Comrade Charlie (34 page)

The impossibility yet to get a specific date when they could expect to have a full set of drawings for the Star Wars missile housing was slightly more aggravating, because Berenkov could not move against Charlie Muffin as he intended until the drawings were safely completed. But here again there was a lot more for Berenkov to establish before the trap could be effectively and destructively sprung, so the inconvenience was minimal.

Berenkov did not inform London of either easy reaction, however. He demanded that Krogh be constantly pressed, to provide a finishing date, and in the same batch of instructions – sent not through the intercepted channel but in the unread diplomatic bag – ordered Losev to re-establish contact with Henry Blackstone and advise the man to expect a new control under a new codename, Visitor. The same day as Berenkov dispatched those instructions he sent a message over the open channel. It read: ALERT VISITOR SOUTHWARDS.

36

All she could do was apologize, decided Natalia: admit to Charlie she'd behaved ridiculously and that she didn't know why and ask him to forgive her and say of course she wanted to stay and be with him for ever. Which she'd always known she did and dreamed about and all she'd thought about from the day he'd left her in Moscow and made even more ridiculous what had happened the previous night. Of course she was frightened: would be, for weeks and months and years. But that wasn't sufficient reason for what she'd done and said. Or rather,
hadn't
said. Natalia hadn't known then and didn't know now why she'd been so stupid. Stupid and ridiculous and…her mind seized, trying to find words in either Russian or English brutal enough to fit her idiocy and self-anger and failing. Just apologize: hold him and love him and apologize.

Natalia was impatient for the day to be over, to put things right between them. She was distracted at the air show, which she didn't enjoy anyway because there was too much noise and too much technical discussion and because she couldn't really see the purpose of her being there at all. And unconsciously – but dangerously – dismissive to others in the Soviet delegation until Gennadi Redin asked if something were wrong or if she were unwell, and Natalia made a belatedly determined effort to show she was neither and take attention – and curiosity – away from herself. She was early in the hotel bar that night and among the last to leave for the dining room, and table-hopped in their enclosed section until she was sure she was no longer the focus of any particular interest from the KGB escorts.

But always, to the minute, aware of the time. She pleaded tiredness to free herself from the tactile Golovanov over coffee in the lounge and was back in her room by eleven, careful to travel up to the sixth floor with another female interpreter and be seen to enter her room. Inside she stayed close to the door, intent upon the sounds from the corridor. The lift arrived, forcing her to withdraw, the first time she tried to leave. Natalia allowed five minutes before attempting to leave again. This time the corridor was deserted. She locked her door and in seconds was at the central stairway which looped around the lift-shaft, pushing through the firedoors but stopping on the landing, listening now for the sound of anyone climbing up to confront her. She heard nothing and started down, walking quite openly, the explanation of changing her mind and deciding to rejoin the late-night group in the coffee lounge or the bar already prepared, as it had been every night she had descended like this. Natalia encountered no one going down to the third floor, where she stopped, listening once more. There was still no sound from below. And the corridor along the third floor was empty. Now she hurried, thrusting through the firedoors and scurrying the short distance to Charlie's door, which was ajar as it had always been.

He was half on the bed, his back against the headboard, the television on but with the volume low. He got up at once, coming to her, and Natalia reached out and clung to him, her head against his chest, and found herself crying – like so much else without knowing why.

Charlie smoothed her hair and she felt his lips against her forehead. He said: ‘You're OK. You're safe. What is it?'

Natalia shook her head, still against his chest, and said: ‘Nothing.'

‘You're crying!'

‘I could hardly wait to get here. I've been so miserable, so
angry
, with myself all day. I don't know…' Natalia foundered to a halt.
Why
were the words in her head at other times never there when she needed them!

‘I don't…' started Charlie.

