The Rocket Man (11 page)

Nihal's short article about cheap rockets for the Third World appeared in the technology section of
North-South
. Nobody paid much attention to it. He was surprised when, three days later, he had a phone call from Martin Dudley in London. Dudley sounded unusually animated.

‘There's a letter that's arrived here today relating to your article,' he said. ‘It was sent anonymously. It is absolutely extraordinary – none of us know what to make of it. It appears to be a photocopy of a contract — well, more than a contract, it's more like a kind of treaty – between your Richter's rocket company and the Government of Paraguay. It's two years old, and appears to have been signed by President Stroessner himself.'

Nihal shot forward in his chair. ‘What?'

‘I have to tell you, it's the most bizarre document. We can't imagine whether or not it is a fake. It's several pages, all typewritten. Do you want me to read it to you?'

Nihal could hear pieces of paper rustling in the background at the other end of the phone. He sat down at his desk with a pen in his hand. Snowflakes whirled outside the window; Nihal's feet were cold. He was trying to economise on the heating; his landlady was finally cutting up rough about his rent arrears, and his wife in London was in need of more money.

Dudley said, ‘I won't read it all, but I'll give you the gist. It concerns a large area of land north of Mariscal Estigarribia. Article one: Full rights which include the right to enjoy the territory without restriction. Only representatives of RASAG will be allowed to fly over the territory. Article two: All representatives of RASAG will enjoy immunity from any prosecution by the state. RASAG will exercise sole disciplinary control. Article three: Only persons authorised by RASAG will be allowed to stay in the territory. The State will be compelled if requested by RASAG to evacuate all other persons and keep them away… And so it goes on. It's the most crazy thing I've ever heard. Neo-colonialism is not the word. We rang the Paraguayan Embassy, both here and in Bonn, but they wouldn't comment on it, wouldn't confirm if it existed or not. We have no idea who sent it to us. You don't have any other leads, do you?'

‘I was going to try to interview Weiland or Richter.'

‘Well, we'll pay you to go to Stuttgart. See if you can find out if testing has begun in Paraguay. I want to see if we can run something before anyone else gets onto it. There are some things you ought to check out. For instance, isn't Germany a signatory to the Missile Technology Control Regime?'

‘Yes, but I don't know how much impact that has. The regime as I understand it is not a treaty or even a formal agreement, simply a statement of intent and a list of items the adherents pledge not to export. But there are ways of getting round this as you know, you just get sensitive parts made elsewhere. Besides, the destination is important, exporting to Paraguay is not the same as to the Middle East.'

Dudley said he would fax the document to him and hung up. Nihal had use of an office in the foreign press association building which has a fax machine; any journalist hanging around might see and read it. He put on his coat and hurried round to the Bankgasse. Who could have leaked the document, if it were genuine? Some disaffected person from the Paraguayan Embassy or from RASAG? If the deal had been made by Stroessner, perhaps it was all off anyway; Stroessner had been ousted nearly two years ago. Nihal knew almost nothing about Paraguay, but he was sure it was Stroessner's son-in-law, Rodriguez, the head of the armed forces, who had taken over. He seemed to recall that Rodriguez had promised to democratise, but no-one seemed to be taking his reforms very seriously. As one journalist had put it, same dog, different collar.

Nihal collected the fax from the machine, then went up to his office and checked the mail. It was cosy in his office; much warmer than his apartment. He supposed that if his landlady ever kicked him out he could always camp in here. He made himself comfortable and read through the faxed papers. The document had a genuine look about it, and anyway, why would someone fake such a thing? It was so improbable that it had to be real. If it was forged someone had gone to a lot of trouble; there were stamps, signatures. It was very odd.

He rang RASAG and got through to the public relations man, Becker. Becker denied all knowledge of it. He sounded angry and demanded, ‘Where did you get this information?' Nihal said that he wanted to come and interview Richter. Becker said that was impossible; Richter was a very busy man. Anyway he was not in Stuttgart at the moment. Nihal said that obviously they must be planning to test their rockets somewhere. Was he denying that it was in Paraguay? Becker said he was not in a position to comment further.

Nihal rarely felt a sense of urgency, but this time he did. He realised at once that this was a real scoop, and that everyone would be onto it. He must get in first. It was a major story; the kind that reputations could be made on. What's more, all he had in his favour was a slight head start; he wouldn't have much chance against the resources of a national newspaper team.

He picked up his copy of the
International Who's Who
and found Weiland listed there. They had the address in Palm Springs, Florida; all he needed was the phone number.

He picked up the phone, and began dialling.

Dmitry was going back up to his office, stepping into the lift on the ground floor when he saw Katie, Bob and Anna hurrying to catch it. He saw Katie's face change and whiten momentarily when she saw him, then she turned away, busying herself with her child. Bob waved and Dmitry held the door open for them; Bob put his arm around Katie and walked with her into the lift.

The doors glided shut and Katie lifted Anna up so that she could press the button to the twentieth floor. Anna giggled and Katie kissed the top of her head as she put her down again.

There was a moment's awkward silence. Then Bob said, ‘Katie, let me introduce you – this is Dmitry Nikolayevich Gavrilov. Dmitry, this is my wife, Katie, and my little girl, Anna.'

