The Defector (34 page)

“The 25th,” he said.

“That’s a Saturday. Good day for a wedding. It’s about time Trudi settled down.”

“I’m sorry we won’t be there,” Davina said.

“But it can’t be helped. Do you feel like eating yet? “

“I think a beer first,” he said.

“Hurry up if you want to change and we’ll go out.” They spent as much time as possible out of the hotel and away from their room. It was unlikely to be wired up, but Harrington said every Intourist hotel was monitored and all the staff were police spies who reported on everything said and done by foreigners. Even the Iron Curtain tourists were subjected to the same rigorous scrutiny as visitors from the West, and they were not encouraged to make friends with the Russian holiday makers. Russians didn’t welcome attempts to talk to them, since they were frightened of being seen with foreigners. Fear was as effective a screen as barbed wire. The Intourist visitor saw what he was meant to see, and had no contact with ordinary Russians. Otherwise he could enjoy himself. They sat down in an open-air cafe and bar, Harrington choosing a table which was on the perimeter and not too close to others. There they could talk.

“She’ll be here on the 25th. That’s seven days from now. How am I going to sleep in that bloody awful lumpy bed with you for another seven nights and not give way to my ravening desire?” He grinned at Davina.

“Freckle-nose,” he said.

“Why don’t you dye your hair red? It’d look rather smashing.”

“Why don’t you shut up and be serious for a minute,” she retorted.

“Seven days. And how are we going to get her out?”

“We won’t know till the next bulletin,” Harrington said.

“I’m damned if I can see how we’re going to get her away the same day. Still, that’s not our worry. Our job is to be here and take charge of her when she comes. And get the hell out as fast as we can… Feeling nervous?”

“Yes,” Davina admitted.

“I feel permanently nervous. Do you ever get over the butterflies in the tummy or is it just the first time it’s like this?”

“It’s always like the first time,” he said, ‘because each job is a one-off.

I’m always scared all the time, every time. In a way I wouldn’t enjoy it if I wasn’t. “

“But you’re not enjoying this,” she said.

“Maybe I’m getting a bit past this level of risk,” Harrington said.

“I enjoyed New York, because it was a game where you made up your own rules. I had my two contacts and I was looking forward to running them. But this is bulletin-the-back-of-the-neck stuff. I’m not too keen on that. Sorry. ” He checked himself.

“That was a stupid thing to say to you. Forget it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Davina said quietly.

“I know what to expect if anything goes wrong. It just feels odd, to be cut off like this. We know now the date the girl is coming. And that we’re supposed to leave the same day. But that’s all. We don’t know how or where it’s a sort of vacuum. I find that very’ nerve-racking. I can cope with things so long as I know what they are. “

“That’s because you’re not a pro,” he said.

“Pros don’t want to know the details. Then if they get caught, they can’t tell them. I must say, you’ve been very good. The only trouble is, you’re too pretty for an East German lady. Even with your pink nose.” He smiled at her and patted her knee under the table.

“That’s better,” he said.

“You haven’t smiled much in the last few days. I wonder how Ivan the Terrible is getting on with the boys back home? Spilling his heart out, do you think?”

“I hope so,” Davina answered.

“And I believe he will. He keeps his promises.”

“You gave him a pretty good incentive,” Harrington said gently.

“You put yourself up as the collateral.”

“I keep thinking about his poor wife,” she said slowly.

“It’s hard to believe people could be so vile to punish her for something he did.

A perfectly innocent woman. “

“It’s to punish him,” Harrington said.

“Tell me something what happens when you get home?”

“Nothing happens,” Davina answered him.

“There’s no reason for me to see him again. And I promised I wouldn’t try.”

“Supposing he wants to see you,” he persisted. “I don’t think he will.” She gazed past Harrington to wards the blue sea-line.

“He knows there isn’t any future for us. I came into his life and he came into mine; it was always temporary. The one thing that matters is that it ends well. I’ll never regret a moment of it; I want him to feel the same. And then I can go back to work and get on with real life.” She gave him a little quick smile.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” He lit a cigarette and handed it to her.

“Not a word,” he said.

