Goodbye to an Old Friend (11 page)

He paused, picking at the photograph. ‘They never give up, you know,' he said, quietly. ‘They consider abandoning the Soviet Union one of the most serious crimes a Russian can commit. There's actually provision in our criminal statute to try a person who applies for an exit visa to leave permanently.'

Adrian thought of the pressures brought against the Jewish community in Russia in 1970. ‘I know,' he said.

‘They'll keep on. They'll harm me however they can and they know that the most damaging way would be to hurt my family. They know how much that would hurt me. But even that won't be enough. They'll keep on, for me. Even if it takes years.'

‘He'll only go out for exercise at night' – Sir Jocelyn's words that morning echoed in Adrian's mind. And the doubt about his impressions registered again.

‘I was wrong,' said Pavel. ‘I've lived in cotton wool for too long. All right, I consider what I do. “The original methodical man” my students used to call me. But I got conceited. I thought that I could do
anything
and not be questioned …'

He began to cry again. ‘What am I going to do?' he sobbed. ‘Oh God, what am I going to do?'

For the first time since they had met, three days before, Adrian felt pity for the man.

‘I've condemned them to death,' said Pavel. He stared up at Adrian, who saw his nose was running again. ‘To death, do you hear me? They're going to die because of me.'

It sounded convincing. Weighed against his conviction that Pavel would not have left his family behind, Adrian admitted to himself that the man's account of why he had crossed to the West sounded genuine. So he
was
wrong.

‘Viktor,' he said. ‘Your embassy have applied for permission to see you.'

Pavel jerked up, away from the photographs he had been studying again, alarm on his face.

‘What is it?' he began, talking quickly. ‘What's happened to them? Are they on trial already?'

‘Wait,' said Adrian, holding 6ut his hand to stop the runaway fears. ‘It's routine in cases of defection. Your people always make a formal application to be allowed to interview their nationals.'

‘Why?' Pavel was still suspicious.

‘To try and persuade them to go back, of course.'

Pavel sat very quietly for several moments. ‘But you'll stop me, of course,' he said.

‘Oh no,' said Adrian, quickly. ‘If we objected, then we wouldn't have told you of the request, would we?'

Pavel nodded, accepting the honesty.

‘Whether or not you see them is entirely for you to decide. If you agree to the meeting, then we'll assist you. It will be in London, at our Foreign Office, and we'll put people with you, if you want us to, so that you'll not be alone during the meeting.'

‘Did they ask to see Alexandre?'

‘Yes.'

‘And what happened?'

‘He refused to meet them.'

Pavel smiled, wanly. ‘Poor Alexandre. He always was nervous. Not like his sister …'

His voice broke at the reminiscence.

‘Will they threaten me?' he asked, suddenly.

‘Probably,' said Adrian, honestly.

‘Will they tell me what's happened to Valentina and the children?'

Adrian shrugged. ‘I can't answer that, can I?'

‘No, of course not. I'm sorry.'

Pavel lapsed into silence and Adrian looked beyond him, over the lawns which descended in steps to the river which formed a barrier at the back of the house. With fishing rights at about £150 a rod, the Home Office were losing a fortune closing off this much ground, he thought.

Pavel was sitting with his head drooping forward on his chest, breathing deeply. So quiet was he that at one stage Adrian suspected he had fallen asleep through the exhaustion of staying awake the previous night and he actually bent forward, until he could see that Pavel's eyes were open. He was staring, almost unblinkingly, at the pictures. It was nearly thirty minutes before Pavel spoke and when he snapped up, suddenly, there was just a trace of the command which had been so evident at their earlier meetings.

‘I want to see them,' he announced.

Expecting the decision, Adrian nodded.

‘How soon could it be arranged?' asked the Russian.

‘Tomorrow morning,' replied Adrian. ‘We'd thought that some time tomorrow you could meet Alexandre, too.'

Pavel smiled, suddenly, at the invitation.

‘Alexandre,' he said. ‘Yes, that would be good.'

The smile disappeared. ‘But I want to see the embassy people before tomorrow morning.'

‘But that's not possible,' protested Adrian.

