The Defector (46 page)

“She’ll be all right,” Harrington said.

“I’m afraid they got pretty rough with her.” He shook his head.

“I still can’t believe we got away,” he said. Kidson said gently, “You worked a miracle to get back, Peter. We thought you’d both gone down the drain. Well done. The Chief sends his congratulations. He’ll be along to sit in on the debriefing as soon as you feel up to it.”

“I’m fine,” Harrington said stoutly.

“They didn’t have much of a go at me. They reckoned poor Davina was the weak link in the chain. I just sat under guard and sweated it out. How are the love-birds? How’s Sasanov? ” Kidson beamed.

“He’s in great form. The reunion between him and his daughter was quite moving. He wants to thank you himself. I think we might break security long enough for that,” he said.

“That’s very nice, very nice indeed,” Harrington said.

“I’d like that.” Kidson had met them at Heathrow; Davina was taken to a separate car by a woman Harrington hadn’t seen before. She had her arm round her and was talking to her very gently. She looked like a nurse. Kidson, after shaking hands and congratulating him, drove him from the airport. They were going to Hampshire, where he could rest for a few days and be debriefed. It was a lovely day, and he settled back to enjoy the drive. His story was word-perfect; he knew exactly how to tell it, with the right mixture of self-deprecation and excuse for Davina’s crack-up. He would be very gallant and defend her hotly if there was the least criticism. And all the credit for their release was his; he had convinced Tatischev of the KGB that they had more to lose than gain by keeping them. His Service wouldn’t rub the Russians’ noses in it over Irina’s escape; Poliakov would not give press interviews or discuss the plight of dissidents in the Soviet Union. Neither he nor Davina Graham were of much use to anybody and certainly didn’t merit an exchange. They were only field operatives, and expendable. There were discrepancies, of course. The KGB were notoriously vindictive when thwarted. He had to make their reasons for releasing their two victims very convincing. The organized leak from the Soviet end would help. He hummed a little tune as he looked out on the green English countryside.

“I hope nobody’s going to blame Davy,” he said earnestly, as they turned into the gates of the Ministry’s training-centre, and the big ugly building loomed at the end of the drive.

“No question of that,” Kidson reassured him.

“She’s gone to a nursing-home for a few days; our doctors will check up on her. She’ll be sent on sick leave. I just hope she hasn’t suffered any permanent psychological damage. But she’s a steady type of girl. As you say, she’ll be all right. Here we are. ” The car stopped and he got out. Harrington followed him. The mock-medieval front door swung open and Grant appeared. He came forward and held out his hand.

“Welcome back,” he said.

“Well done!” Harrington winked at Kidson and followed them inside. He was given a very good lunch, with a fine Chateau-Latour; Harrington felt he could indulge himself in a few drinks this once, and enthused over the wine. Even Grant’s sepulchral face twisted into a brief smile as the conversation flowed between the three of them. There was a choice of port or brandy and Kidson produced a box of cigars.

“I must say,” Harrington grinned, “I feel like the prodigal son! I just wish Davina had been with us.”

“I’m sure you do,” Kidson said.

“I could arrange for some flowers to be sent to her, if you like. It might cheer her up.”

“Do that, will you thanks very much,” Harrington said. Grant looked at his watch; it looked too big on his bony wrist.

“I think the Chief will be ready for us now,” he announced

“Let’s go down to the conference room, shall we?” The debriefing took nearly three hours; Harrington was quite tired at the end of it, and he felt liverish from the heavy lunch and the wine. Brigadier James White had done most of the questioning himself. He was generous in his praise for the way Harrington had turned a near disaster into triumph.

“You haven’t lost your touch,” he said.

“You’re as good as you ever were, my dear chap. I don’t think we’ll waste you in Personnel again!” There was a general laugh.

“Thank you, Chief,” Harrington said.

“Now I’ve answered all the questions, I’d like to ask one.”

“Of course,” James White nodded. Harrington put on a puzzled half-smile.

“I didn’t see the youngsters leave the ship,” he said.

“I heard the announcement that no one was going to be allowed ashore and I thought, just as I told you Christ, that’s done it! I rushed off to find them but they weren’t there… How did they get past the guards on the gangway?” James White slipped a hand into his pocket; he gazed at Peter Harrington with a quiet smile. Suddenly there wasn’t a sound in the room. He took his hand out of his pocket and laid the red identity card, with its shield and crossed-swords insignia, on the table.