‘I'm sorry,' Natalia interrupted, wanting to say it all. ‘So very, very sorry. Last night was a nonsense –
I
was nonsensical – and I can't understand…' There was another momentary stumble. ‘…I'm ashamed and sorry and say you'll forgive me.' Babbling like a fool, Natalia thought: I'm babbling like a fool – I
am
a
fool – and making myself appear a bigger idiot.

Charlie pushed her away, holding her at arm's length. Natalia was red-eyed and red-nosed and serious-faced. He said: ‘That it?'

She jerked her head up and down, not speaking because she couldn't get the words in the correct order.

He smiled at her and said: ‘You've got a dew-drop on the end of your nose.'

Natalia gave a cry and swivelled away from him, scrubbing her hand across her face and said: ‘My god…I don't believe it!'

‘Actually you didn't have.'

‘But…'

‘I had to do something to stop you cutting your wrists and bleeding to death.'

She smiled back at him shyly. ‘Oh I love you so much!' And she did: utterly and completely. How could she have the previous night…she began to think and then stopped, because she didn't have to go on. He'd forgiven her, made a joke about it and he was the most wonderful man she'd ever known and she was going to be with him for the rest of her life. For ever and ever and ever.

He led her further into the room, to the only easy chair again, and said: ‘Last night
was
a nonsense, wasn't it?'

Natalia gave a helpless shoulder lift. ‘I don't know why…'

‘… You already told me.'

‘You haven't said you forgive me.'

‘You haven't definitely said you're going to stay.'

‘I'm going to stay, my darling,' assured Natalia fervently. ‘Of course I am going to stay.'

‘You haven't told me about Eduard,' Charlie reminded solemnly.

‘Perhaps because I don't want to.'

‘What happened!' demanded Charlie, misunderstanding.

Natalia told him of Eduard's last leave and of her son's coarseness and of how much the boy had reminded her of her abandoning husband. ‘He was awful! Disgusting! I hated it!'

‘He's still your son,' frowned Charlie, in another reminder.

‘He doesn't want me, need me, any more,' insisted Natalia. ‘I'm sure his only reaction to my not going back will be to worry about his career. And under Gorbachev I don't think that will be affected: that he'll be affected.'

‘There's a lot to plan. To work out,' said Charlie. ‘I'll do it all.'

‘I won't defect,' Natalia announced.

Charlie stared at her, bewildered. ‘What!'

‘I'll run with you. Stay with you. But I won't go through the debriefing routine: tell your people things that will make me a traitor.' The determination had not been so positively formed in her mind the previous night – she hadn't
had
such a determination the previous night – but Natalia abruptly wondered if subconsciously that hadn't been partially responsible for what she now considered an aberration. Maybe Charlie would understand. Maybe he wouldn't. It was, after all, illogical, although not at all to her. Technically she
would
be a defector, a traitor: fit the description of all the denunciations that might be made against her. But not in reality, according to her own definition. She was remaining in a foreign, alien country with the man she loved and who loved her, in return. But that was all. She didn't intend disclosing any details of her previous operational life, any secrets. She felt for the Soviet Union as only a Russian could feel: could understand, even. She wouldn't betray or disgrace it.

‘I see,' said Charlie doubtfully.

‘I hope you do.'

‘There'll be pressure.'

‘I won't need to apply for asylum, if I'm your wife,' pointed out Natalia.

‘No,' Charlie agreed, but still doubtfully. Professional decision time for him as well, he realized. There was no point in discussing it with her now, overcrowding her with ideas of change and sacrifice.

‘I can't avoid the way I feel,' offered the woman.

‘I said I understood.'

‘When?'

The decisive question surprised Charlie. Even more surprising – astonishing – he realized that although he'd been consumed with her staying with him he hadn't given any thought to the mechanics of achieving it. He said: ‘I'll need to think. To sort it out.'

‘It can work, can't it?' Natalia demanded, doubtful herself now.

‘Of course it can,' said Charlie encouragingly.

‘We are going to be happy, aren't we?'

