The Defector (45 page)

“Come with me,” he said.

“We’ve had news.” The Russian grabbed his arm; Grant was very thin and the grip hurt him. He winced.

“Upstairs,” he said.

“We can’t discuss it here.” It was quite impossible, Grant explained later over the telephone. They couldn’t deal with him. The Brigadier would have to come down and talk to him himself. James White apologized to his wife for disrupting their weekend, and set out for Hampshire. It was not going to be easy; if Kidson and Grant between them hadn’t been able to cope with Sasanov, then he had to take the responsibility. He frowned as he drove; frantic, was the word Grant had used, and it wasn’t one of his usual adjectives. His daughter’s escape hadn’t pacified Sasanov. He was ranting and raving about what had happened to Davina Graham. Her loss was certainly a dreadful price to pay; he dreaded the visit to his old friend Captain Graham to tell him that his daughter was in Russian hands. He dreaded it, but as soon as he had settled Sasanov as well as possible, he had to face that duty and go down to Marchwood. He arrived at the Hampshire mansion in the late afternoon. He was calm and composed as always, but there were lines on his face which hadn’t been visible before the weekend.

“Get her back,” Ivan Sasanov said, ‘or you’ll get nothing more from me.

“

“Don’t you think we’re going to try?” the Brigadier countered.

“I don’t know!” the Russian said.

“You sent her out because you wanted to dig up your Mole. You risked her life for your own purposes, nothing to do with my daughter, and she sacrificed herself to save Irina. So you give me Irina like a birthday present and think it’s enough. It isn’t,” he said violently. He stood facing White; he glared down at him with eyes sunk deep in his head; his face was grey.

“I will not speak another word to your experts until you get her back.”

“You’re asking the impossible,” James White said.

“And you know it. The only exchange they’ll make for her is you. And that can’t happen. We made a bargain. If the plan failed you could go back. It didn’t. Our job was to get your daughter here and we’ve done it. What happened to one of our agents was only incidental to the deal we made. “

“Not to me,” Sasanov shouted at him.

“Not to me! You think I will leave Vina in Volkov’s hands? They have the two people I love my wife and Vina! You call this operation a success? It’s not a success for me. ” He turned away and dropped into a chair; he sank his head in his hands. James White waited for a moment, then he said quietly, “Wait till your daughter gets here. We only know the bare facts. She’ll be able to tell us exactly what happened. Then we can try and work something out. Will you try to be calm till she comes? ” He didn’t like emotional displays. The tears running down Sasanov’s face embarrassed him deeply. He coughed and looked round for Kidson. He was skilled at dealing with this kind of thing. Kidson came to the rescue. He said, “This won’t be much of a welcome for your daughter, after all she’s been through. You should think other.”

“I am,” Sasanov muttered.

“I’m glad she’s safe. But she’ll understand. Russians have hearts, Brigadier, not like you English. ” James White glanced across at Kidson and shrugged.

“You’ve made arrangements to bring them here direct from Heathrow, haven’t you, John?”

“Yes.” Kidson nodded.

“The plane is due in about an hour. If they land on time we should have them up here this evening.”

“I’ll stay,” the Brigadier said.

“There’s nothing more to be done or talked about, till we know the position exactly. I’ll leave you, Colonel Sasanov. We’ll talk again when you’ve seen your daughter.” Kidson came with him to the door and slipped outside.

“What the devil are we going to do?” James White whispered to him.

“I don’t know,” Kidson answered.

“I’m afraid we’re in for a very difficult time.” The Alexander Nevsky was a closed ship. She rode at anchor in the port of Yalta, and except for armed guards patrolling the decks there was no sign of life. The crew had been given shore leave without explanation; the head of the security services in Yalta had taken command of the ship, and ordered the captain and his officers to leave. From the moment the cruise ship tied up, she became the temporary headquarters of the KGB. Major Tatischev was met at Simferopol airport and driven direct to the quay, where he boarded the ship. In the captain’s cabin he met Danton for the first time, and gave him his orders from Igor Kaledin. Peter Harrington looked tired and dishevelled; he hadn’t shaved and the beard showed up on his chin and neck. Tatischev smelt vodka on his breath, and it was not even midday.

“I don’t want to do it,” he said.

“It’s too dangerous. I’ve given you bloody good service, I’m entitled to retire.” He slumped in a chair, a cigarette burning between his fingers. Tatischev regarded him with contempt. Seedy, unshaven, probably partly drunk.

