Comrade Charlie (33 page)

‘No,' agreed Natalia, conscious of Charlie's guilt. ‘Like you said, poor man.'

‘I didn't know,' repeated Charlie.

‘What about you?' demanded Natalia quickly. ‘What was your part in the operation if you didn't know about Sampson?'

Charlie hesitated, and wondered why he did. He said: ‘My being there was nothing to do with Sampson at all. I'd trapped Berenkov here in England and we knew he had been promoted through the KGB after he was repatriated. Our Director General guessed Berenkov, being the sort of man he was, would befriend me in Moscow, which he did. The hope was that by my running back he'd come under suspicion in Dzerzhinsky Square: maybe even be discredited. That was something else I didn't know, until I returned. I was told to make a series of contact meetings with a source whose identity I didn't know but that if the source didn't turn up – which of course he didn't, because there wasn't one – to get back here.'

‘Which you did,' reminded Natalia pointedly.

‘I've wished I hadn't, a million times,' said Charlie, just as pointedly.

‘Berenkov wasn't discredited,' she revealed. ‘He's still head of the First Chief Directorate. It was he who transferred me from debriefing.'

Charlie's hesitancy now was from his uncertainty how to guide the conversation. He said: ‘Berenkov appointed you personally?'

‘When I was summoned I thought it was to do with us: that they'd found out something we hadn't thought of and that I was going to be punished, after all.'

‘What
is
your function now?' demanded Charlie.

Natalia told him of Berenkov's appointment interview and of the overseas visits she had already made and of which Charlie was already aware. She said: ‘Berenkov regards the move as worthwhile: my assessments have proved accurate so far.'

‘Are there often department changes like this within your service?'

Natalia lifted and dropped her shoulders again. ‘I don't know. I haven't heard of them.'

Neither had he, thought Charlie. He said: ‘Weren't you surprised?'

‘Very,' conceded Natalia at once. She smiled and added: ‘Pleased, too. I never thought it possible but I prayed for this.'

Enough, thought Charlie. He said: ‘Who's the man you were with?'

‘Man?' frowned Natalia, puzzled.

‘Last night, in the bar?'

Natalia smiled again, shaking her head this time. ‘His name is Golovanov. He's the chief aeronautical engineer from the Ilyushin plant and I've only known him for two days and he gropes a lot. OK?'

Charlie smiled back at her, shamefaced. ‘I wanted to know.'

‘There isn't anyone, Charlie. There hasn't been, not at all.'

‘Good.'

‘And?'

‘No,' assured Charlie in return. ‘No one.' What about Laura? Not the same, he told himself: not the same at all.

‘I wondered,' admitted Natalia. ‘Worried, which was stupid. Not my business, I mean.'

‘Isn't it your business?'

‘We've talked enough tonight.'

‘Why avoid it?'

‘I'm frightened.'

‘That's ridiculous.'

‘I know.'

‘So?'

‘Please, Charlie!'

‘No,' he refused.

‘Later.'

‘You've got to decide.'

‘I know.'

‘You said you loved me.'

‘I do.'

‘So what's left to decide?'

‘You decided: you came back. You wouldn't stay in Moscow.'

‘I told you it was a mistake I've regretted, a million times.'

‘And I've told you I'm frightened.'

‘You don't have to be.'

‘Of course I do!' said Natalia impatiently.

Charlie wished he had not been so glib. ‘We can do it!' he implored.

‘I don't want to talk any more, not tonight.'

‘Or last night, either.'

‘Please!' she said again.

‘I want you to stay. I want you to stay and marry me,' he declared.

Natalia stared at him, knowing that was exactly what she wanted, too, but unable to bring herself to say the actual words. She said: ‘Let me think.'

‘There's nothing to think about!'

‘Tomorrow.'

‘What'll be different then from now?'

‘Tomorrow,' she insisted.

‘I…' started Charlie and then stopped. Enough again, he decided.

‘What?'

‘Nothing.'

