The Tamarind Seed (26 page)

‘What about Gregory Stukalov? He is a ladies' man—he could keep Mrs. Farrow reassured till you come back.'

‘I will leave her to you to run,' Sverdlov said. ‘And you will be responsible for keeping her while I'm away. You and Stukalov. If she likes him, he can take over from me completely; but one can't hurry these things.'

‘No,' Golitsyn agreed. ‘Patience is need. I hope you will be able to persuade Elena Maximova to forget about divorce. She is a very fine woman; it would be a pity to lose her.'

‘I don't intend to lose her. As soon as I have Mrs. Farrow in my bag, I will be on my way to see my wife. I may bring her back with me.'

‘I will look forward to that,' the old man said. He had Anna's scribbled copy of the telegram to Elena in his tunic pocket. So far there were no discrepancies. A weekend with the Englishwoman. It presented no problem, they could both be watched. And afterwards she would have to get used to Stukalov. Certainly she would never see Feodor Sverdlov again.

Sverdlov went back to his office; Anna Skriabine was in the outer room typing. When he came in she looked up and smiled; he smiled back and made a gesture that she should continue. He didn't need her. Alone he opened his desk drawer and took out some sheets of papers, reports which had come through in the course of the morning. He folded them flat and slipped them in his pocket. He lit a cigarette, drawing the strong smoke deep into his lungs. Golitsyn had accepted the explanation. He knew the old man very well; in the past few months he had studied him with special care. He was cunning, and in spite of the general opinion of his capabilities, he was certainly no fool. Equally he moved to a pattern like all his generation, schooled to think and act in certain ways. There was a confident air about him, a secret smugness which he couldn't hide because he was unaware that it showed itself. He believed that Sverdlov was hooked. He was so sure of himself that he had made arrangements for one of his protégés to take over Judith Farrow and continue the work which he, Sverdlov, had begun. The suggestion of Stukalov as ‘minder' confirmed this. Stukalov was one of the old man's favourites in the Service; he had taken trouble to recommend him and see that he was given jobs with the chance of promotion.

He was a young man, but he was cast in Golitsyn's implacable mould. A natural hard-liner. Sverdlov crushed out the cigarette. He left the office and in Anna Skriabine's little office he paused by her desk.

‘You are busy?'

‘Yes, Comrade Sverdlov. Do you want me?'

‘Not at this moment.' He looked down at her; she glanced up at him, hesitant, a little uncertain. ‘I am going away this weekend. I shall be back on Monday. Then I am going home. Is there anything you would like me to bring you back?'

She actually blushed. ‘That's very kind of you, Comrade. I can't think of anything.'

‘I shan't be away for long,' Sverdlov said. ‘A week, or ten days. When I come back perhaps we will have dinner together. Would you like that?'

‘Yes. Yes, that would be very nice.'

‘Good,' he said. ‘Good. We will have a pleasant evening. I shall look forward to it.' He went out and down the corridor. He took the lift two floors down to the filing section. Everyone stood up as he came in. The head of the section hurried towards him.

‘I want the “Blue” file, number 23.' The safe containing the top security files were only opened on his or Golitsyn's instructions. Even the Ambassador himself needed a second signature in the book before it could be unlocked and the contents taken out.

‘I don't need to sign for it,' Sverdlov said. ‘I'm not taking anything out, I just want to look at something.' The head of filing put the withdrawal book back and went to an inner room to open the safe. Sverdlov followed him. He took the file marked 23 and opened it. He spent some minutes reading the last of ‘Blue's' reports. The man had moved away, but he was still in the room. Sverdlov didn't hurry. The sheets of paper he had brought with him were in his coat pocket. He stood with the file open in one hand, the other slipped into that pocket.

‘Get me 22 as well.'

Now the positions were reversed. The man was in front of him, taking out the earlier dossier. There were twenty-three in all, each contained in a separate folder, all the highly important information sent to them by ‘Blue' over the last three years in Washington. Sverdlov's hands were steady. With the right he pulled the sheets clear of their clips in the file and doubled them. His left hand came out of his pocket with the papers taken from his office. The transfer was completed in seconds. By the time the head of the filing section turned round, Sverdlov was in the same position, one hand in his pocket, the half opened file balanced in the other. He closed it and handed it back.

