees I need.’ He closed his camera, a positive movement. ‘It’s over,’ he declared. ‘Finished.’
    â€˜No!’ protested Fredericks, yet again. He was hot with fear, knowing what would happen if he lost the other man. They were a bunch of stupid bastards, back there at Langley: trying to impress each other with a lot of bullshit talk in comfortable conference rooms, we want this and we want that and we want this, ignoring the warnings he’d sent. And if it fucked up, because of how they wanted it done, it would be his fault and his butt, with a lot more bullshit talk about his incompetence and his inexperience and how they should have sent someone else, who could have done it their way. Fredericks said: ‘It was a sincere offer; is a sincere offer. But if you want it to stay the way it was, then fine.’
    â€˜If it was fine my way, you wouldn’t have tried to change,’ said Kozlov, unmollified.
    Fredericks tried to subdue his apprehension, calling upon the other man’s experience. ‘You know the way it is,’ he urged. ‘Wouldn’t your people try to do the same, if someone from the CIA tried to split a crossing, say between Russia and Poland?’
    â€˜We control the Polish service,’ refused Kozlov, pedantically. ‘They’d do as they were told.’
    â€˜You’re aware of what I mean,’ persisted Fredericks. ‘We want you,