Krysalis: Krysalis (42 page)

She fought back. “Gerhard,” she cried, “don’t …”

But the next thing she knew he was rolling her over, using his body weight to keep her pinned down. Her
right hand thrashed wildly, sending Juliet’s com dolly scudding across the floor into the vestry. She clenched her fist and swung it against the side of his head. He howled with surprise and pain; it did her good to hear that. But when he continued to pummel her with his head, his torso, his legs, she knew she had to change if she wanted to survive.

Anna extended all her fingers. Go for his eyes.

He saw it coming and arched upward. His body was off hers, she was free. Anna tried to rise, slipped, and found herself face down on the floor. She began to wriggle away from him. The altar, some muddled, atavistic instinct made her turn east for sanctuary. But then her strength deserted her and she lay spread-eagled with her head toward the red eye of God, waiting.

A blessed silence filled the church. Slowly she raised her head. Through a mist of tears it seemed to her that now the red eye beside the altar glistened like freshly spilled blood.

“Anna,” she heard him say. “Oh, God, I am so sorry …” Then he made a strangulated sound, one she had never heard before. It took her a few moments to adjust to this new awareness: Gerhard was crying.

“Forgive me,” he said. “Forgive me, forgive me …”

She dragged herself upright. Gerhard sat hunched against one wall of the church, hugging his knees to his chest. She could not see his face. He was shaking, palpitating with grief.

She approached cautiously, still not sure if this was a trap. Would he lunge again? But he remained where he was, defeated.

Anna sat down, legs folded beneath her, and studied him. He was, she realized with amazement, broken.
The violence represented a pitiful outburst against the fates that seemed determined to rob him of everything, even his last shreds of self-esteem.

“Gerhard,” she said, and her voice was tired. “Don’t cry.”

She could not tell if he had heard. “Gerhard,” she said again. “In all these years, I’ve never once thought of you as pathetic. No time to change.”

At that he raised his head and she saw that, yes, he really had been crying. Water still glistened on his cheeks. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Anna sighed. “It’s all right.”

Sometimes Juliet raged against her, calling her all manner of filthy names, but she always ended by telling her child that it was all right, it didn’t matter, because that’s what mothers did for children. Part of their naturally assigned function.

Gerhard wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Pathetic,” she heard him say. “Good word.”

Anna, feeling an impulsive need to reach out and touch him, cursed the trick of fate that had brought her into the world a female. “Don’t say that.”

“Such a fool … I thought I could make you forget David, fall in love with me again. But you were stronger.” Now he looked at her squarely, for the first time since the attack. “How long have you been pretending?”

“Only today. I planned to trick you. Find out what you meant to do with me.” She shrugged. “Maybe detect a weakness.”

The smile with which he greeted those words reassured her. It was as if Gerhard’s soul had temporarily departed, giving way to a demon; only now the soul had come back, reasserting pride of place.

“I’m sorry,” she said wearily. “But I can’t ever forget David and come to live with you. Not … ever.”

“I know. I thought you might, once. That’s why I took the file and offered to sell it. One reason, anyway. I believed I could make you come away with me, to South America maybe.”

She stared at him. “Offered to … you offered to
sell
Krysalis?”

“Yes.” He looked directly into Anna’s eyes, letting her see the courage his confession took. “I thought if I did that you’d be compromised. MI6 would take you for a traitor. So would David. When you saw that everyone was against you, you’d come to me.”

“Because there wasn’t anybody else. I see.”

But she didn’t, not really. All that mattered now, however, was building bridges. For in a sense his plan had worked. There
was
no one who could help. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

“The only thing I can do,” he said, with a half laugh.

Anna understood. He’d try to protect her from Barzel and his stooge. Avoid the worst excesses of violence, or physical restraint. Hold her hand when they went on board the submarine. Talk to her nicely. Bow to the inevitable.

Gerhard said, “I’m going to help you escape.”

CHAPTER
33

Albert locked up his apartment, scarcely able to contain his excitement. A few hours earlier, at Grosvenor Square, Redman had been on the point of saying something he desperately wanted to hear. But Albert didn’t resent the interruption, not even when it was the fault of someone with a name as outlandish as Melkiovicz. When he finally made a deal with Redman, the last thing he needed was witnesses.

Redman’s Granada pulled in to the curb alongside him. “Thanks for coming so fast,” Albert said as he jumped in. He looked over his shoulder, not caring that it gave away how anxious he was. “Drive, please, I don’t want this on the record.”

“Anywhere special?”

“I was thinking of taking a walk in the park.”

“Okay.” Redman drove off. “How much time do we have?”

“An hour, no more. I’m due in Hampstead later on.”

“Hampstead … ah, to take a look at Anna Lescombe’s case notes, right?”

“Time to prepare the ground, anyhow.”

Redman swung the car left out of Queensway. “Do you mind telling me what all this is about?”

“Business proposal,” Albert said. “First of all, let me pick your brains. What’s happening Stateside?”

Redman made a face. “Someone called me from Washington this morning and … well, the situation has definitely not improved.”

“Can you tell me?”

“I guess so. We managed to locate Lescombe in New York only because his contact, this Melkiovicz person, called a friend in the FBI. His name is Lawrence Pattmore. She told him about some foreign hoodlums who’d come to lean on her.”

“And?”

“Pattmore’s secretary is sympathetic to us. She made a phone call to Langley; we ran a watch on Melkiovicz … and Lescombe showed up in the frame.”

“Do I gather that the CIA’s monitoring this Pattmore character?”

“Damn right. Pattmore was
not
a friend of ours.”

“Was … past tense?”

“Uh-uh. He’s dead. Found in his apartment a couple of hours ago, with a wire around his neck.”

