Authors: Brian Freemantle
Filiatov sighed, replacing the telephone that had remained unanswered in four earlier attempts to contact Olga Balan. He intended his approach to appear reciprocal, a courtesy returned for a courtesy given, but in reality he was desperately anxious to know if the woman had already despatched her reports to Dzerzhinsky Square.
The movements of all Soviet personnel attached to overseas embassies are strictly monitored, travel-logs existing to record every exit from or re-entry to the diplomatic compound, against the reasons for those journeys. Filiatov checked the duty clerk, frowning at there being no listing against the Security Officer's name to account for her absence. Of all people, Filiatov supposed, Olga Balan could risk scorning regulations, but he hadn't been aware of her doing so ever before.
Filiatov decided to wait. But not for long: he'd already decided he couldn't wait long.
Chapter Eighteen
The silence lasted a long time, building into a division between them â a barrier neither had known before â Olga Balan all the while staring fixedly at him, wanting Kozlov to say more. When he didn't, the woman said: This isn't how it was planned; how
we
planned it.'
âYou said then that you'd do anything I wanted,' reminded Kozlov. He hadn't expected her to agree at once.
âNot kill her.'
âYou've been trained.'
Olga shook her head, a positive denial. âFor the State. This is different.'
Kozlov indicated the just-replaced telephone upon which he'd burned with discomfort assuring his wife he loved her with Olga looking at him, stony-faced. âI told you what she said: that they're moving her on, but she doesn't know where. That telephone is our only link. So it
can't
be me, not now. I've
got
to stay here.'
Olga stood abruptly, breaking the tension between them. She looked at her empty glass and the nearby bottle, then appeared to change her mind, going instead to the window. Tokyo was quite outside, so late; a lot of the neon illumination was temporarily resting and the streets briefly empty, until another day. With her back to him, she said: âYou'd already decided it had to be me, before she called, hadn't you?'
Kozlov swallowed, glad she wasn't able to see. He was surprised she'd guessed. He said: âThink of another way! Anything!'
Still not looking at him, Olga said hopefully: âMaybe Moscow wouldn't recall you if we just let her go?'
âYou prepared the tapes ⦠conducted the interviews and sent them to Moscow and involved Filiatov â¦' reminded Kozlov. âDo you really believe that!'
She turned back into the room. There were only sidelights on, so it was difficult to see if she were near tears but he thought she was. She said: âWe're trapped, aren't we?'
âWith a way out!' he said, urgently.
âHow long!' she demanded, suddenly angry. âHow long before Irena becomes suspicious at your still being here in this apartment or Moscow starts demanding answers or Filiatov does something; we've prepared him, don't forget!'
âYou can do it,' coaxed Kozlov. âIt could all be over this time tomorrow. So there's no risk of anything from Moscow or Filiatov. Irena either. You'd even be doing your job, as far as Moscow is concerned.'
âYou never told me about the other time,' she said, ignoring the assurance with another abrupt change of direction.
âOther time?'
âYou said in Moscow Irena told you she'd never be a rejected woman. Why did she say that?'
Kozlov poured himself more vodka, not wanting the drink but needing the break from her demanding stare. âThere was a woman. A choreographer at the Bolshoi. I told Irena I wanted a divorce. That's when she said it.'
âSo what happened!' The anger was obvious again.
âIt was just before I came to London: met you. Irena stayed in Moscow, as you know. Used all the power she had in Dzerzhinsky Square â which was a lot â to hurt her. I didn't know, of course. Didn't discover it until I went back, between London and Bonn â¦'
âYou tried to see her again ⦠this other woman â¦?'
âValentina,' supplied Kozlov.
âYou tried to see Valentina after our affair had already started ⦠when you were telling me that you loved me!'
Kozlov brought his eyes to hers, knowing the suspicion and wanting to convince her. âNo!' he said. âNot like that. Irena boasted what she'd done: taken care of your whore, she said. She actually arranged criticism of the choreography in Pravda and Tass. Valentina had been dismissed, by the time I got back to Moscow. Unsatisfactory had been registered in her workbook and you know that makes her unemployable.'
