The Defector (35 page)

“Have you been told to ask for him?” Volkov said gently. He smiled while he waited for the answer. It was tempting to say yes; she nearly did so. But since he knew so much, he might know this was a lie. The truth was safer.

“No,” she said.

“I’m asking for myself. I want him to come with me.”

“Why?” he said again.

“Because I don’t want him to be arrested,” Irina said. She drank more wine, and he knew she was nervous. But still brave. Courage was in her eyes. She loves this poor little intellectual, he thought, and was angry for a moment.

“Why should I arrest him? He can’t do any harm. I know all about him anyway.” He gave a little shrug of contempt.

“You won’t leave him free to work against you,” Irina said.

“And as he’s not very important, I would like you to let him leave Russia. Please, Antonyii. I am doing exactly what you want. Let Alexei Poliakov go to Livadia with me. “

“And supposing I say no,” he countered. She put the glass down and sat back. She hid her hands under the table and gripped them together to steady them.

“I love him,” she said.

“I love him as much as my mother. I won’t go without him.” Volkov signalled the waiter.

“Bring us coffee,” he said.

“And some Polish brandy.”

“I won’t go,” she said again.

“I mean it.”

“Very well.” Volkov spooned sugar into his coffee.

“Very well, if this little fellow means so much to you he can go too. Your father must come home, Irina. That is what matters. He mustn’t be used against Russia by her enemies. You can convince him that he won’t be punished, that we understand about his illness and what made him behave like a criminal lunatic. He will be treated and rehabilitated into Soviet society. And your mother will be with him. You will be a family again.

I expect you will leave your friend, Poliakov, in the West when you return. “

“I may stay with him,” she said.

“But you won’t care, so long as my father comes back.”

“I shall be sorry to lose you, Irina,” Volkov said gently.

“I hate to see Soviet citizens lose their rights and live in exile. But you can choose when the time comes. And I have something for you; you can show it to your father.” She recognized her mother’s writing. She took the envelope, and he said! “No, don’t open it here. Read it later.” She put the letter away in her bag.

“Two passes to travel to the Crimea and stay at Livadia,” Volkov said.

“For two weeks’ holiday, arriving on the 25th. I’ll send them round to you tomorrow, my dear. And now, if you’ll finish your coffee, we’ll go back to Moscow.” They drove back in silence. He didn’t touch her or even hold her hand. She heard him hum a little popular tune as he glanced out of the window. The car stopped at her apartment; he leaned forward and opened the door for her.

“I shan’t come in tonight,” he said.

“I hope you’re not too disappointed. You’ll need money for your trip. I’ll send that with the passes. Don’t forget to read your letter. Goodnight, dushinka.” She stood for a moment on the pavement, as the car drove off. Then she used the entrance key; the old de hurnaya was replaced by a man who guarded the block during the night. He noted everyone who came in and out and reported anything unusual to the police. Irina went past him, up in the lift and unlocked her flat door. It was past one in the morning. She went into the kitchen and poured a glass of milk. And she sat at the big table, where her family used to gather in the evenings with their friends, drinking tea and laughing, talking, eating arguing sometimes. With the letter in her hand, she felt the memories almost materialize out of the air, until the kitchen was thronged with ghosts. Her father, the hero-figure of her childhood, the good companion of her adult life. And her mother, so warm and steadfast, an old-fashioned woman to whom the family was a treasure and not a burden. She had grown up with love; and there had been a different kind of love in that kitchen, the love between good friends. Jacob Belezky, dark eyes burning behind his glasses; his brave wife, who supported all the dangerous things he said. They were all there crowding round her for a moment, and then as suddenly they disappeared, and she was alone in the kitchen, seated at the empty table, with her mother’s letter waiting to be opened. The ink had run, as if tears had fallen on the writing. The letter was a sheet of paper with a torn edge; there was no heading, only the date a week earlier. It rambled and the handwriting was irregular and untidy, as if the person writing were very old. It spoke of her sufferings without describing them. That agony would be inflicted by the reader’s imagination. It begged for help, for relief. It reminded the daughter and the husband of their responsibility, of their ability to save her. Fear and anguish ran into each other, making some sentences difficult to read. It was a dreadful, abject piece of moral blackmail, and Irina Sasanova knew that her mother would never have written it freely. She didn’t cry; she folded it and put it back in its envelope and finished her milk. That would bring her father back; Volkov had known exactly how to blend the ingredients in that letter. But he didn’t know the meaning of that signature’your wife and little mother’ Don’t believe anything if I say “little mother” . It will be a lie. ” Fedya had warned her in that last interview, seeing what might lie ahead.

