The Factory by Brian Freemantle Page A

a contemptuous laugh but said nothing.
    â€˜What would you get?’ continued Fowler. ‘Heavy fine, perhaps. A jail sentence, but not for long. A few months at the most, and even that wouldn’t happen if you got yourself a good lawyer. No, not much at all.’
    â€˜Is this monologue going to continue for long?’ sneered the Russian.
    â€˜A while yet,’ said Fowler, refusing any anger. ‘Let’s look at all the other things which intrigue me but which don’t fit any more. Alice Irving, for instance. Pretty girl, intelligent. Considers herself a protester against authority: the sort of girl who’d look up in awe at someone like yourself, someone who’s supposed actually to have confronted the entire authority of the Soviet Union. And a general’s daughter. No ordinary general, either: the deputy commander of NATO. That’s why you sought her out at Oxford and later seduced her, wasn’t it? It was a very important part of the plot, wasn’t it? Disgracing the deputy commander in NATO?’
    Shidak yawned exaggeratedly.
    â€˜I thought leaving that match folder with MI-5’s address was clumsy but I suppose you’d have got away with it, if everything else had worked. How’s this sound? Famous Russian dissident settles in England where he’s used, briefly, as a consultant by British secret services. Self-proclaimed enemy of Alexei Palov, a Soviet old-timer who’s now a disposable sacrifice in the eyes of the KGB. Palov comes to London where he’s assassinated by the Soviet dissident with known connections with British intelligence. Huge scandal, maybe even the breaking off of diplomatic relations. But what’s this! Valentin Shidak isn’t yet a British citizen! He still holds a Soviet passport! He’s a Russian. So the application is made for your extradition, to face Russian justice for murdering your countryman. And home you go, not actually to face Russian justice at all but to the congratulations of the KGB and promotion through their ranks. Because that’s what you are, isn’t it, Valentin Shidak? You’re not a dissident at all. You’re a KGB sleeper who came to this country five years ago with the perfect cover story for acceptance in the West. And here you had to stay, until you were activated. That’s it, Valentin, isn’t it? That’s all the pieces neatly slotted into place?’
    â€˜Mad,’ said Shidak. ‘You’re quite mad.’
    â€˜You got the M-16 and the Colt from the Russian embassy here, didn’t you? Both American weapons. A little addition to the propaganda.’
    â€˜Isn’t there an English law restricting the length of time you can hold an innocent man in custody?’ asked Shidak, bored.
    â€˜Yes,’ agreed Fowler. ‘But there’s another one covering people suspected of terrorism and you easily qualify for that, so we’ve got lots of time if we choose to hold you.’ He allowed one of his broad smiles. ‘But actually we don’t choose to hold you. We don’t even choose to prosecute for possession of those weapons. Waste of public time and money. We’re just going to send you home.’
    â€˜What!’ For the first time Shidak’s complacency slipped and he looked worried.
    â€˜Send you home,’ announced Fowler. ‘We can withdraw your residency permit any time we like. Which we have, in fact. We don’t want people here walking about with illegal guns. So we’re shipping you back to the Soviet Union. All very quietly, of course. Well, not with any public knowledge, that is. We’ll let your embassy know why. Tell them what a bloody awful assassin you are, like I said when I arrested you. Don’t suppose they’ll be very happy about that, will they? Certainly the KGB won’t. It’ll cause a hell of an internal row in Moscow, I wouldn’t be surprised. The country’s intelligence