‘Why not?' queried Pavel, looking at his watch. ‘It's only two-thirty. What's wrong with this evening? Are their dinners more important than me, Viktor Pavel?'

The recovery improves by the minute, thought Adrian. He said, ‘That's not it. You've got to be taken to London …'

‘If it only took an hour by helicopter from Brussels to England, it can't take longer to get to London by the same transport, unless we're in the far reaches of Scotland and I know we're not.'

Adrian smiled. ‘No,' he admitted, ‘we're not in Scotland.'

‘I want to meet them tonight,' insisted Pavel. ‘I can't stand another night like I had last night. I must know. They must tell me what's happening to my family.'

‘The man you meet won't know that,' warned Adrian.

‘He might.'

‘I know these meetings,' said Adrian. ‘They're almost as routine as the initial request.'

‘I don't care,' rejected Pavel, his customary annoyance at being challenged emerging. ‘He
might
know and that's good enough for me.'

‘I still don't know whether it's possible,' said Adrian.

‘But there are telephones. Try. It must be tonight.'

A helicopter did nullify Binns's fears of the Russians assessing the debriefing spot from travelling time, admitted Adrian. And according to Ebbetts, speed was the major consideration for everything.

‘I'll see,' he promised, getting up from the padded seat.

As Adrian left the room, Pavel was staring back at the picture, and he recalled leaving Bennovitch in a similar window-nook three days before, in an identical position, gazing down at another photograph. Everyone carries reminders, thought Adrian. I wonder if Anita has a portrait to remind her of me? No, he decided. If she had any pictures at all, they wouldn't be for nostalgic reminders. Just for amusement among her new friends.

Kaganov made a tiny tower with his hands and tilted his chair back on two legs. He smiled, a man knowing inner contentment.

‘That was quick,' he said.

‘What happened?' asked Minevsky.

‘We got a reply within eight hours of making the request for access,' said the chairman.

Heirar frowned. ‘Only eight hours. I expected to wait at least two days.'

‘So did I,' said Kaganov. ‘So did I.'

Minevsky chuckled, preparing the others for the joke.

‘You haven't told us what the answer was,' he said.

Kaganov joined in the laughter. ‘Forgive me,' he said. ‘Pavel wants to meet someone from the embassy. And he wants the meeting tonight.'

‘There!' said Minevsky, in heavy irony. ‘Perhaps he doesn't like England after all.'

Heirar waited for the amusement to subside, and then said, ‘What about Pavel's son?'

‘Georgi?' queried Kaganov. ‘He's at Alma Ata. You knew that.'

He had forgotten. ‘We haven't moved him yet, then?' said Heirar, trying to recover.

‘Oh no,' said Kaganov. ‘Not yet.'

Chapter Eight

Adrian travelled with Pavel in a chauffeur-driven car, leaving his own vehicle at Pulborough for collection the following day. They went a roundabout route, going east into Kent and then looping back, approaching London from the Maidstone direction.

It was a bright, sharp night, the stars set into the sky like jewelled buttons.

Pavel slumped in the seat alongside Adrian, staring up.

‘Hundreds of millions of miles away,' he said softly. ‘Look at them. Some we know about, some we don't. They just glitter there, the winning posts for a race of giants. I wonder if it really matters who gets there first. Or whether anybody gets there at all.'

‘That's an odd doubt, coming from someone like you,' said Adrian.

Pavel looked at him in the darkened car. ‘Why?' he asked. ‘I just make it possible. I don't say whether it should be done.'

He twisted, looking out through the darkened rear window.

‘Are we alone?'

Adrian remembered his nervousness. ‘No,' he said, ‘of course not. There are two cars, one in front, one behind. There's no risk.'

‘Very professional,' said Pavel. ‘I can't make out either of them.'