“I would like to kill him,” Irina murmured to herself.

“I would like to ask him to come here, and stab him while he’s sleeping. I’d like to give him poison, so that he could die in agony.” She washed up the glass, switched out the light and went into her parents’ room. She paused, looking at the bed. Volkov had defiled it. He had abused her and humiliated her where her mother and father had made love. She closed the door and went to her own room. In five days she would be in the Crimea, and Alexei Poliakov would be with her. five days. At last she fell asleep. It was six in the morning, and the sun was up; the birds’ bright chorus had quietened as the dawn became full day. It was possible to pull the curtains back and switch off the lights. The conference room was fogged with cigarette smoke, the men sitting in a group at one end of the table looked haggard and stale. Sasanov had a heap of papers in front of him and an ashtray full of half-smoked cigarettes. There was a tray with empty coffee cups and a tepid pot, pushed to one side. Grant and the Brigadier and Kidson flanked the Russian.

“There is your Mole,” Sasanov said.

“And we have sent him into Russia,” James White spoke slowly, coldly. He turned to look at Grant.

“This is your failure,” he said.

“He was never properly investigated.” Grant’s sallow skin flushed.

“His background was impeccable,” he said.

“I only did what seemed reasonable. We had no indication that he was suspect.”

“You had every reason,” Sasanov barked at him.

“The signs were all’ there you didn’t look! What are you going to do, Brigadier, to save Vina and my daughter?” There was a moment’s silence, then Kidson interposed quietly, “If your theory is right, your daughter will be arrested as she tries to leave and the bona-fide British agent will be held as hostage against your extradition. Volkov will then have a full hand of cards to play against us and a strong lever to force you to go back voluntarily. According to your reading of the situation he will be certainly promoted to the top job when Keremov retires in December. “

“And our traitor will come back and burrow underground again,” the Brigadier said.

“Except that we’ve flushed him out. I would like to get him back and invite him down here for a country weekend.” He looked hard at Sasanov.

“How will Volkov arrange the finale?”

“How? I’m not sure, but he will gather them all into his net in the Crimea. He is a man who likes to play with people. “

“How many are likely to be taken into his confidence?” Grant asked.

“Does he work in close cooperation with his superiors? How much does he confide in his subordinates?” He was watching Sasanov closely. The Russian frowned.

“He works as secretly as he dares,” he said.

“In that way he can take risks, and cover them if he fails. He hates sharing information, because he has to share the credit.” He paused.

“His subordinates will know nothing; they act on his orders. His plan will be kept secret from everyone.”

“Including the Mole?” Kidson asked. Sasanov nodded.

“The Mole will get instructions. That’s all.” Again there was silence. He raised his head and looked at the Brigadier.

“Why did you let Vina go to Russia?” James White gazed blandly back at him.

“She asked to go. She insisted on it. She said it was the only way you would believe we were genuinely trying to get your daughter out.”

“That isn’t why you sent her,” Sasanov said.

“You had another reason.”

“Not exactly a reason,” James White admitted.

“Just a very vague idea at the back of my mind. Which has proved right, as it turns out. You see, she was the one way, we could send Harrington out without arousing suspicion. She was trying to help him, to get him back into active service again. It seemed to fit in rather well.” They were all staring at the Brigadier. He yawned.

“Could we get some hot coffee, Kidson? Keep us all awake a bit longer?” Kidson got up from the table, took the tray and went out.