âYou met her again?'
Kozlov shook his head. âI think she went back to her home, to Kiev. I couldn't find out, not definitely. I'd have had to enquire through Irena's directorate and she would have learned about it: made it even more difficult for Valentina.'
âSo you never saw her again?'
âNo,' said Kozlov.
âAnd don't know what happened to her?'
âNo,' said the man, once more.
There was a long hesitation and then Olga said: âDo you still love her?'
Kozlov shook his head. âI feel responsible.'
âWould it be as easy, to get over me?'
âI didn't say it was easy.'
âIt sounds that way.'
âDarling!' Kozlov stood, holding out his arms. She refused to come to him and he dropped them, feeling foolish. Instead he went to her, reached out a second time and took her shoulders, bringing her face close to his. âI love
you
,' he said. âNo one else. That's all I can say ⦠no better way â other way â to make you believe me.'
It was several moments before she replied, and when she said âI believe you', there was doubt.
âWill you do it?'
Another long pause. Then she said: âThere's no other resolve, is there?'
âNo,' he said, positively.
âI'm not sure I can.'
âTrapped,' he said, coaxing some more. âYour words.'
Olga started crying, making no sound but with tears moving across her face. âI'm so scared,' she said, broken-voiced. âSo very scared.'
âYou can do it!' he encouraged again.
âI have to, don't I?'
Kozlov didn't reply, knowing it would be wrong at that second in time to say anything.
âJust Irena,' insisted Olga. âNot him.'
âJust Irena,' agreed Kozlov.
âOver by this time tomorrow?'
âEverything,' he assured her.
âYou do love me, don't you?'
âDon't doubt me. Ever.'
There was another period when her eyes searched his face and she said: âI won't', and this time there wasn't any doubt.
They left Levine at the airport, with two of the crew of the C-130 controlling the surveillance of the military section, and Elliott accompanied the rest of the arriving CIA group to the Peninsula Hotel on the mainland Kowloon side.
Elliott was already established as the contact point for the colony's CIA informants, and at Fredericks' urging he went individually through everything that had been assembled.
âDefinite airport arrival?' pressed the CIA supervisor.
âThree separate confirmations, from Langley's stock photographs,' confirmed the man.
âCars?' seized Fredericks, picking the most important point.
Elliott shook his head, the reluctance obvious. âGround staff and immigration. Nothing outside.'
âSon of a bitch!' said Fredericks, vehemently.
âJust a matter of time,' said Elliott. âWe're running checks on all the taxis and courtesy buses and hire cars.'
âWe haven't
got
time!' said Fredericks, exasperated. âThis thing is on a very short fuse.'
Elliott looked around the assembled group. âNow we're all here,' he said, âwe can start spreading out. There are a lot of hotels, but we've got informants in most of them so it isn't really such a difficult task.'
âI'd like to believe that!' said Dale, entering into the conversation to ease the pressure on a colleague.
âI don't care how difficult it is!' reminded Fredericks. âI want it done and I want it done completely, and I want it done now!'
Elliott and Dale actually exchanged looks, their faces open but with no need of expression to convey their feeling at the burr-under-the-saddle attitude that was so obvious from the supervisor.
Elliott said: âIt really is just a matter of time. An itty bitty matter of time.'
Fredericks' face suddenly opened, more a grimace than a smile. âRight!' he said. âThe cork's in the bottle.'
Chapter Nineteen
Irena Kozlov stood in the middle of the room, legs slightly parted, hands on her hips, in a physically intimidating attitude, questions bursting from her in a machine-gun staccato. âWhy blow up the plane?' was the most repeated demand, along with others. Like who-and-how caused the explosion, and had they been caught, and what he was going to do now, to get her out? And how?