‘It's late; I should go back.'

‘You were later going back last night,' he reminded her.

‘I don't feel…'

‘…that wasn't what I meant.'

Once more they stared at each other for several moments, neither speaking. Then Natalia said: ‘It's been my fault.'

‘Mine,' contradicted Charlie.

She made an impatient gesture. ‘Both our faults then!'

‘I don't want there to be another mistake, not like last time.'

Natalia stood, impulsively. ‘Tomorrow,' she repeated.

‘Tomorrow,' Charlie accepted.

There was a minuscule escalation, the requirement for the London embassy to reply on the same eavesdropped code. The message from Berenkov, in Moscow, said: HAS PAST VISITOR MET GUEST? Losev, obedient to his instructions, replied: ENCOUNTER CONFIRMED.

‘It's building up!' insisted Harkness.

‘A visitor
is
a guest,' pointed out Witherspoon.

‘Legend identities?' queried Harkness.

‘It's a possibility,' suggested Witherspoon.

‘Work on the supposition,' said Harkness.

35

Emil Krogh believed it would be the last day he'd need at the factory and he was glad because he thought Springley had started to become suspicious. On the last visit the man had hung around the tiny temporary office like he had on the first occasion but his attitude was different: then he had been solicitous and eager to help but now he was querulous and towards the end had openly questioned why the American wanted access to a set of drawings he had already studied. The true reason was that Krogh had taken insufficient notes from his previous examination and had two drawings unfinished at the Kensington house, adding to the backlog that the finicky Russian was creating. Krogh improvised, inventing a story of possibly finding an incompatibility between what the two factories were creating and needing absolutely to check. He actually sketched the American companion piece to which the English part was to be joined, supposedly to substantiate his query, and Springley had eventually appeared satisfied – but only just.

Petrin kept pressing him for a completion date for the drawings which Krogh at the moment was refusing to give, convinced that if he provided a deadline the Russians would insist he meet it, and he didn't want any more pressure than he was already under. But in his own mind he had decided another week. It was a foregone conclusion that the technical expert with the moustache would insist upon his usual translated interrogations, so a positive return to California was impossible to fix yet but Krogh was hopeful the delay wouldn't extend for more than three days beyond his own finishing estimation. Then home. Home to Peggy, with all this settled and behind him.

He'd written to Peggy, two long letters which he'd never done on a trip away from home before, telling her how much he wanted to get back. Which he did. Desperately. Back to the safety of people and places he knew. To be treated properly, like a human being, not disparaged and sneered at, like they constantly sneered at him now. He'd told Peggy he loved her, too, which was something else he hadn't done for longer than he could remember. And he did. He was going to prove it when he got back: make it up to her for all the half-assed screwing about and the neglect. He'd written that he was tired and wanted to rest – which he did, aching from fatigue although Petrin's pills were giving him some sort of sleep at nights – and that he intended they should take a vacation together. That's what he needed. To get away, just he and Peggy. Somewhere they could just relax, sleep a lot. Eat good food. Get well. The reflection came quite naturally but it surprised Krogh and then he wondered why it should. That was how he
did
feel about what had happened in America and was continuing here: like he was suffering a debilitating illness during which he'd done things over which he did not have complete control and which therefore he couldn't be called upon to account for. A person couldn't be blamed – accused of anything – when they were ill. That wasn't fair. But it was going to be all right. He was going to get well again soon now.

He announced when he arrived at the Isle of Wight factory that he thought this would be his last visit and that maybe he should say goodbye to Bishop and the other directors who'd welcomed him, which had the effect Krogh wanted, of getting Springley away from constantly looking over his shoulder. The project chief returned to say the chairman wanted to give him a farewell lunch and Krogh said he thought he would be through in time and that he'd be happy to accept.