‘One moment, then you can have this back too.' He glanced quickly through the file marked 22, flipping through the pages, frowning, pausing for a second at one page, said ‘Ah,' as if he had found what he wanted, and then that too was handed to the man. He waited while they were put back in the safe and the door was locked.

‘Perhaps I should sign anyway,' Sverdlov suggested. He was almost at the door.

‘That isn't necessary,' the man said. ‘Not for you, Comrade. As you said, the files haven't left the department.'

‘Good morning then,' Sverdlov said. Everyone was standing again. ‘Good morning, Comrade.' With his hand in his pocket, holding the contents of the ‘Blue' file against his thigh, he left the filing section.

An hour later he was in an official Embassy car on his way to the airport to catch the noon plane for New York. Spring in Central Park. It reminded Judith of an old wartime movie, re-issued on television, or a Cole Porter song. The trees were out, bending under the weight of blossom, the grass grew green and great patches of spring bulbs blazed under the warm sky. It was difficult to equate the charm of that country oasis in the city desert, with the hunting grounds of thieves, rapists and killers which it became at nightfall. It was equally difficult to equate herself and Sverdlov with the other couples strolling along the walks, arm in arm, or holding one another round the waist.

He had flown up on Monday night; she had asked Sam Nielson if she could leave early Tuesday afternoon. He had agreed with a bad grace; her manner said more plainly than words that she would have gone anyway, so he had no alternative. As usual Sverdlov was waiting for her in a taxi cab; he seemed very cheerful, and kissed her without making too much of a struggle of it, giving the driver instructions to go to the Park. It was a lovely day and it would be nice to walk. The way he said this indicated that it was for the driver's benefit. Judith glanced anxiously into the man's little mirror to see whether he was watching them. His reflected face was looking ahead, not paying attention to anything but the road.

They walked together for some minutes, Sverdlov holding her arm against his side, gripping her hand in his.

‘You look very worried,' he said. ‘And you are not sleeping. I think you are in love with me.'

‘Well you think wrong,' Judith said. ‘I am worried and I haven't had a good night's sleep since this thing started, but I'd feel the same for anyone I liked. Feodor, when are you going to get out?'

‘The end of this week,' Sverdlov said. ‘On Friday I shall board a plane for a weekend trip to that pretty island where I met you.'

‘Barbados! You're going to go there? But why—why can't you just give Loder a time and a place here and leave it to him to do the rest?' She had stopped dead in the middle of the path; he pulled her gently to continue walking.

‘That's what I am doing,' he explained. ‘I am giving him the time and the place, and after that he makes the arrangements for me. You'll have to come with me, Judith. Will you do it?'

‘I don't understand,' she said. She felt like bursting into tears, or losing her temper with him. The strain upon her had been greater than she realised. His ambiguity made her furious.

‘Why do you have to go through all this pantomine, when all you need do is walk into the British Embassy?'

‘Because I'd never be allowed to reach it,' Sverdlov said. ‘I am sure I am being followed. So far I am also sure they don't suspect what I am going to do. Please try and trust me, I know what I am doing. I know how this kind of operation works.'

‘You're pitting yourself against the K.G.B.,' she said angrily. ‘Don't forget that!'

‘I'm not forgetting it,' he said. ‘That's why I am making a pantomine. As far as the K.G.B. is concerned, I am taking you to Barbados to complete your seduction. I have explained that you're a difficult woman, who won't work for us unless I make love to you under the palm trees. I have said you know everything that Nielson does and can open his confidential safe whenever you like.'

‘But that's nonsense,' Judith interrupted. ‘Sam wouldn't let those keys out of his sight!'

‘I am sure he wouldn't, but they don't know this. They think you are a most important person, and I must delay my trip to see my wife so I can make sure of you. There is even a very handsome young Russian ready to look after you when I have gone. It's all arranged. When I go to Barbados with you, it will be part of the plan I have explained to them. But you will have to come with me on the flight. After that, it is your friend Mr. Loder who takes control.'

