Doctor Gavrilov (37 page)

Gavrilov looked down at the floor. He said, ‘The Russian authorities may deny it.' He paused and said, as if Tim needed this spelt out to him, ‘If this were true then Libya would be in a position to make a bomb.'

Tim said, ‘OK, I understand,' and Gavrilov said, ‘Then go.' Tim hesitated; he suddenly felt enormous pity for Gavrilov. He said, ‘Can't you get out? I was talking to a woman in the hotel. Her husband was Libyan, had abducted her children and brought them over here. She had come over from Malta, without a visa, in a fishing boat; she said it was easy.'

Gavrilov turned and looked at Tim as if he had taken leave of his senses. Then he turned away as a doctor came and handed him a packet of tablets and then pointed along the corridor. Tim felt awkward; he was also acutely aware of what Gavrilov would feel if he knew that he, Tim, was Katie's lover. He wanted to offer him some crumb of comfort; he said, ‘Katie…' He was going to say something like, sends her love, but it sounded so trivial that he couldn't say it. ‘She wanted to know if you were all right.'

An expression of pain shot through Gavrilov's face and he struggled to speak. ‘Tell her… even though I know it is all finished…'

He stopped, abruptly. Tim could see a man approach and come to stand by the wall. Gavrilov stood up, moved towards him and they walked together towards the door. At the entrance a second man stepped forward, fell in beside him, escorting him along the corridor.

Tim stood up and followed at a discreet distance. He went down to the entrance where, through the glass doors, he saw them open the car door for Gavrilov. There was something about the way they half helped, half pushed him into the back seat which seemed utterly hostile and contemptuous. Tim was suddenly filled with fear. They behaved as if they had arrested him; Gavrilov, too, had looked frightened. It occurred to Tim that they might suspect him of knowing what he knew, that they might interrogate him, and that Gavrilov might tell them that he had told Tim. All these thoughts flashed through Tim's mind in an instant. He knew that if what Gavrilov had told him were true then what Tim knew was enough to have him arrested, questioned, killed… he must get out at once.

Tim was light-headed, his heart beat faster, he felt hot and cold, exhilarated, more alive than he had ever felt. He took a taxi back to the hotel. It was as if he was moving in a film, every action, every movement, seemed calculated, unspontaneous. He went up to his room and put a call through to London.

Rowley answered the telephone himself.

Tim said, ‘Look, it's a waste of time my staying here any longer… I think I've got everything I need. I've got a terrible toothache, I need to see a dentist, could you ask Sarah to make an appointment for me? I'll get the boat to Malta tonight if I can get a ticket…'

Rowley was too experienced to ask him any questions. He said, ‘Very good, Tim, we'll expect you shortly. Take care.' Tim went down to reception and asked them if he could get a ticket. He made a big deal about the toothache, about not trusting Libya dentists. Lewis said that it was all fixed, the boat left that afternoon, they had just two hours to wait.

Tim sat down in the hotel lobby, and waited.

They drove Dmitry back to Tajura in silence. He could not understand exactly what had happened. Who could have planted the bomb? The most obvious explanation was that it might have been an action by the Israelis or the CIA, who had somehow found out that he was working in Libya. But how had they timed it? No-one knew he was going to Tripoli that day, they would have needed time to prepare.

Of course, the Russians knew what he was doing, knew the time of his appointment. But this chain of thought was so horrific that he didn't want to even contemplate it. Could they have decided that he was useless to them, worse than useless, so that they had decided to abort their plans and end his life? Could this be possible? He broke out in a cold sweat.

Dr Masoud was waiting for him at Tajura. As they crossed the courtyard towards the accommodation block, Masoud expressed his concern that they had not given him adequate protection. From now on, he would forbid Dmitry to leave the centre. He said that everything he needed could be provided there.

Dmitry locked the door to his room and lay on the bed, exhausted. He wanted only to sleep, but he slept fitfully, jolted awake at midnight from a strange half-dream. He dreamt he was a star, falling into darkness, consuming itself with heat and fire. He stood up and went to the window, looked out at the moon hanging brightly in the sky over the reactor building. He thought, this cannot go on. I have had enough. Somehow I am going to get out of here, go home, see Katie and the children. He felt as if there must be some hidden reason behind his miraculous escape. He was convinced he wasn't meant to die, that there was something he had yet to do; it was as if there was someone or something directing his destiny, who, like a good torturer, time and again pulled him back from the brink.

T
IM crept up the stairs and into the bedroom. Katie was asleep, curled up with her arms around a pillow as if to comfort herself. She breathed slowly, deeply, silently. He lay down beside her, gently so as not to wake her, and then, unable to resist, touched her face with his hand. She opened her eyes; there was a moment in which, startled, she didn't recognise, didn't react to him; and then she sat up suddenly, jolted into full awareness, clutching the sheets tightly around her.

She said, ‘You come back early. Did it go all right?'

‘Yes, fine.'

He kissed her and she responded, but she did so cautiously, slightly guarded, as if she didn't want either to reject or encourage him. He thought he knew why; that she wanted to ask about her husband, but didn't quite dare, so soon. Tim felt a rush of irritation. He didn't want to talk about it, now; he would rather just make love. He would rather Katie didn't care.