Because it was a last-minute arrangement it was not so stiffly formal as the day he arrived, with less people in the directors' dining room. The chairman wanted the assurance that he'd had access to everything he wanted, which Krogh gave the man, recounting his invented story of an unfounded incompatibility to make it seem his trip had been worthwhile and hoping further to satisfy Springley, who was at the lunch. Bishop said if there were any uncertainties that arose later in his mind he was always welcome to return and Krogh promised to remember that. There was small talk about how much longer he intended remaining in England, and Spear, the managing director, agreed that another week in London would be nice at this time of the year. Then Spear disclosed he hoped to visit the West Coast in the near future and Krogh responded as he knew he was expected, inviting the man to be his guest both in California and at the plant, and they exchanged contact cards.

Krogh – with Petrin as his constant travelling protector – was back in London by late afternoon, although as had become their custom there was no open contact between them until they got to Kensington and the usual reception committee of Russians. To whom, generally and without sufficient thought, Krogh announced he did not need to visit the British factory any more.

‘Good!' said Petrin at once and ahead of Losev, his open satisfaction reminiscent of the moment Krogh wrongly declared he was finished, in San Francisco's McLaren Park. ‘So what's the positive completion date?' The demand had arrived from Moscow overnight: there'd been no explanation but the request had the highest priority designation and was in Berenkov's name.

Krogh gestured towards Guzins, hunched at the large document table over the drawings already completed but still unreleased, scribbling reminder notes for later queries in a lined notebook. ‘Shouldn't you be asking him?'

‘I'm asking you!'

‘I don't know,' refused Krogh, enjoying his flimsy superiority. ‘The completion if I am allowed to work uninterrupted will be very different from when I can possibly finish if we have to endure the nonsense of these nightly question-and-answer sessions.'

Losev had officially received the completion date demand, as the London
rezident
, and was enjoying the difficulty of his American counterpart. Wanting to exacerbate it he used English to talk to Petrin, so that the American could understand. Losev said: ‘Moscow was very insistent, remember?'

Petrin ignored the intrusion. ‘I'll say…' he started and then hesitated, showing his uncertainty.

Krogh was immediately aware of it. Cutting in quickly he said: ‘It doesn't really matter what you say, does it? I am the person doing the job and I say I can't give you a positive date yet.'

Guzins seemed to become aware of a dispute going on in the room, although he could not understand what was being said. The moustached space scientist blinked up from his drawings, eyes moving between each of the other men in the room. ‘Is there a problem?' he asked mildly.

‘Be quiet,' dismissed Petrin, exasperated at how he'd so easily lost control of the situation and knowing there was little he could do to recover. Capitulating, he said to the American: ‘Give me your estimate, then?'

‘I can't,' insisted Krogh adamantly, buoyed with unexpected courage.

‘That's going to irritate Moscow,' suggested Losev, again talking to the other Russian but still in English.

Petrin looked contemptuously at the man, groping for a necessarily crushing retort. ‘But not as much, I'm sure, as your abysmal failure to get what was required from here in the first place,' he managed. It was not as good as he would have liked but it was good enough. Losev's face flared at once and Petrin thought, contentedly: More than good enough.

‘I have a lot of questions,' said Guzins from the work table.

‘Later,' ordered Petrin curtly.

‘Do you want me to talk? Or draw?' demanded Krogh.

‘Draw,' said Petrin. Heavily he added: ‘Draw quickly.'

‘There's Moscow's cable, which requires an answer,' said Losev, trying to fight back.

‘Which I want to see before it is transmitted,' said Petrin.

Alexei Berenkov was displeased by the difficulties that appeared to be arising in England but not as seriously as either of the Russian
rezidents
in London imagined he would be.

Photographs of what was being stolen from Britain had always been an important part of the ensnarement Berenkov was plotting for Charlie Muffin. The abrupt and delaying insistences of Yuri Guzins merely required their being taken sooner and more extensively than he had originally intended, but in many respects that would be a useful rehearsal. The need for the introduction at all also showed that any delay was caused by the obstructiveness of the Baikonur scientists, not from any inability of the First Chief Directorate of the KGB, which was a positive bonus.