Staples was angry, given what a terrible situation London had left him to sort out. A spy about to die, an escape plan that leaked terribly, a KGB net tightening even then. He fully expected to have one deceased double-agent on his hands before the sun went down.
Browning came in with a flowery pink mug of his Darjeeling.
“See you couldn’t find your own in the lunchroom,” Staples said, indicating the mug.
“Ginny McWherter's. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“Holiday?”
“Yep, lucky girl.”
They spread a map on the desktop. Yellow highlight traced the spies’ route from Moscow to Tallinn. It also highlighted travel to Vyborg and Bialystok and several other jumping-off places just in case prying eyes happened to spot it in the bin of rolled-up maps Staples kept beside his desk.
Then they looked at the route MI6 would drive that day. From Moscow to Tallinn, a trip of about twelve hours that Longfellow intended to cover in eleven. Why not? He would have a KGB escort to keep him company and probably even lead the high-speed chase.
Staples rubbed his hands together as he sometimes did when he was frightened while alone in Russia, an embassy island with a foreign flag, outnumbered 280 million to 60.
“All right, let’s get down to KGB watchers.”
“They’ll be out in force,” said Browning, stating the obvious.
“All we have is a protest we might file. That will obtain nothing. Still, we’ll have to do it at the very least. Our chaps are out and about on embassy business, and they have a right to privacy.”
“Privacy?” scoffed Browning. “What’s that in Russia?”
“There’s no such right in Russia,” Staples agreed. “We’re not in London. But it won’t hurt to try. If KGB is smothering our people, this whole thing gets stuck in the mud up to its hubs before it even begins.”
“Agree. If we can coerce them to pen up their hounds, there’s one for the Queen.”
Staples called the Soviet Foreign Ministry. No one he spoke to had any idea what he was talking about. Said one junior Soviet officer, “KGB drives everywhere. The road belongs to everyone.”
Staples hung up, shaking his head. “All I’ve accomplished is to guarantee they will follow our men for sure.”
“They would anyway. It was worth a try.”
“Point.”
Sidney had been thinking. “Hold on, Mr. Ambassador. What if MI6 rented cars with Russian license plates? Why do we have to drive diplomat cars? Just use Russian plates and fit in with the traffic.”
Staples pointed a finger at his deputy. “Bingo! Call them now. Wait, haven’t they already thought of that?”
“I’ll call.”
66
6:05 a.m. Dobrinsky Prospekt, Moscow
Bucharov was anxious to set out after Nikolai when KGB agent Borodokovich tracked him down. “We’ve found where he was fifty minutes ago! He’s left the city. We’ve canvassed the train and bus stations. It appears he’s taken the Leningrad train just this morning.”
“You showed his picture?”
“The station master is sure it was him. He had a fourth-class ticket to Leningrad. Am I driving or you?”
“Never mind. I’m traveling alone. What time did his train leave?”
“Maybe thirty minutes ago, give or take. It was five-thirty on the schedule, but the station master said it always leaves fifteen minutes late.”
“Why did you wait so long to tell me?”
“Masirov thought you had gone on ahead. We looked here last.”
“I called in fifteen minutes ago.”
“We just found this out. We received a call from our agent at the train station.”
Bucharov didn’t try to hide his disgust. Now he was more determined than ever to find the target. “What’s the running time to Leningrad?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Of course, you didn’t. Now you know why I travel alone.”
With that, Bucharov climbed into his Volga and squealed away from the curb. Bucharov knew the answer to his question. The distance between the two cities could be covered in about seven hours at emergency speed. Calls would be made to clear all traffic. The train had a head start, but Bucharov knew he could overtake it and be waiting for Nikolai inside the Leningradsky Station. He knew the precise location where he would shoot the traitor.
His foot pressed the accelerator almost to the floor, and the Volga jumped up to 155 km/h. He switched on the radio and roamed the dial, looking for classical. He chose Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade at the bottom end of the dial, increased the volume, and lay a hand against the gun inside his jacket.
The gun warmed to his body heat.
67
6:15 a.m., British embassy, Moscow
The deputy ambassador called the chief of MI6. Both the deputy and the chief knew the call was tapped, that everything they said was also heard by the KGB listening a block away from the embassy.
“Longfellow, Sidney Browning here.”
“We’re swamped, Brownie. I hope this is important,” said Roy Longfellow.
“Have your boys considered renting Russian cars? The hell with diplomatic license plates the KGB will follow?”
“Certainly, we’ve thought of that. But the diplomatic license plates are our only hope the Border Troops don’t open the trunks. If we rent and show up without Russian plates, we get searched. Never fear, we’re wracking our brains down here, figuring out how to keep them out of our trunks. Now, if you have any good ideas about that, call me back in the next five minutes. Otherwise, I’m busy, Browning.”
68
6:25 a.m., Helsinki Herttoniemi, Finland
MI6's Martin Crawford had patiently stepped through TINKER with the Finns. They were smart people he was dealing with at the agency, and they immediately understood their role. Moreover, they were eager to help with such important exfiltration.
Traveling under false passports, Emma Magnuson and Franklin Bolling had arrived in Helsinki the night before. They checked into the Helsinki Herttoniemi Hotel down by the seaport, and early the next morning, drove to the ferry landing. Acclimating themselves as to what to expect there, they then went to the rendezvous point.
That rendezvous, a city park one block off the main thoroughfare, had been chosen—and visited and photographed—when Emma Magnuson first formulated the TINKER escape plan. It was a mile away from the seaport.
The park wasn't visible from the main road and yet was close enough that Longfellow and Mallard could get Nikolai and Sasha out of the automobile trunk as soon as possible after crossing.
The MI6-SUPO team searched the area. Emma Magnuson referred to her coded notes and photographs in confirming the location when they located the park, the rendezvous.
"I like it here," she said. "The park's in a nice, quiet neighborhood. We might see at most two or three mothers watching their kids on the swings or slides during the day."
Bolling nodded his agreement. "Well done to whoever chose this park. It works perfectly, plus it's only a block off the main road. Simple to find."