“They used this,” he said.

“It seems to belong to you.”

“Sit down, Comrade Sasanova,” Lieutenant Colonel Tatischev said.

“I hope the journey wasn’t too tiring for you? ” Fedya Sasanova gazed up at him. She showed no expression; she held her hands folded in her lap, and waited. The journey had not been tiring.

She had been taken by train and given a sleeping compartment. She was guarded by a woman officer of the KGB who wouldn’t tell her where she was going, but was otherwise friendly and considerate. Fedya had learned not to question when things went right. She had spent long sickening weeks of anticipation in the transit camp, waiting every day for the move to the white horror of Kolyma, until her ability to suffer through anticipation became dulled into a hopeless resignation. She saw others come and go, and when she was’ called out from her hut and told to get ready for a journey, she bowed her head and whispered goodbye to the few still waiting, and believed that the journey would be her last. Now she was in the KGB’s headquarters on Dzerzinsky Street, and the young man was the one who had accompanied Volkov to the mortuary. He was being very friendly, and this frightened her. Fear began to well up inside her; the unnatural calm of despair was deserting her in the face of this friendliness. The comfortable chair, the courteous inquiries, the pleasant smile. Her heart leaped like a fish on the end of a line.

“How is my daughter?”

“Very well,” Tatischev said.

“You don’t have to worry about her. You must wonder why we’ve brought you here? Well, I’ll tell you why.” He brought his own chair close to her.

“I have been told to apologize to you, Comrade Sasanova, for a terrible miscarriage of justice. The highest authority, General Kaledin himself, has ordered your release. The Service is not afraid to admit when it’s in the wrong. You should never have been arrested. If Comrade Volkov were still alive, he would be facing the courts for what he did. ” She looked horribly thin and her skin was the grey-white common to prisoners. He felt genuinely indignant for her. Her mouth went slack. She stared at him.

“He’s dead? Antonyii Volkov?” Tatischev nodded.

“A heart attack. When the authorities examined the records, his criminal action became known. You were imprisoned on a false charge a charge invented by Antonyii Volkov. You identified your husband’s body, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. He nodded again.

“And you were right-to do so; your husband is dead, and that was his body that was buried. You only told the truth, and for this you have been unjustly punished.”

“Will you accept the apologies of the Service? General Kaledin will see that you receive the pension awarded to a general’s widow. The rank will be posthumously conferred on your husband. A new apartment has been allotted to you; all your privileges are restored, Comrade Sasanova. From now on, you are under the special protection of the KGB. ” She couldn’t find any words; she stared at him and her mouth turned down and began to quiver. He didn’t want her to cry; she was shocked and weak, and when she realized how generously she’d been treated, her tears would turn into smiles of gratitude.

“Where is Irina? Why do I have to change the apartment? Did Volkov do anything to her? “

“No,” Tatischev said firmly.

“Your daughter is alive and very well. But you won’t be able to communicate with her. She can’t get in touch with you. You must take this on trust, Comrade. You must trust the Service from now on, and rely on it without question. Do you understand that? “

“Yes,” Fedya said at last.

“I understand. And she is happy?” It cost Tatischev a real effort to answer without bitterness.

“I think so. That’s all I can tell you. You must be content with that. ” She didn’t say anything for some moments. She was released; Volkov was dead, and the authorities wanted Sasanov to be dead too. She would be rewarded for the lie instead of punished, because official policy had changed. Irina had vanished. But she was well, and there was some thing angry in Tatischev’s eyes when he said that he thought she was happy. It was just possible, like a gleam of dazzling sunlight behind a storm-cloud, that Irina had got to the West. She would believe that, and one day she might find out if it was true. She said, “I’m very grateful, Colonel. I’m very honoured to be under your protection. I bear no ill-will for what happened to me.” He gave her a warm smile and squeezed her hand.

“I have a personal contribution to make to you, Comrade,” he said kindly.

