The Factory Read Online Free PDF Page B

said.
    â€˜He’s the KGB rezident, the head of station, isn’t he?’
    â€˜He was … it’s … I know what you’re thinking …’ stumbled the man.
    Jane cut across him: ‘I’ve already told you what I think. You’re lying! You told me you were head of station and you’re not!’
    â€˜Panchenko’s an old man. Drinks too much. All right, I’ll admit he officially holds the title but I’ve been doing the job for the past two years. I’ve been carrying the old fool. I’m chief of station in everything but official title. I have all the secrets.’
    â€˜Why did you lie?’ She was being forceful, as the Director General had told her to be, but it could very easily be that all the man had done was exaggerate his own importance.
    â€˜Wanted to sound better,’ confirmed Sharov, in a mumble. The man was embarrassed now at having lost face and been so easily caught out by a woman.
    â€˜What other lies did you tell me?’
    â€˜None!’ said Sharov defensively. ‘And it wasn’t really a lie. I do know everything that goes on.’
    â€˜Is that true? That you know everything ?’ insisted the girl.
    Sharov hesitated. Then he said: ‘Yes.’
    â€˜Good,’ seized Jane. ‘Now listen to me very carefully. I am going to ask you a question: whether you are granted asylum and allowed to remain in this country probably depends upon your answer.’
    Sharov’s uncertainty increased. ‘What?’
    â€˜I want you to tell me, now, the one thing that will convince my Director that your defection isn’t a trick.’
    Sharov stared across the narrow space separating the two chairs. ‘Go on,’ he urged.
    â€˜That’s it,’ said Jane. ‘The one secret from within your organization inside the London embassy that will convince him.’
    â€˜But …’ Sharov waved his hands helplessly. ‘There’s so much. All our communication codes. Every KGB officer I know to be based in Britain and France: the identities of a great many in Moscow, too. The names of British-born spies we have in place throughout Britain. All the liaison identities of other Eastern bloc intelligence officers based in London …’
    Jane became frustrated that Samuel Bell had not briefed her more fully: how could she properly interrogate the man without knowing what the one piece of information was? There was a writing bureau on the far side of the room. She nodded towards it and said: ‘Start writing it all down.’
    â€˜It will take days. Weeks,’ protested the man.
    â€˜Make a start,’ said Jane. ‘I want a general list of headings, of everything you can tell us. And then as much specific detail as you can provide today.’
    There was nothing that Jane could do but sit and wait while the Russian began his lists. As she did so her suspicion grew that, whatever it was the Director General wanted, what Sharov was now providing wasn’t it. Dusk was already settling, darkening the room, when Sharov groaned to a halt. ‘I’m tired. I can’t do any more today.’ He offered Jane a sheaf of papers and said: ‘It is a lot, yes? Good stuff?’
    It certainly looked it, thought Jane. She said: ‘We’ll have to see.’
    Back at the Factory, much later that same night, the Director General sorted with increasing despair through the notes that Sharov had produced. At last he looked up to Jane and said, simply: ‘No.’
    Olga Zarya was put under intensive observation. She was followed from the Russian diplomatic enclave in London’s Highgate to the Soviet trade offices and photographed extensively, both with her husband, Ivan, and separately. Surveillance reports talked of her being a serious-mannered, even sad-looking woman, an opinion confirmed by the photographs, but there was no suggestion of her appearing overly worried or