‘They wouldn't be much good, if you could, would they?' remarked Adrian, mildly. He felt hungry and wondered if the canteen would be open when they arrived. Probably not. But there was always that French restaurant near the B.O.A.C. terminal at Victoria. He'd taken Anita there on one of their first dates, trying to impress her with his worldliness, insisting on ordering the meal and the wine in French, like an A-level schoolboy. No, not quite like an A-level schoolboy. His accent was better. Yes, La Bicyclette would be nice. He'd go there, even if the canteen were open. A French meal and a bottle of wine and a headache in the morning and damn them all. In his mind he parodied Ebbetts's hectoring tones: ‘The condemned man ate a hearty meal, took the bill to put on his expenses and even had a brandy.' He might even have two brandies.

He looked at the dashboard clock glowing ahead of him. They'd be in that comfortable flat now, overlooking the Thames and they'd be drinking brandy, too, Anne probably holding her glass out, registering her dominance, Anita fluttering from the drinks trolley, eager to please, like a newly wed housewife. He paused at the thought. I suppose she is, really, he decided.

‘Will we come back tonight?'

Adrian jumped. ‘What?'

‘Will we come back tonight?' repeated the Russian.

‘No. It's already arranged. We'll stay in London and then travel down to see Alexandre tomorrow.'

He hesitated, then added, ‘We've decided to take your advice. Tomorrow we'll travel by helicopter. We decided there was enough time to use the car tonight.'

It had been Adrian's idea, when he realized that to stay overnight would mean travelling back in daylight, with more chance of detection.

They arrived in London just before eleven and Adrian's intention to have a French meal collapsed with the summons to see Binns in his office. It had been decided that Adrian should not attend the interview with Pavel although the Russian had demanded that he be accompanied.

The risk of a British debriefing expert, even one about to be fired, being recognized and marked by a member of the Russian embassy had to be avoided.

The Permanent Secretary nodded curtly and indicated his usual chair and Adrian realized his dismissal had not been reconsidered.

‘Not a very edifying meeting this afternoon, was it?' he said, the stutter jerking the words from him.

‘No,' agreed Adrian.

‘We detected little sympathy in some of your remarks.'

Adrian noted the ‘we'. So Binns had listened with the Prime Minister and others.

‘I wasn't aware I was employed to show sympathy,' retorted Adrian, disregarding the usual respect. Why the hell should he sit and take criticism from everyone? His thoughts stopped. Why the hell? – that phrase wouldn't have come to mind a few days ago. But then, neither would the thought of getting drunk on French wine and brandy have appealed, either.

‘I thought the only need was speed: milk the man dry and then play international politics with him and Bennovitch, like disposable chess pieces.'

Binns noticeably winced. Adrian realized that the gap between them was widening at every meeting.

‘That is the point,' agreed the Permanent Secretary, trying to compete. ‘But you don't seem to be achieving it. What was the result of today's meeting? Nothing.'

‘I acted today under instructions,' snapped Adrian. He was reddening and stumbling over his words, but curiously, like a man getting drunk for the first time, he found himself enjoying anger. He didn't have to worry about conforming any more. There was no feeling of sickness now or the need to go to the lavatory.

Not yet, anyway.

‘On
your
instructions,' he continued, his voice rising. ‘I told Pavel of the request of his embassy.
At your
request, I gave him every assistance and he wanted to come immediately, which is why I phoned you from Pulborough and set it up, and why there was no debriefing today. It's not
my
way of conducting the debriefing.'

Binns was sitting with his head lowered and for a long time he did not respond. When he looked up, his face was twisted, as if he were in physical pain.

‘It's split us up, this thing, hasn't it?' he asked, not needing an answer. ‘In less than a week, we've become enemies almost. And we were friends. We had a mutual respect that went beyond the job, but now we're people on either side of a fence. I never thought that would happen.'

He stopped, for a moment. Then he said, ‘That's bad, very bad.'

He sounded extremely sad.

Adrian's truculence disappeared. He felt embarrassed.

‘I'm sorry, too,' he said and meant it. He wished he could have put it better.

‘I argued against your dismissal,' said Binns. ‘No one, no team such as we were can gauge every situation. You've brought out nearly everything with Bennovitch and I'm sure, in the end, it would have been a complete debriefing, with nothing undisclosed. You've achieved quite a lot with Pavel. I made the points, as strongly as I could, to the P.M.'