The Factory by Brian Freemantle Read Free Book Online

she’s blown. She warned us, about an hour ago.’
    â€˜Where?’ demanded Whitehead.
    â€˜Liepaja, in Latvia,’ disclosed Bell. ‘The independence movements in the various Soviet republics are worrying the hell out of the KGB because they threaten the very internal control that Soviet intelligence has tried to achieve since 1917. We’ve infiltrated informants – good, reliable agents – in every republic: known every move the KGB has made. It’s a marvellous spy system: one of the best we’ve ever had.’
    â€˜She’s not been arrested yet?’
    Bell shook his head.
    â€˜So order her to get out,’ said Whitehead simply.
    â€˜She’s refused,’ replied Bell, just as simply. ‘She says she doesn’t positively know: that it might be a false alarm and she isn’t going to panic.’
    â€˜Maybe she’s right.’
    â€˜I can’t take that chance,’ said Bell. ‘She knows the chain, the identities of too many people throughout Russia. If she’s seized, she’ll talk. She won’t be able to resist interrogation. So I lose the entire network, not just one agent I could replace.’
    â€˜What do you want me to do?’
    â€˜Go in and get her out.’
    Difficult: maybe impossible, thought Whitehead, remembering the Director General’s earlier words. He said: ‘She’s defying you. What if she won’t come with me?’
    The Director General stared at the other man for several moments. Then he said: ‘Kill her.’
    *
    Samuel Bell had killed someone: Anthony Marshall, one of his own intelligence officers. Not personally, but sent him to his death, wrongly believing him to be the traitor who had infiltrated the Factory: an operation-destroying traitor Bell believed still to be active but in the search for whom he couldn’t, now, involve internal security because of how the Marshall killing would personally reflect upon him. As the mess of his private life would reflect upon him if there were an intensive investigation.
    â€˜I think people are beginning to talk about us,’ declared Ann.
    Bell’s wife was on holiday, which enabled him to stay the entire week at Ann’s apartment, not just the once or twice that was normal. He was at the drinks tray, refilling his whisky glass. He turned to her and said: ‘You sure: has someone said something direct?’
    The girl shook her head. ‘Just attitudes, really. Everyone’s very wary of me: politely cautious. And no one has made a pass or asked me to go out with them for weeks. Would you be upset, at it becoming public knowledge?’
    Bell did not immediately reply, wanting time. There was no reason why he should have been distressed, although he supposed it would slightly diminish the respect of his authority: boss sleeps with personal assistant. Certainly his empty marriage had been a disaster, before Ann, so there could be no criticism of her for its collapse. Instead of answering he said: ‘Would you? I’m twenty years older than you, remember?’
    â€˜No,’ said the girl. ‘I wouldn’t be upset at all. I’d be quite proud, although not as proud as I’d be as your wife.’
    It was the closest she’d ever come, since their affair began, to criticizing him for letting things drift and not doing something positive: for not divorcing Pamela and marrying her. Not yet, Bell decided. The first priority was cleaning the Factory of its traitor. Maybe then he’d do something, although he wished he felt more for Ann. He said: ‘I wouldn’t be upset. I’d be proud, too.’
    Peter Whitehead did not know whether he could kill anyone: especially whether he could kill a woman. He’d been trained to do so, of course. And he accepted the professional reasoning, preventing the destruction of many by removing just one, even if the morality were more difficult. But he still