“Who the hell did that? Not Lescombe?”

Redman shook his head. “They’re working on it right now, but no suspects yet. Maybe there’s not even a connection. Anyway, looks like David Lescombe has an alibi: he spent last night driving around New York with this Melkiovicz woman and an FBI buddy of Pattmore’s called Burroughs.”

“You make it sound as if that’s bad.”

“It complicates things if Lescombe’s changed sides, yes. Burroughs has a big, wide-open mouth, a Freedom of Information man at heart.”

“In the FBI?”

“Unbelievable, isn’t it? Anyway, Pattmore and Burroughs were pretty damn close, and if Lescombe’s going to defect to the Communists, the thought of him taking anything from either of them causes us deep concern.”

“This does rather presuppose that Lescombe will defect.”

“We’re convinced of it.”

“So am I. But I can’t get my people to see it.”

Redman grunted. “I will be very frank with you, the loss of Krysalis represented some kind of low point in Anglo-U.S. relations. What’s made things even worse is the way you Brits are handling it.”

Although Albert kept quiet, he’d begun to breathe unevenly, a sure sign of jubilation. He’d anticipated having to lead the American, even prod him. But now it looked as though events might take their own course. Redman was saying all the right things.

“The call I took this morning originated from the Executive Building,” Redman said. “My caller was taking a break from what I think you call a full and frank exchange of views, have I got that right?”

“If you mean he was getting his ass—have
I
got
that
right?—kicked, then yes.”

“When the Chief of Staff demands to see the Director of the CIA at eight o’clock Sunday morning, you can assume that more than one ass is going to be kicked.” Redman shook his head, patently angry. “Unless we can manage to save Vancouver, and plug these Whitehall leaks at the same time, seems I’ll be going back to live in the States.”

“And you’d like to prevent that?”

Redman laughed. “Is what you’ve just said meant to stand as an example of ironical British understatement?”

“No. I want to suggest a means of ensuring that you stay right where you are.”

“I’m listening.” Redman’s voice had lost its relaxed tone; he was paying close attention now and Albert secretly exulted.

“How would you feel about briefing me to undertake a one-off assignment for the United States government?”

Redman shrugged. “Why? We have plenty of our own skilled labor.”

“But none of them in place, or easily put in place. The reason I’m talking to you is that I’m exactly where you need someone to be if he’s to do the job I sense we’ve both got in mind.”

“Tell me something quickly,” Redman said, “tell me now, does anyone else know about this contact?”

“Absolutely not.”

“This, what we’re doing, is principal to principal?”

“Correct. It would be part of any deal that you kept it that way on your side, as I would on mine.”

“Go on.”

“David Lescombe is likely to lead us to his wife within the next forty-eight hours.”

Redman stopped for a red light and swiveled so that he could look squarely at Albert. “What you’re getting at, if I follow you, is that an opportunity will shortly open up for you to do your job. Your
English
-sponsored job.”

“Correct.”

The lights changed; Redman drove into Hyde Park
and sped along the Ring, down to the Serpentine. “Let’s walk now,” Albert said.

“Fine with me.”

They got out and began to saunter along beside the water. There were crowds of people about doing Sundayish things. It would be hard, Albert reflected, to beat this location for what they had to negotiate.

“Let’s take it a stage further,” he said. “Sometime within the next two days, I will be presented with the opportunity I’ve been seeking. In the heat of such moments, mistakes sometimes get made. Two people have been known to die instead of one.”

“You would like to sell us a mistake?”

Albert nodded. “More or less.”

“Why have you waited until now to make this proposal?”

“No one on my side rated Lescombe highly, not even me. Until he managed to shake surveillance in Washington, I didn’t realize that he was a pro. But now I’m convinced he didn’t lose that file, he was part of a plot to steal it. He’s going to get to Anna and he’s going to manage to go over the wall with her. A lot of people
ought
to want to prevent that. But they still won’t see the danger. People like Fox and Shorrocks have somehow persuaded themselves that he doesn’t represent a danger, and they can’t be shifted.”

“Mistakes,” Redman said after a pause, “can be costly.”

“You have funds available. Something left over from the Contras. Or you could always sell another missile to Iran.”

“Now, Albert, that’s not funny.” Redman smiled, nevertheless. “What kind of figure are we talking about here?”

Albert drew a deep breath. Fifty thousand pounds was enough to buy him release from the army, a rundown hotel and all the fish Montgomery could eat. Fox and Shorrocks had promised him twenty thousand. Which left …

“Thirty thousand pounds.”

Redman whistled. “That’s quite a piece of change.”

“Care to give me an initial reaction?” Albert asked.

“Difficult.”

Albert stopped for long enough to pick up a discarded can and drop it in the nearest litter bin. “Is that another word for impossible?” he said moodily.

“Well … Langley would demand total, watertight, absolute deniability.”

“No problem.”

“After all, and forgive me for doubting what you said earlier, colonel, the task you have in mind
could
be done by an American.”

“Except that you must be particularly keen to avoid the fallout that any American involvement would bring. I mean, shooting one of your best ally’s top civil servants and his wife, in cold blood … hardly friendly, now is it? Try selling that to a congressional committee, mm?”

They walked in silence for a long way after that. “What makes you think we’d be interested?” Redman said at last.

“I’m in place, as I say. But also … because I believe that the powers-that-be in Langley share my view of what is wrong with the world. That they hold to their convictions every bit as passionately as I do to mine. That they want to make a severe example. But above all, that they are
angry.”

“Not a word about my own personal convictions, I
notice.” Redman’s smile was wry. “In fact, ideologically I’m not so far away from the man who called me this morning. We are lurching to the left, we lack control, the talk is all of rights and none of obligations, duties.”