‘I am sorry that the operation did not achieve its planned outcome,’ he said. ‘However, though it did not accomplish its ultimate goal, Project Mykl should not be considered a total failure.’ He paused briefly as Churkin’s eyes narrowed. ‘Had it not been for the destabilisation of the Mykl asset by Major Yegerova’s good intentions, I believe it would have been a success. It was not, but there is much that can be learned from the operation, and I would humbly ask this committee not to squander the possibilities Project Mykl represents.’

There was another pause as Churkin made a show of looking down the row of silent men to see if Rykov’s defence had moved any of them to suddenly want to speak. It hadn’t.

‘Any one of the things you have admitted would be grounds for the severest disciplinary action,’ Churkin said, turning again to Rykov. ‘Together they are beyond reckless. Even absolute success would only have inflamed the threats the Soviet Union faces from foreign forces.’

Rykov held his breath, waiting for Churkin to deliver his pre-determined sentence.

‘However,’ the colonel general said, ‘the responsibility is not yours alone. This committee finds that Line Z has, since its inception, been given too much licence and, as a department, must be brought under stricter control. Therefore, it will be placed under the direct command of the office of the deputy head of the first chief directorate with immediate effect. In addition, all work connected to Project Mykl will be suspended pending a more thorough review, and you will be demoted to the rank of captain.’

So, Rykov hadn’t been doomed. In fact, he’d been saved. Demoted, but not reassigned, court-martialled or sent to Siberia. And Churkin hadn’t abandoned him, or Project Mykl—in fact, he wanted it for himself. It would be shut down for a few months, and then, once it and Rykov’s supposed transgressions had been forgotten, it’d be quietly reactivated.

There was nothing else to say, except for Churkin to adjourn the tribunal. Rykov bowed his head, keeping his eyes cast down at the floor and a solemn look on his face. It lasted until Churkin and the four other men left the room.

Chapter 61

Chapter 61

It was a sunny morning at Rabley Heath, and Richard Knox was leaning against the small kitchen counter in the gatehouse, waiting for the kettle to boil as he poured out a saucer of milk. The radio was on, but he wasn’t listening to it. Since Wilson had been returned to Downing Street with a healthy majority, the country’s broadcasters and commentators had quietened down. Times were still tricky at home and across the Commonwealth, but the news cycle was no longer constantly prophesying the collapse of Britain and her old dominions.