‘It seems such a risk,' Judith said. ‘It seems such a terribly complicated way round. Barbados is a tiny island, anything could happen to you out there!'

‘No more than could happen to me here, walking along this path with you,' Sverdlov said. ‘Do you think I would be safer in New York? Barbados is a British island; there, Mr. Loder can really protect me. Here, in this city, in Washington, I am truly defenceless. Will you come to Barbados with me?'

‘Yes,' Judith said. ‘If that's the only way to help you, of course I've got to come. I'm cold,' she said suddenly. ‘I don't want to walk any more.'

She was shivering; Sverdlov knew it had nothing to do with the temperature which was mild and warm, but he didn't say anything. ‘A little longer,' he said. ‘Just to the end of this path, then we come out on the street and we'll find a bar. But we can't talk about this once we leave the Park. We can't be overheard here.'

‘You really think we're being followed? Now?'

‘I am sure of it. You know there are microphones that can pick up a conversation from twenty yards away?'

‘My God,' Judith said. ‘It's like a nightmare! Are you sure it's safe here?'

‘We're walking very quickly,' Sverdlov answered. ‘And there's nobody close enough to be able to listen. I'm being watched from a distance, and that's a good sign. It means they are not really suspicious. Now listen very carefully. After we leave each other, you must make your contact with Loder.'

‘He's expecting me to call him,' Judith said. ‘I let him know today you were coming up and I'd be in touch later on.'

‘Where did you ring from—Neilson's office?'

‘No,' Judith said. ‘No, I thought it better not. I called from a public booth in the building.'

‘Very good.' Sverdlov squeezed her. ‘Very good. Now you tell him we will be leaving on Friday—on the 4 p.m. flight from Kennedy to Barbados, PANAM 238. I have made the plane booking and also booked for us in the same hotel, where we stayed before. We arrive at 8.30 and I shall go to the hotel with you unless he gives you different instructions. I shall have the papers on “Blue” with me.'

‘It's so quick,' Judith said. ‘There's so little time. Supposing he can't make arrangements in time?'

‘I could make them,' Sverdlov said. ‘He must be able to. All he will need is a plane to fly me to London. Tell him I would hope to go on Saturday or Sunday at the latest. If someone looks for the “Blue” file, and it's gone, and I'm gone, we will have trouble. Even in Barbados. Can you remember all that? The flight number?'

‘PANAM 238, arriving 8.30. Is that Barbadian time or New York time?'

‘Barbadian time,' he said. ‘Now we are going to find a bar where we can have a drink together. We can talk about our weekend in Barbados, and perhaps you could pretend to be in love with me—it would help, if we are followed inside.'

‘I'll try,' Judith said.

‘Thank you,' Sverdlov said gravely. ‘I'm sure you will do it well.'

Rachel Paterson was crying. She cried respectably, in Margaret Stephenson's opinion; she had considerable experience of weeping junior wives over the years. She had once amused a London dinner party by describing the categories into which they fell. The ones who sniffed and snuffed from homesickness, the abandoned weepers whose old mother had dropped dead two thousand miles away, the rare cases of wives who had made fools of themselves in some official capacity and had to be reprimanded. Even one nervous breakdown who had come in apparently quite self possessed and been taken from the room screaming like a banshee.

It had sounded most amusing at that dinner party, which she remembered from years back. There was nothing to amuse her about Rachel's tears.

Like Fergus, Margaret's upbringing had armoured her against shock. Contrary to the belief of those outside it, the aristocratic upbringing of their generation was harsh and demanding of self discipline. The price to be paid for their considerable privileges was an amalgam of inflexible principals which did not permit personal weakness, cowardice or emotional disaster to be manifest to anyone. Margaret sat on the Regency sofa beside the younger woman, and patted her shoulder with every appearance of kindness.

‘I just can't trust him,' Rachel said. ‘From the moment that woman rang up, everything changed.' She blew her nose, not too loudly, and wiped her eyes again. ‘He's always been difficult, but I never thought he was after other women. Now I can't think of anything else!'