“It’s very interesting,” the Brigadier went on, ‘because the pattern was rather obvious. You didn’t see it. Colonel Sasanov recognized it;

I just had a funny feeling. Harring ton has been a member of the Firm since the fifties. A good chap, with a very good record. But never spectacular; just a reliable man who could turn his hand to a spot of real trouble if he had to. And then he begins to drink and slack in New York, and the two contacts he goes on about are one East German plant, obvious to anybody, and a Rumanian with very little to offer us. So he gets himself talked about and then recalled. At just the right moment. When you are in England, and the Russians can’t find out anything about you. And he meets Davina, by accident on purpose; he’s heard the gossip that she’s your “minder” but that doesn’t help him unless he can find out where you’re being hidden. She can’t be followed, because she’s under our surveillance whenever she goes out. And she won’t tell him anything. All those transcripts of interviews with her prove that. He can’t bug the car because the car is regularly serviced and checked. So he sets up the very simple and very clever meeting that ends in Jules’ Bar, with the telephone call he knew she’d have to make. To Halldale Manor. “

“And sticks a monitor on the dial,” Grant murmured.

“That was ingenious. It gave him the telephone number she’d called. So a Centre assassin is activated to identify Davina and” make certain. The fire-bomb follows. “

“It had to be the telephone,” Sasanov said.

“I read and read the evidence, and I knew there was something. I know the type of monitor. It leaves a little adhesive behind it, because it won’t magnetize on plastic. The telephone in that bar was plastic. Otherwise we wouldn’t have found any evidence at all. ” He rested his head in his hands for a moment.

“Volkov thought they had killed me in the fire,” he said.

“But he wasn’t sure. He had my wife arrested and my daughter watched. They would find the connection between your Embassy and the lecturer and when it went on he guessed I was alive. So he seduced my daughter, hoping the news would get back to me. Then Harrington heard from Davina again and Volkov knew for certain I had escaped. Everything you briefed Harrington on was sent back to Volkov. The plan for Irina’s escape, the appointment of that other man Spencer-Barr. Volkov knew it all. And now Harrington is in Livadia with Vina, waiting to betray them as soon as Irina arrives. How much of the plan for their escape does he know? “

“Nothing,” Grant said.

“They are being told by stages;

it’s safer. That’s our only consolation at this point. You realize that apart from your daughter and Miss. Graham, Volkov will be able to force confessions from the lecturer and his associates? Our whole network among the activists for human rights will be exposed and eliminated not to mention Frieda and her people in East Berlin. This will be a major Intelligence disaster for the West, and a tremendous boost for Volkov’s chances of getting the top KGB post. We’ve got to take immediate action. “

“Volkov will hold Vina and my daughter,” Sasanov said.

“As well as my wife. He will offer to release them and return Vina in exchange for me. He knows me well; he knows I love my wife and how I will feel about what he’s done to my daughter. And he will soon discover how much Vina means to me. You must agree, Brigadier. You must send me back. I’ll give you everything I can, but if you fail, and they are taken, you must promise Vina will be exchanged for me?” White considered him for a moment, and then at last he nodded.

“Very well; I promise. I may have trouble with our Home Secretary, but if he believes it’s voluntary… The moment your wife and daughter are released and Miss. Graham is handed over you will be escorted to the other side. On one condition.”

“What is that?” Sasanov asked.

“That you carry a cyanide capsule and kill yourself the minute they lay hands on you. Have some more coffee?”

“Thank you,” Sasanov said.

“That won’t be difficult. Without my family and Vina, I don’t want to be alive.”

“I think our questions about Sasanov have just been answered,” the Brigadier said. He and Grant were sitting in Kidson’s room; they had bathed and eaten breakfast. Grant looked greener than usual after the night without sleep, but James White was pink-cheeked and refreshed. His energy amazed Kidson, who had never seen him tire.

“The tension, the debriefing that he turned into a tour-deforce,” the Brigadier went on.

“All signs of inner conflict, just as you said, John. But not because he was playing a part. He was telling us everything he could think of, because he was in love with Miss. Graham. And she was some kind of hostage to Fate, with his daughter. The more he betrayed his country and his old loyalties, the safer he felt they would be. Curious, isn’t it? “