Charlie Muffin confronted her feeling like a one-armed juggler trying to keep twenty coloured balls in the air at the same time, with his good arm strapped behind his back. And blindfolded as well, just to make it difficult. He attempted to concentrate absolutely upon the strident woman and to relegate the distraction of Harry Lu to the shut-off, solve-it-later part of his mind, but it wasn't easy because what Harry Lu wanted was so inextricably linked with Irena anyway. As everything was. Charlie lied, repeatedly, insisting that the delay was only temporary and that soon â within hours, which was a further conscious lie â there would be another plane to take her safely to England.
âHow can you say that, after what happened in Tokyo!' The challenge was immediate, puncturing the attempted assurance.
âBecause this time we'll be more careful,' said Charlie.
âSo you were careless!'
Charlie sighed: she was sandpaper abrasive. He said: âIt was something we didn't foresee.' He was determinedly as forceful as she, refusing to be brow-beaten by her hands-on-hips attitude.
âYuri expected some trickery, but not this,' admitted Irena. She hesitated, hands dropping to her sides, lowering herself into a chair. She hesitated and said with sudden and unusual quietness, as if realizing it for the first time: âI could have been killed.'
âThey wouldn't have sabotaged the plane, if you'd been aboard,' said Charlie. âThey'd have snatched you.'
âThe man who met me at the airport!' said the woman, the sudden alarm obvious. âHe's safe?'
I wish I knew any more, thought Charlie. He said: âQuite safe. A friend.'
âHe said we have to keep moving.'
âThe Americans are chasing,' announced Charlie. It was a harbour-view room, the black stretch of the waterway lay between them and Kowloon and the New Territories beyond. Charlie looked briefly across at the mainland, wondering how long it would take Fredericks and the other CIA agents to arrive. From the chair upon which she was sitting, Charlie was conscious of Irena moving as if she were going to make a response at once, but abruptly she shook her head. Instead she said: âSo you don't know what's happened to Yuri?'
Charlie hesitated, unsure of the best reply, and decided that there was only one. âNo,' he said. âThere's no contact between myself and the Americans, not any more.'
âHow are the meetings between Yuri and I going to be arranged!'
âThrough London and Washington,' avoided Charlie, easily. Wilson was probably already mobilizing the squad to grab Kozlov on that first occasion. It was an operation in which he would like to be involved.
âYou said hours, before we can leave?' queried Irena.
âI hope so,' said Charlie.
She appeared not to notice the qualification. Unexpectedly, she said: âI do not feel well: I don't think I can travel immediately.'
âWhat!' Charlie was off-balanced by the announcement: more coloured balls had been thrown into the juggling act and he had enough already. He looked intently at the woman. Pale, maybe, but that was all. Certainly her attitude since he'd entered the room gave no indication of her being unwell. The opposite, in fact.
âI need to rest, before moving on,' Irena said.
She was going to get the opportunity whether she wanted it or not, but the insistence unsettled Charlie. Minutes earlier she'd appeared anxious to get out as soon as possible, which was why he had lied. The strain had to be enormous; maybe she wasn't as strong as she appeared. He said: âThere'll be time enough to rest.'
âA day at least: I need a day.'
âA day,' agreed Charlie, because it suited him.
âAre you confident we can evade the Americans?'
âYes,' said Charlie, who wasn't. There was a desperate need to reach Wilson, in London; a desperate need to do so much. Up and down went the coloured balls, a blur of impressions, nothing focussing.
âWhere are we going now?'
Charlie hesitated, looking across at the mainland again. Certainly they had to get off Hong Kong island, so Kowloon was the obvious choice: a lot of small, no-questions-asked places there. âThe Americans have woken up everybody' â Harry's warning, on the way from the airport. So was Kowloon too obvious, like here at the Mandarin? Or safe enough? Before he could reply to the woman's question, there was a sound at the door. Irena jumped, nervously, and as he opened it to Harry Lu, Charlie decided the man had taken a long time simply to settle a less-than-one-night occupancy bill.
âAll set,' announced Lu.
For whom and for what, wondered Charlie. Pointedly, he said: âWhere have you been?'
Lu looked directly at him, recognizing the suspicion. âMaking calls, Charlie.'
âTo whom?'