Dmitry bowed, slightly awkwardly, and smiled at the child. She stared back at him with curious eyes, grey-green, the same colour as her mother's. They were the picture of a happy family; probably they'd been for lunch in the restaurant, and now Anna wanted to see her father's office, play with the computer keyboard and things like that.

Katie said, ‘We've met.'

‘You have?' Bob looked startled.

‘At Hans's funeral, very briefly, but we weren't introduced.' She looked at Dmitry and gave him a polite smile before looking back at Bob.

She was so cool. How could she be so cool? Yet he knew it was this coolness that had attracted him, and the feeling that underneath it lay someone intense and passionate, who would reveal that side of herself perhaps only to him. She stood in front of him, no more than two feet away, staring ahead at the lift doors, her hair swept elegantly back from her face and pinned up, exposing the long white neck. He had to resist a powerful desire to bend down and kiss it; he couldn't help imagining her as she had been, only a few days before, lying across his bed, naked, abandoned.

The lift juddered to a halt and they stepped out. Bob said, ‘Katie, why don't you take Anna into my office? I just want a brief word with Gavrilov.'

Katie took Anna's hand and stepped out of the lift without meeting Dmitry's eyes. He watched them walk hand in hand along the corridor, Katie's head bent down as she listened to what Anna was saying. He realised with a jolt that Bob was talking to him.

‘I gather you're still not entirely happy with the inquiry into Müller's death. You don't have any reasons for this, do you? Anything that we don't know?'

Gavrilov stared at him, a little wildly. How was it possible to have any kind of normal conversation with this man?

‘No. No, I don't.'

‘You don't think that it's a little irresponsible to be spreading rumours if you don't have any particular reason?'

‘Rumours?' Dmitry stiffened; he wanted to get away. He felt in his pocket. ‘I just remembered – I forgot to go to the bank.' He pressed the button for the lift. Bob was still standing there, looking at him. He sensed the man's hostility.

‘You could damage the Agency's reputation. That isn't what you had in mind, is it?'

The lift arrived and Gavrilov stepped into it; the door glided shut before he had time to answer. At random, he pressed the button for the eleventh floor; he had no idea what was on the eleventh floor, but perhaps he would now find out. What was Bob talking about? Had somebody seen him talking to Nihal? Or was this sudden onslaught actually nothing to do with this at all, but because Katie had given away some clue that she was seeing him?

Katie lay curled up on the sofa reading Anna her bedtime story. Anna's warm, sleepy head lay on her shoulder; her eyes were already drooping. Katie came to the end, put the book down, gently kissed Anna's cheek and smoothed her hair. Anna yawned, and she found herself doing the same. Anna snuggled up against her and closed her eyes; Katie felt unusually calm and peaceful. Bob was laying the table for supper.

Anna gave up the struggle against sleep and closed her eyes. After a few minutes Bob came over and lifted her up in his arms. Anna stirred and put her arms round his neck, let him carry her off to bed. Katie watched him carry her so proudly and tenderly, and was stricken by her folly in risking her marriage. Seeing Dmitry in the lift that afternoon had been a shock; she realised she was a fool to think she could keep it quiet forever. Sooner or later something would happen and she would give herself away. Besides, seeing her lover and her daughter together had brought home to her how it was not only Bob she was deceiving. If she and Bob split up, what would happen to Anna? It was unthinkable.

Bob came back and they sat down at the table, starting their meal in silence. Katie realised, with a stab of panic, that she had less and less in common with Bob, that she had nothing to talk to him about. But of course, how could it be otherwise when she couldn't share with him the problem that was most on her mind?

Bob said, ‘I'm going to Paris, Katie. For a job interview.'

‘Who with?'

‘The division for the advancement of science in UNESCO. I don't think it's what I want, but I thought I'd go and see.'

She knew that he was doing this because of her, because she wanted to leave Vienna, and she was touched. She still had the chance to save her marriage. Once the affair was safely in the past, once there was no chance of its flaring up again, perhaps when they had left Vienna, she would tell Bob everything, and ask his forgiveness. It was totally destructive, having this secret between them, she could see that.

He helped himself to some salad. ‘Katie, you see Nihal a lot. Do you know what story he's working on?'

‘No. I didn't know he was working on anything special, he hasn't said anything to me. Why?'

‘I just saw him talking to Gavrilov in the café the other day. You know we are not supposed to talk to the press without permission, and I know he hasn't got it. Besides, I don't trust that guy. I saw him talking, the other day, to someone in resources who I know is KGB. I wouldn't want Nihal to get the wrong end of things.'

Katie stared at him, aghast. She wondered if Nihal and Mitya had been talking about her. And what was all this? It was almost as if Bob knew something and was warning her. Or did he suspect there was something between them? Why had he mentioned this? He never usually spoke to her about anything to do with work.

She tried to think of something to say to him. ‘Well, don't you ever talk to the people from the CIA? That man we met at that party in the summer – Williams I think he was called – you said he was CIA.'

‘Yes, but that's different, honey. That's just socialising.'

Katie felt irritated. ‘How do you know who's KGB?'

‘Oh, you just know these things. Hey, what's the matter? You're not eating.'