“You were entitled to retire,” Tatischev said coldly.

“If you hadn’t made the most incredible mistake for a professional a mistake that would disgrace one of our first-year trainees at the Lenigrad Institute. You ruined the operation,” he said flatly.

“You allowed the girl and the tutor to escape. If you had produced your authority in time they would have been arrested. I cannot think why you should hide something so vital in a woman’s handbag.” He saw Harrington’s face redden.

“I think you were drunk-isn’t that the truth?”

“No,” Harrington shouted, “I wasn’t - I told you, it was five in the morning!

I caught her rooting around my things, and I had to make a quick decision. There was one more day to go I put the card in the lining of her bag, precisely because I could make sure she carried it and I could get hold of it at any moment. How the hell was I to know she’d lose it in the one place I couldn’t follow? The lavatory! Somebody pinched it and threw it overboard when they’d taken her money. It was just the most damnable luck, that’s all. ” He got up and began moving round the cabin.

“You can put the blame on me,” he said.

“But what about your own rotten system of communications? I sent my messages through and there wasn’t a link up to get back to me. Fourteen hours before your end did anything! How does General Kaledin feel about that? “

“Stop shouting,” Tatischev snapped at him.

“Pull yourself together and listen to me. General Kaledin is giving you another chance; he reconizes we were at fault. But there is one condition to you going back. If you break it, he won’t forgive you a second lapse.” Harrington glared at him and then sat down; he rubbed his stubbly chin with the back of his hand. He started to say something, and then decided not to.

“What’s the condition?” he asked.

“You don’t touch alcohol again,” Tatischev said flatly.

“You have done good work for us over the years. You coped as well as you could this time, in the circumstances. So the General is giving you this chance to redeem yourself. General Volkov was responsible for the breakdown in communications. Now that he’s dead, we have to salvage what we can.”

“Heart attack!” Harrington muttered.

“Just at the crucial moment. Just my luck…” He sucked at the remains of the cigarette and threw it into the metal cuspidor by the side of the captain’s table.

“As things have turned out,” the Major repeated, ‘we can still bring the Sasanov affair to a successful conclusion. You can go back because your cover is intact. And you can lead us to him. There won’t be an error the second time. In fact,” he went on, ‘your position with the SIS will be even stronger. You will return with your reputation enhanced. You underwent questioning; you maintained your cover; your woman colleague broke down and compromised you both. You convinced us that there was no point in holding either of you, because the others had escaped and your Service would only retaliate by publicizing the defection of Sasanov’s daughter and a tutor from Moscow University with a lot to say about the so-called plight of dissidents. We have nothing to gain by holding you and the woman, only a loss efface. It makes a perfectly convincing story; the DirectorGeneral has worked out the details of it himself. We will make sure that corroboration leaks back to your Service through other channels.

“We shall impose a total security black-out on you and the woman, and fly you back to London. It will represent a major Intelligence victory for our enemies. We’re quite content to let them think so, as long as we have you in place. You will find Sasanov for us. We will eliminate him. And their victory will consist of two more Russians to be hidden and supported at their expense. When that is done, Danton, you will be brought to the Soviet Union and given the recognition you deserve. A further half-million roubles will be credited to your Swiss account. The money will make your life very comfortable indeed when you are living here. “

“It sounds neat enough,” Harrington said ungraciously.

“A little too neat. They’re not fools in London, you know. I’d feel a lot happier if you kept her here. I just have a hunch about her, that she knows how those two got away…”

“She’s in the sickbay now,” Tatischev said.

“By the time she is aboard that plane she will be ready to believe anything you tell her. And you will tell her that she betrayed you. But that you managed to talk your way out of it. She will be completely discredited in her own mind. There’s no question of keeping her in Russia. That is the DirectorGeneral’s decision. ” He snapped out the last words. He looked at his watch.