“You have a pass to spend two weeks in the sanatorium at Alupka. Treatment and rest will restore your health. The arrangements will include a flight to the Crimea and back. I hope you enjoy it.” He came down to the front of the offices with her, supporting her with a hand under her arm. An official car was waiting and took her to the select apartment complex in the suburbs of Moscow reserved for the Party elite. She felt well enough to buy summer clothes by the end of the week. She boarded the flight to Simferopol and was met by another official car, then driven to the splendid resort of Alupka and the sanatorium reserved for high Party officials and their families. She carried a little ikon of Saint Nicholas the miracle-worker, given to her by a fellow-prisoner in the transit camp. It was crude and the paint was worn away in places, where the devout had held it in their hands when they prayed. Fedya kept it hidden, and slept with it under her pillow. The woman who gave it to her had gone to Kolyma. She had been a practising Christian.

“I’m glad to see you looking so well,” the Brigadier said.

“I’ve had a long leave,” Davina answered. He smiled his genial smile.

“You earned it, my dear. I gather you won’t have any more problems; our doctor was very pleased with the way you pulled out of it all. Marchwood must have been lovely this time of year. How’s your mother’s garden?”

“Full of flowers, as usual,” she said.

“She believes it’s because she talks to them. I’ve never been able to grow even a potted plant.”

“She’s a wonderful person,” he remarked.

“She knows how to manage your father; I had a lot of stick from him about what happened to you. He was threatening to sue the Ministry and go to his MP and God knows what else! She calmed him down, though. I don’t suppose you knew about all the fuss.”

“I didn’t,” she admitted.

“I’d no idea my father would take it like that. He’s never been over-fond of me.”

“That’s a sad thing to say,” James White remarked.

“And not true either. He doesn’t show his feelings; you’re rather alike in that way. But he cares very much for you, and I ought to know it. I’m afraid our friendship will never be the same. He won’t forgive me for sending you out.

“That’s not fair,” Davina said quietly.

“I wanted to go. I’ll try and explain it to him. I just didn’t talk about it to either of them. My mother never asked a question. She just gathered me up and spoiled me to death for the whole two months. I felt like a little girl who’s had measles.” She laughed.

“Perhaps I should have talked about it, but I didn’t want to worry her. I didn’t think she’d understand and she’d just get fussed and frightened. Same thing with my father. He was very kind too; I shouldn’t have said that about not being fond of me. He really did his best. Breakfast tray in my room, lots of red wine because my mother’d said to him I looked anaemic. The funny thing was, Sir James, my sister Charley was the only person who asked me what happened and made me tell her. I didn’t want to, but she went on and on. She’s the most persistent girl I’ve ever known. And she always gets her own way. So I told her. I told her every damned thing. And do you know what she did?

“

“No,” he prompted.

“What did she do?”

“Burst into tears,” Davina said.

“Threw her arms round me and cried like a cloud-burst. I ended up having to comfort her. Anyway, I’m back now, and getting very bored. When are you going to let me come back to work?”

“That’s what I wanted to discuss with you,” James White said.

“I thought a quiet lunch was a good way of doing it. You do look well, but you also look depressed. Are you? “

She stiffened.

“Not in the least. Please, we’ve had the psychiatric stuff. I hope I’m not going to be dogged by this sort of thing.”

“Not at all,” he answered.

“But if you’re not depressed, why are your eyes full of tears? Use your handkerchief Davina, and don’t be silly. You’re not the only person in the world who isn’t happy. “

“I know that,” she said.

“Believe me I’m so angry with myself-I hate self-pity. It’s just that I need something to do, to take my mind off things.”

“That’s exactly what Sasanov says.” He said it quite casually. He saw her face flood with colour.

“He’s complaining about being bored, restless. His daughter and that chap Poliakov got married, you know. I think he misses them.”

“Yes.” She opened her bag and fiddled with her cigarettes and lighter.

“I expect he does… And there’s no news of his wife, I suppose? That really haunts me. now I know what they can do to people. “

“Well, there is news actually,” he continued.

“Would you mind too much waiting till we have coffee before you smoke? Thank you they are a little old-fashioned in the Club dining-room. Yes, there is news, as I was saying. She was released from prison, and apparently she’s being treated very well. It took some time to filter through to us, but very generous amends seem to have been made. She’s on what’s called the KGB special list. That means she’s under their protection and woe betide anyone who even gives her a parking-ticket. There’s no question of her leaving, of course. We’ll try and let her know her daughter’s safe and happy by the same little route that brought us news of her. So you needn’t worry about her any more. We were able to set Sasanov’s mind at rest.”