“But we won’t argue about it. Seven more days and then the fun begins. Whatever the fun is. Come on, the food looks dismal here. Let’s see if we can get into that fish restaurant the old bag recommended. Intourist two-star, Comrade.” He paid for his drink and they left the cafe; he took Davina’s arm as they walked down the long promenade together. In their old-fashioned holiday clothes, he in baggy grey trousers and open-necked shirt, she in a cotton dress and sandals, they looked as if they too belonged to a dead age of twenty years ago, moving through a world inhabited by ghosts. Volkov patted the seat beside him; he spent one or two evenings a week with Irina in her apartment. Every weekend was spent at his dacha. He had taken her to the Bolshoi and to a restaurant afterwards. He didn’t seem to mind that their relationship was becoming public knowledge. She felt as if he were enjoying the gossip, flaunting his mastery over the daughter of Ivan Sasanov.

“Sit here, beside me,” he said. She did as he suggested, and he took her hand and stroked it.

“Why do you want to go to Livadia? It’s such a long way. Are you trying to get away from me, dushinka?” He always called her darling when he was going to frighten her.

“No, of course I’m not,” Irina said.

“It’s just that I’m tired; the University closes for the summer next Tuesday.

I’d like a holiday in the sun.” She said almost boldly, “I thought you could get me a pass.”

“I could,” he agreed.

“I can do most things for you. But I want to know why you need this holiday so quickly. Are you studying so hard? Don’t tell me I’m exhausting you;

a lot of loving is good for girls. “

“I’m working hard,” she admitted.

“I think it’s worrying about my mother that’s made me feel so run down. It’s been a very hard year for me, Antonyii.”

“You do look a bit pale,” he said.

“Maybe the sun would do you good. Will you feel better if I tell you your mother hasn’t reached Kolyma yet? ” She swung round to him and seized his hand.

“Oh, Antonyii! You mean you’ve they’ve changed their minds? Where is she?”

“In a stop-over camp, about four hundred versts from here. I managed to delay her final journey… by telling the head of our Service you had agreed to help us, to help us get your father back. You understood that, didn’t you? You must persuade him to come back to Russia.” She thanked God he hadn’t a hand fondling her breast, as he often did when they were sitting like this. Otherwise he would have felt the leap of terror her heart gave. She hung her head, hiding the fear in her eyes. Her voice was low and tremulous.

“I’ve been thinking about it, every night and day. But how? How do I do it?”

“By going to join him,” he said gently.

“By going to the Crimea as your friends have arranged.” He didn’t look at her; he lit a cigarette and took his time, drawing on it, puffing out smoke, snapping the lighter shut. He didn’t need to watch her; he heard the intake of breath that turned into a gasp, felt her spring up and leave the sofa. When he looked up she was standing close to the window.

“What’s the matter?” he asked her lightly.

“Didn’t you think I knew all about it? About your tutor at the University I’ve known every move you’ve made, every thought in your mind. I know the lies you’ve told me. But I haven’t done anything about them. I have tried to help your mother, and I’ve saved you from being arrested a long time ago. Don’t think it was because you slept with me. I can have any girl I want. ” Irina turned and slipped the catch on the window. It swung open.

“If you jump out,” Volkov said, “I’ll have Poliakov in the Lubyanka in an hour. Instead of holding your mother in a labour camp, I’ll have her brought back too, and questioned… questioned very hard, like your tutor friend… and his friends.” He didn’t move from the sofa; he swung one leg over the other and moved his foot to and fro. Irina Sasanova closed the window. She latched it. Then she turned round to face him.

“What do you want me to do?” she said.

“I want you to take your holiday in the Crimea,” Volkov answered.

“I’ll get you the pass to travel. I want you to go on meeting your contact Poliakov. I want you to do exactly what British Intelligence tells you. And at the same time, you will do what I tell you.” After a pause he added, “Come here.” She came and he drew her down beside him. He slid his hand inside her blouse.

“Ah,” he said.

“How your heart is beating! Is it just fear? Or is it hatred too? It doesn’t matter. I’m the only friend you’ve got. You’ll come to love me in the end…” Irina found another message in her essay when she collected it with the other students. It was taped to the centre page.