“You will leave on the two o’clock plane from Simferopol. I suggest that you shave and I will have some clothes sent to you. I am going to the sickbay now.” Harrington didn’t answer. He watched the Russian stride to the door and close it behind him. He had to go back. He didn’t want to go; he wanted to cash in his chips and stay behind, start the new life he had promised himself. But Volkov was dead and the orders came from Igor Kaledin himself. He had to go back and search out Sasanov for them. They wouldn’t miss a second time. It made sense of course; he was too intelligent not to see how the Russian’s mind worked. They didn’t want to keep Davina because it might arouse suspicion if only he returned. So he had no alternative. He could twist her inside out on the journey back. He knew what being in the sickbay meant. She’d collapsed completely the second time they locked her into a tiny black space. She’d be pumped full of drugs and weak as a rag doll when they put her on the plane. He got up and sighed; his nerves were jumping and there was no more vodka. He went outside to the washroom to clean up and shave. Davina didn’t know the man sitting next to her. He looked like someone she had known but confusion distorted him;

sometimes he spoke to her and she answered. But she had no clear memory; a second later she’d forgotten every word. It had all started when they gave her the injection. She remembered being given an injection, but rather as if it were a nightmare, a blur of fear and muddled incidents. She hadn’t wanted the injection but a lot of hands held her down and the needle went in and she screamed. She had heard herself screaming in the little dark cupboard, and thought she was back at Marchwood, locked into the larder as a child, too small to reach the light switch, unable to push the heavy door. Then the dreams faded and she was aware of herself, sitting in the plane with the man beside her. She couldn’t remember his name, but there was something. She slept. She woke in a daze, letting herself be helped aboard another plane, a big man half-holding her up on one side; she felt so terribly weak she wanted to cry. She must have been very ill to feel like that. She was back in the seat again, and she knew the man beside her was Peter Harrington. She tried to shrink away from him, but the seat belt was tight and she couldn’t move.

“Poor old Davy,” he said to her.

“You’ve had a rotten time. Don’t worry; you’ll be all right.” She didn’t answer;

she felt she wanted to spit at him but the effort was too much. He was right; she did feel dreadful and something horrible was just behind her, something very frightening. “It doesn’t matter,” he was whispering to her, leaning so close his sour breath was on her face.

“It doesn’t matter that you told them.. you couldn’t help it.” . Help what? A tear trickled down her cheek. She raised her hand and found that at least she could wipe the tears away. What didn’t matter what had she told them? She tried to form the words into a question. She must have said something because he was talking to her again.

“You told them the truth, Davy. You told the Russians who we were. You couldn’t help it. They gave you a bad time.” So they did; the thought had sudden clarity, cutting through the fog in her mind. They shut me up in a tiny, hot black hole. and then they stuck needles into me. She opened her lips and said as clearly as she could to the face leaning over her, “You bastard.” Then the face swam away and the fog closed in again. The suggestions floated on the surface of her mind, seeking roots. But another thought was swimming hard for recognition. I didn’t tell the Russians anything. he’s the traitor; I know he’s the traitor. I don’t know how I know but I do know it. I mustn’t believe what he says. / must not believe it. Hold on to that, never mind the fog and the panic uncurling inside you. Hold on and don’t believe him. Harrington watched her during the first half of the flight;

she was still very much under the influence of the hypnotic drug they had given her; coupled with strong sedatives to calm her after the violent attack of claustrophobia, she was very disorientated and sleepy. But she’d taken in what he had told her; his suggestions would have dropped into her subconscious and stuck like flies in honey. When she was recovered, she’d be convinced of her own guilt. He settled back to eat an Aeroflot meal, and drank mineral water. The woman beside him dozed; he slept a little himself on the last part of the flight to London. He had everything worked out, and he was full of confidence. Good old Harrington - he was coming home as the hero of the expedition. Major Tatischev was also feeling satisfied. He had spent some time with Igor Kaledin, and emerged promoted to Lieutenant-Colonel and attached to his personal staff. He went to work in Volkov’s office; by the evening he had shredded every scrap of paper and destroyed every tape connected with Ivan Sasanov. The official record was closed after the Halldale Manor fire; there would never be any evidence that Volkov had known he was alive and had implemented a plan to get him back to Russia. Nobody would ever know that Igor Kaledin had nearly been the victim of a coup. The role played by Danton went no further than his activities in aiding the fire-bomb assassins. No mention was made of Irina Sasanova’s flight or the disappearance ofalexei Poliakov. They would be officially recorded as working in separate cities in south-eastern Russia. When he finished clearing out the office, he attended to the matter of the captain and crew of the Alexander Nevsky. Each man was posted to a different ship, and the captain himself was promoted to the command of one of the big Morpasflot ocean-going liners. The next thing to be done the following morning was to settle the last detail, close off the final outlet of Volkov’s secret. Fedya Sasanova, waiting in transit for the death-camps at Kolyma.