The Oktober Projekt by R. J. Dillon

starter for ten. A profitable exchange we will all benefit from , Nick recalled. Four for silver, five for
gold, six for a secret never to be told.
    ‘So why did Lubov have the sudden urge to jump ship?’ McEntee
asked.
    ‘Something had spooked him,’ replied Nick, placing the sole of
his boot as flat as it would go. ‘He would reveal all once he was safely back
in London.’
    ‘So if Lubov had, in your words, not mine, Nick, “no time to
provide a sample”, why on earth did you proceed to attempt to crash your way
out?’ Soleby wondered his long face puzzled.
    ‘I didn’t have time for him to apply for a visa,’ said Nick
sourly.
    ‘Whether crashing out was the right decision is a moot point,’
McEntee said. ‘Either way, there you are, making for the border with what could
be a hot asset in the back, Foula riding shotgun. I understand you were in a
vulnerable position Nick. But what I can’t square is Lubov’s sudden decision to
up sticks and leave.’
    ‘What made him jump ship, Nick? That is all we’re trying to
establish,’ added Soleby.
    ‘You know agents, they’re unpredictable.’
    Whatever McEntee knew about agents, he kept to himself. ‘So
they catch you cold,’ McEntee stated, ‘trying to extract an agent. Was that
their starting point for your discussion during your time in Moscow?’
    ‘Discussion?’ Nick scraped back his chair, the thumbscrews
visibly tensing.
    ‘Did they assume that Lubov had handed over his material to
you?’ Soleby asked.
    ‘It crossed their minds.’
    ‘And did he?’ Soleby demanded.
    ‘No.’
    ‘Don’t lie, Nick,’ McEntee warned him. ‘If Lubov was the means
to end, why did they detain you for so long? Not checking the points on your
licence were they?’
    ‘Come on, Nick,’ Soleby cajoled him, ‘What were they looking
for?’
    ‘A confession.’
    ‘What to? An almighty cock-up?’ McEntee said, his lopsided
smile rising higher.
    ‘Look,’ began Nick, only to be cut-off by a flap from one of
Soleby’s enormous hands.
    ‘You listen, Nick,’ Soleby insisted and Nick complied as Soleby
more or less accused him of deliberately misleading them and providing them
with false information to cover his own guilty tracks.
    ‘From our point of view the whole operation was ill-conceived
and poorly executed,’ said McEntee. ‘You’re providing us with more questions
than answers.’
    ‘I made the right decisions given the circumstances at that
time. I did happen to be up to my neck in a spot of bother,’ Nick avowed,
knowing full well that Operation Salvage should have been called Operation
Shambles and he’d be having a word with Parfrey about it.
    ‘Who was at the party in Moscow, Nick? Who was pulling the
strings?’ Soleby ventured, scratching his arm.
    ‘FSB.’
    ‘That it?’ said McEntee, decidedly unimpressed.
    ‘You saying that I’ve been turned?’
    ‘Have you?’ retorted Soleby, leaning forward.
    ‘If you’re going to pursue that line of questioning, I’m
requesting legal representation.’
    ‘Grow up, Nick and stop wasting our time,’ proposed McEntee.
    ‘So you couldn’t be sure if the SVR or GRU were present?’
McEntee politely enquired.
    ‘They didn’t exactly wear name badges,’ snapped Nick. ‘That’s
the problem when you’re blindfolded, you’re not sure of what day it is. The
friendly beatings don’t help much either.’
    ‘And Lubov never passed anything over to you?’ McEntee
wondered, vexed that things were too messy.
    Nick felt queasy, imagining the SIM cut into his sole was about
to come to life and give him away. Double the pressure, double the chances of
him slipping up, admitting to sins that he’d squared the circle in an
unorthodox style and they were waiting to trip him up. Sly smiles from the
thumbscrews implying they had everything they needed to bring a charge, then
suspension and goodnight Nick.
    ‘Lubov wanted out. Have neither of you been listening? He was spooked,
had a bad case of the