“Meet me at the near end of the Ouspenskaya Bridge tonight at nine.” She flushed the scraps of paper down the lavatory and telephoned Volkov from the public booths in the University central hall. That evening she took a bus to the Ouspenskaya Bridge, and at nine o’clock on the warm summer’s evening, she met Alexei Poliakov. He took her arm, and they began to walk slowly across the bridge that spanned the wide, yellow waters of the Moscow River. Couples were walking along the public beach; Russian children were allowed to stay up as late as their parents, and groups were paddling in the water, running races ahead, their laughter and calls light as bird-song in the evening. Irina had taken off her sandals; she trod the soft sand in her bare feet, the shoes swinging from her left hand. They looked like young lovers strolling on the beach. He found a secluded place, a spot half-hidden by a clump of bushes growing out of a dune of sandy soil. They sat down together, and he put his arm around her. Irina closed her eyes and leaned against him. His body was warm, his hold on her gentle.

“I love him,” her thoughts whispered.

“I love him. I can’t do it.” She straightened herself, and gently disengaged from him. At the sight of his face, grave and concerned, the tears overflowed, and the next second she was in his arms, and they were kissing frantically, clumsily in their need for each other. And then she told him. They lay huddled together behind the shelter of the bushes, while the sky grew black above them, the stars came out, and there was no one left on the beach.

“He knows everything,” she whispered.

“About you, and the Crimea, about my father. And he wants me to do everything, to pretend to you and the people helping me, while he watches and manipulates. I’m to get my father to come back to Russia. That’s all he tells me. Go to the Crimea, do what the British Intelligence tells you, and I’ll tell you what to do next. And he’s holding my mother as a hostage. If I don’t do what he wants, she’ll go to Kolyma. And you’ll be arrested. He said, “your tutor friend, and his friends…”

“She shivered, and Poliakov held her closer.

“What am I to do? If my father comes back because of me, Volkov will arrest him and he won’t leave you alone when I’ve done what he wants. And there’s my mother oh, God, sometimes I feel like killing myself” Don’t,” the young man begged her, ‘don’t ever. say that…”

“I promise you,” Irina went on, “I stood by the window in our flat and I was going to jump. He knew it; he just said if I did that, he’d have you in the Lubyanka and bring my mother back for questioning. He meant he’d torture you both…” Poliakov stroked her hair and soothed her. His pale face and dark hair made him look ghostly in the fitful moonlight. He murmured loving words to her and held her against his heart. He was a gentle man by nature, in some ways timid, a creature of the spirit and the mind who abhorred violence. He raised Irina’s face to his, and kissed her.

“Get the permit from him,” he said.

“Go to Livadia and these people will get you away from Russia. That’s all you must do. Don’t think about anything else.”

“I’m not going to leave you behind,” she whispered.

“I’ll ask him for two passes. We can go together. If he says no, then I won’t go either,” she said fiercely.

“He wants my father back! If I can be brave enough, just once, I’ll get you away too. No, don’t argue with me.” She put her hand to his mouth. She was stronger than he was, braver by nature. He loved her all the more for her courage. His desire rose at the touch of her fingertips on his mouth. He didn’t want to argue with her; he wanted to love her, and carry the memory. He drew her down to him, and under the dark sky they made love, with the moon as a witness when it slipped out of the clouds. Two passes. Antonyii Volkov knew how to watch other people without seeming to do so. He found Irina Sasanova more and more interesting as a subject. His attitude to her had been that of master to puppet; he had no liking for women outside sex, and if he met one who was clever and ambitious he resented it. He blocked the promotion of women in his own service; their role was to be manipulated by men. Irina seemed ordinary enough; intelligent, but easy to reduce to frightened obedience when the skin of modern feminism was stripped away. But she surprised him. She surprised him by her resilience; just when he thought her completely cowed, she found reserves of courage, and came back at him. Two passes. He didn’t say anything for some minutes. They were sitting at his favourite table in the Bear Restaurant, and she was looking prettier than he had ever seen her.

“Why two passes? Who is going with you?” He asked the question at last.

“My tutor,” Irina said.

“AIY lover my lover who showed me what love meant…” She drank some other wine, and wished she could have tossed it into Volkov’s face. She wouldn’t have thought it possible to hate Volkov more. But it seemed that hate grew in proportion to her love.