Charlie leaned across the narrow space separating them and pulled her to him, on the bed. ‘I don't have to tell you that.'

‘I want to hear you say it.'

‘We're going to be happy,' said Charlie obediently. ‘It's going to be difficult and involve a lot of adjustments and there are going to be disputes and arguments but mostly we're going to be happy.'

‘I know that,' said Natalia. ‘I'm prepared for it: all of it.'

Was she, wondered Charlie. He said: ‘How closely are you watched?'

Natalia hesitated. ‘Fairly closely,' she conceded. She felt enormous relief at having committed herself. And anxiety, too. Anxiousness to
do
it: positively to flee and set up home with him. For the first time Natalia realized that in Moscow she'd never thought of their relationship as being properly settled and established: that it was as transitory as it had proved to be.

‘Is there the possibility of your getting away from the group to be completely by yourself?'

Again there was not an immediate reply. Then she said: ‘I've never actually tried it, not here. On the other trips there were shopping expeditions but everyone had to go in parties of three or four. And there always seemed to be someone from the local embassy, ostensibly to help with any language difficulties.'

‘When do you think you'll have most time?'

Natalia considered once more. Then she said: ‘Towards the end, I suppose. The days we go to the air show are fairly regimented.'

‘What about feigning illness? Staying behind one day?'

She shook her head at once. ‘They'd call the embassy doctor. Even if I managed to fool him someone from the embassy would stay with me. I might attract attention to myself, trying to do that.'

‘The end then,' agreed Charlie.

‘How will we do it?'

Something else he had not properly formulated in his mind. ‘The simpler the better,' said Charlie. ‘I'll fix it.'

‘Take me to bed, Charlie.'

He did and it was better than before because neither of them was as anxious to prove anything. Afterwards Charlie said: ‘In a few days we'll be together all the time.'

Beside him he felt Natalia suddenly shiver, as if she were cold. She said: ‘Make it happen: please make it happen.'

Richard Harkness' emotions were mixed. There was immense satisfaction, at being named controller of the special, inter-agency task force to combat whatever the Soviets were evolving, because he saw that as the surest indicator yet of his inevitably getting the permanent, more important appointment. But there was also some caution. There unquestionably
was
an operation under way and they had cable exchanges to prove it. But not the slightest evidence yet
what
it was. Which created the dilemma for Harkness. Precisely because his task force was inter-agency whatever he did now would make him the focus of those agencies, particularly Ml5 who would regard the matter rightfully theirs as internal counter-intelligence and resent his usurping their authority and responsibility. If he got it right – he
had
to get it right – the prestige and the accolades would be his. But if there were a mistake and things went wrong, the backbiting and sniping would start at once, ridiculing and denigrating him. So as well as being a satisfied man Richard Harkness was a worried one.

Within an hour of his return from the Joint Intelligence Committee meeting at which the task force had been created with him in charge Harkness summoned Witherspoon, who immediately responded with congratulations, through which Harkness sat patiently, nodding and smiling. Then he said: ‘But we haven't got one
definite
fact to guide us!'

‘Yes we have,' challenged Witherspoon at once. ‘And so far we've overlooked it.'

‘What?' demanded Harkness. The other man was young, much younger than officers were normally considered for promotion, but Harkness was thinking increasingly of elevating Witherspoon when he himself got the full director generalship. These past few months Witherspoon had proven himself an invaluable sounding board.

‘The embassy itself!' insisted Witherspoon. ‘That's where the Moscow messages are going to. And from which they're being answered.'

‘And upon which there is a permanent watch!' accepted Harkness.

‘Recorded observation which you've now got authority to call for,' reminded Witherspoon. ‘The surveillance reports could take us to the next link in the chain.'

‘I'll demand them,' said Harkness at once. ‘And I want you to take control of the search: it should be fairly concentrated because we've got the date of the first intercepted message. There wouldn't seem to be any point in going back further than that.'