She was looking at him, her lips slightly apart, her eyes fixed on his face, expectant, half hoping, half fearing the worst. Tim thought he should get it over with. He said, ‘Katie, I met your husband. He's alive. He's still working at Tajura.'

She almost jumped at this and stared at him, her eyes wild, her hand outstretched. She said, ‘I don't understand. You mean, you actually saw him?'

‘I was sitting right beside him.'

She was confused. She couldn't take it in. Her hand went up to smooth back her hair in nervous, quick, jabbing movements. Then she smiled; she laughed; she wrapped her arms around her knees and clutched them tightly. She asked, ‘Did he say…'

‘We couldn't talk. I didn't want anyone to know that I recognised him. It was like that.'

Katie said, ‘I see.' But he thought she didn't see. Her face was suddenly strained and anxious. ‘Where did you see him?'

Tim said, ‘There was a car bomb in Tripoli –'

‘Yes I heard. It was on the news. I rang Rowley… he said you were all right.'

‘Did they mention any names? Did they say who was in the car?'

‘No. Why? You said Mitya was all right –'

‘Yes, he was, he was fine. Just a few cuts from flying shrapnel, that's all.'

She fell silent. Tim got up from the bed, took off his clothes, then sat down beside her, naked. He said, almost brutally, sensing her withdrawal from him, ‘Well? Are you glad he's alive? Are you upset? Does this change anything?'

‘Tim, I don't know… how can you ask me that, now?' She was watching him, nervous, tense, still fiddling with her hair. He put his arms round her, wanting to be close to her, but though she held him she hid her face from him, burying her head in his shoulder.

Tim said, ‘I think Dmitry was meant to be in that car, that he was the target. I don't know how he can have got out unhurt, but that's what happened. I saw him at the hospital, afterwards. I'm sure the bomb was meant for him.'

Katie was absolutely still, holding on to him.

Tim was thinking, wondering what to do. He had spoken to his editor on the phone on arrival at Heathrow. He had the car bomb story and the Gaddafi interview, and that in itself was enough to justify getting home quickly – they would show the film today. But Tim didn't know what more to reveal. It was impossible to broadcast the fact that Libya had stolen uranium from Russia without some proof or back-up. Anything like this which involved the intelligence services, which might prejudice their own or police operations, couldn't be used. But someone must be told. Gavrilov had said, I am sure you know who to tell, possibly without realising the irony of it; it might be clear in Russia, but Tim had no idea.

It was an unwritten rule for journalists never to get involved with the intelligence services. If you were known to pass them information, or if you did a favour for them, then your work was compromised. But in this case he didn't see that he had any option, because of the nature of the information and because of what Gavrilov had risked in telling him. Of course he could speak to his editor, Rowley, who would know who to talk to. But he didn't want to talk to him in case he decided to release the full facts.

He knew that Katie would not agree to him revealing Gavrilov's name. Of course he could do this without telling her, and face things afterwards; but he couldn't bring himself to do this. Perhaps he should explain to her how important this was, discuss it with her first, persuade her to agree. It was going to be hard, but he thought he should try.

‘Katie, I need to talk to you. This report I'm doing –'

‘Tim, not now. I can't think. I thought he was dead and now I know he's not –'

Tim looked at her, and felt a moment of real anger. ‘What do you want? Do you want me to go? Do you want me to sleep downstairs?'

‘No, Tim, don't do this now. Of course I want you to stay. Please don't… Oh no, there's Anna.' The child's forlorn wail came from the other bedroom and Katie rushed away to comfort her. Tim could hear Anna asking, ‘Who's there, Mummy?' and her reply, ‘It's just Tim, from downstairs.' Then she closed the door. He sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the murmur of her voice and then her singing to her daughter in soothing tones. Her words were like a slap in the face; the whole situation was beginning to get on his nerves. Her reaction to his news showed that she clearly hadn't got over Gavrilov, though he couldn't understand how she could possibly have any genuine feelings for him after what he'd done. And it wasn't easy being with her children, especially when she tried to downplay his relationship to her with Anna. He felt she was over-protective of them and that this made it hard for him to get to know them, though in truth, he really wasn't ready to be a father, least of all to someone else's children. And this wasn't the kind of relationship he'd imagined with Katie either.

Katie came back into the room and lay down on the bed, turning away from him, and pulling a pillow over her head. Tim put out his hand to touch her and she didn't respond to him; but then she didn't actively reject him, either. He lay down beside her and moved close to her. He felt her breathing deepen as she fell asleep and he inhaled the subtle scent of her skin. He still desired her so much. Yet he had to admit how disappointed he was with the way things were going. He thought of how she never wanted to meet any of his friends or colleagues and how she always seemed to keep part of herself aloof from him. Often, when he made love to her, he thought she was pretending to feel pleasure. And now, this relationship was even interfering with his work. He had this great story and he couldn't use it because of her. He had to convince her that this was the right, the only thing to do. He would try again tomorrow. He had to persuade her that her husband was a criminal and that he needed to be exposed.

Tim said he would take her out the next evening to celebrate his coming home and her birthday, which he had missed when he was away. He'd bought her some earrings from a jeweller near the news building in his lunch-hour, long, dangly ones with a yellow-gold stone at the end – citrine, the jeweller had said it was. In the end the meeting about Libya had gone on longer than he'd thought, and he'd had to phone ahead to tell Katie he'd meet her at the bistro where he'd booked a table.