O'Brian clicked his fingers. 'Yeah, yeah, yeah. All right.
But in the meantime we should find out what happened to the girl. We've got to do that anyway. If we go on air with the notebook before we find out what happened to Anna, someone else'll come along and get the best part of the story' He lifted his feet off the desk and spun around in his chair to a set of bookshelves beside his desk. 'Now where the hell is Archangel, anyway?'
IT happened with a kind of inexorable logic so that later, when Kelso had the time to review his actions, he still could never identifr a precise moment when he could have stopped it, when he could have diverted events on to a different course -"'Archangel,"' said O'Brian, reading aloud from a
guidebook. "'Northern Russian port city. Population: four hundred thousand. Situated on the River Dvina, thirty miles upstream from the White Sea. Principal industries: timber, shipbuilding and fishing. From the end of October until the beginning of April, Archangel is snowbound." Shit. What's the date?'
'October the twenty-ninth.'
O'Brian picked up the telephone and jabbed out a number. From his position on the sofa Kelso watched through the thick glass wall as the secretary reached silently for the receiver.
'Sweetheart,' said O'Brian, 'do me a favour will you? Get on to the System's weather centre in Florida and get the latest weather prediction for Archangel.' He spelt it out for her. 'That's it. Quick as you can.
Kelso closed his eyes.
The point was - he knew it in his heart - that O'Brian was right. The story was the girl. And the story couldn't be pursued in Moscow. If the trail could be picked up anywhere, it could only be in the north, on her home territory where it was possible there might still be some family or friends who would remember her: remember the Komsomol girl of nineteen and the dramatic summons to Moscow in the summer of 1951- "'Archangel,"' resumed O'Brian, "'was founded by Peter the Great and named after Archangel Michael, the Warrior-Angel. See the Book of Revelation, chapter twelve, verses seven to eight: And there was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels,/And prevailed not.' In the nineteen-thirties -"
'Do we really have to listen to this?'
But O'Brian held up his finger, in the nineteen-thirties, Stalin exiled two million Ukrainian kulaks into the Archangel oblast, a region of forest and tundra larger than the whole of France. After the war, this vast area was used for testing nuclear weapons. Archangel's outport is Severodvinsk, centre of Russia’s nuclear submarine construction programme. Until the fall of communism, Archangel was a closed city, forbidden to all outside visitors.
"'Traveller's tip,"' concluded O'Brian. "'When arriving at the Archangel Railway Station, always be sure to check the digital radiation meter - if it shows 15 micro Rads per hour or below, it's safe."' He closed the book with a cheerful snap. 'Sounds like a fun place. What d'you think? You up for this?'
I am trapped, thought Kelso. I am a victim of historical inevitability Comrade Stalin would have approved
'You know I've no money -?'
'I'll lend you money.
'No winter clothes -
'We've got clothes.' 'No visa-'
A detail.'
A detail?'
'Come on, Fluke. You're the Stalin expert. I need you.
'Well that's touching. And if I say no, presumably you'll go anyway?'
O'Brian grinned. The telephone rang. He picked it up, listened, made a few notes. When he put it down, he was frowning and Kelso entertained a brief hope of reprieve. But no.
The weather in Archangel at 11:00 GMT that day (3 p.m. local time) was being reported as partly cloudy, minus four degrees, with light winds and snow flurries. However, a deep depression was rolling westwards from Siberia and that was promising snow heavy enough to close the city within a day or two.
In other words, said O'Brian, they would have to hurry.
HE fetched an atlas and opened it on his desk.
The fastest way into Archangel, obviously, was by air, but the Aeroflot flight didn't leave until the following morning and the airline would require Kelso to show his visa which would expire at midnight. So that was out. The train took more than twenty hours, and even O'Brian could see the risks in that - trapped on board a slow-moving sleeper for the best part of a day.
Which left the road - specifically, the M8 - which ran nearly 700 miles, more or less direct, according to the map, swerving slightly to take in the city of Yaroslavl, then following the river plateaux of the Vaga and the Dvina, across the taiga and the tundra and the great virgin forests of northern Russia, directly into Archangel itseW where the road ended. Kelso said, 'It's not a freeway, you know. There are no motels.'
'It's nothing, man. It'll be a breeze, I promise. What've we got now - let's see - couple of hours of daylight left? That should get us well clear of Moscow. You drive, don't you?'
'Yes.'
'There you go. We'll take turns. These journeys, I tell you, they always look worse on paper. Once we're in the groove, we'll eat those miles. You'll see.' He was making a calculation on a pad. 'I figure we could hit Archangel about nine or ten tomorrow morning.'
'So we drive through the night?'
'Sure. Or we can stop if you'd sooner. The thing is to quit talking and start moving. Quicker we hit the road, quicker we get there. We need to pack that book in something -'
He came round from behind his desk and headed towards the notebook that was lying on the coffee table, next to the congealed mass of papers. But before he could reach it, Zinaida grabbed it.
'This,' she said in English, mine. "What?'
'Mine.'
Kelso said, 'That's right. Her father left it for her.'
'I only want to borrow it.'
'Nyet!'
O'Brian appealed to Kelso. 'Is she crazy? Supposing we find Anna Safanova?'
'Supposing we do? What do you have in mind exactly? Stalin's grey-haired old lover in a rocking chair, reading aloud for the viewers?'
'Oh, funny guy. Listen: people are a whole lot more likely to talk to us if we're carrying proof. I say that book should come with us. Why's it hers, anyhow? It's no more hers than mine. Or anybody else's.'
'Because that was the deal, remember?'
'Deal? Seems to me it's you two've got the only deal going round here.' He slipped back into his wheedling mode. 'Come on, Fluke, it's not safe for her in Moscow. Where's she gonna keep it? What if Mamantov comes after her?'
Kelso had to concede this point. 'Then why doesn't she come with us?' He turned to Zinaida, 'Come with us to Archangel -'
'With him?' she said in Russian. 'No way. He'll kill us all.'
Kelso was beginning to lose patience. 'Then let's postpone Archangel,' he said irritably to O'Brian, 'until we can get the material copied.'
'But you heard the forecast. In a day or two we won't be able to move up there. Besides, this is a story. Stories don't keep.' He raised his hands in disgust. 'Shit, I can't stand around here bitching all afternoon. Need to get some equipment together. Need supplies. Need to get going. Talk some sense into her, man, for God's sake.'
'I told you,' said Zinaida, after O'Brian had stamped out of the office, banging the glass door behind him. 'I told you we couldn't trust him.'
Kelso sank back into the sofa. He rubbed his face with both hands. This was starting to get dangerous, he thought. Not physically - in a curious way that was still unreal to him
- but professionally. It was professional danger he scented now. Because Adelman was right: these big frauds did usually follow a pattern. And part of it involved being rushed to judgement. Here he was - a trained scholar, supposedly -and what had he done? He'd read through the notebook once. Once. He hadn't even done the most basic check to see whether the dates in the journal tallied with Stalin's known movements in the summer of 1951. He could just imagine the reaction of his former colleagues, probably leaving Russian airspace right now. If they could see how he was handling this -The thought bothered him more than he cared to admit.