Read Online The Factory by Brian Freemantle - Free Book Online Page B

a year ago because he had become a fanatic. Very unreliable. Began talking about killing people: making examples.’
    â€˜That makes me very glad I didn’t use him,’ said Bell sincerely.
    â€˜In two weeks’ time there’s an official Soviet visit to London, headed by Alexei Palov. He’s an old-timer, been around long before Gorbachev came to power. Palov was high up in the Interior Ministry when Shidak was jailed. He’s always blamed Palov, personally.’
    â€˜What connection can there be between Shidak’s disappearance and Palov coming here?’
    â€˜Shidak lived in this country with an English girl, Alice Irving. It was she who reported him missing. She says he’d become very agitated recently, when he learned of Palov’s visit …’ Hoare paused. Then he said: ‘It’s not just Shidak who’s missing. We didn’t know it but he collected guns. Two, an American M-16 rifle and a Colt automatic, aren’t in the collection any more.’
    The Director General pushed his drink aside, for once not wanting it. ‘You think Shidak is planning an assassination!’
    â€˜I’d like not to,’ said Hoare. ‘Can you imagine the repercussions if he did? Especially if it were discovered that he has had some connection with our intelligence services. We want him found and locked up, throughout the time the Russians are here.’
    â€˜Not my department,’ Bell tried to avoid. ‘We’re involved overseas.’
    â€˜I can’t risk a link with people he’s already been associated with, can I?’ argued Hoare. ‘It’s got to be an agency that’s been completely uninvolved until now. Which means you.’
    George Fowler was a plump, rosy-cheeked, usually smiling man who looked the sort of person who entertained with conjuring tricks at children’s parties, which he sometimes did: he had four grandchildren and ran a scout troop near his home in Richmond. He was one of Bell’s longest serving and most trusted operatives.
    Fowler wasn’t smiling today. He listened grave-faced as the Director General recounted his lunchtime meeting with the Foreign Office diplomat and at the end said: ‘And all I’ve got is two weeks!’
    â€˜I know it isn’t going to be easy. I wish it were.’
    â€˜Are we going to warn the Russians?’
    â€˜Only if we have to. Britain is still officially responsible for Soviet security while they’re in the country, whether we tell them or not.’
    â€˜Any leads at all?’
    The Director General shook his head. ‘I can’t think of any, apart from the girl.’
    â€˜Shidak’s armed?’ queried Fowler.
    Bell anticipated the reason for the question. ‘You should be, too,’ he agreed.
    â€˜What if it comes to a confrontation?’
    â€˜Kill him before he kills you,’ ordered Bell at once.
    The girl who opened the door to him reminded Fowler of his own daughter, just after she had left university and embraced causes like nuclear disarmament and environmental protection. Alice Irving wore a long skirt and an enveloping sweater. Her hair was a tangle of ringlets, which was a carefully contrived style, not neglect, and there was no make-up. She regarded him hostilely, an automatic reaction to authority.
    â€˜I’ve told the police everything I know,’ she said. She remained at the door of the flat in London’s Wandsworth, not inviting him in.
    Fowler gave her one of his best smiles and said: ‘I really want to find him. I’d appreciate your going through it again, although I know it’s a bore.’
    â€˜Maybe he just got fed up with me,’ said Alice, depressed.
    â€˜I don’t think that’s likely, do you?’ flattered Fowler.
    The girl smiled, despite herself. ‘I suppose you’d better come in.’
    The interior of the apartment was like his daughter’s had been,