The lounge door was already open, light shafting into the corridor.
Ruttgers and Cuthbertson stood side by side, the table separating them from the Russian. Braley entered and then closed the door, standing directly inside. For several seconds, no one spoke, apparently unable to believe the crossing had gone so well.
Ruttgers recovered first, hurrying around the table, hand outstretched.
‘General,’ he greeted. ‘Welcome! Welcome indeed.’
Kalenin smiled at the greeting, accepting his hand.
‘You must be …?’ he invited.
‘Ruttgers,’ identified the C.I.A. Director. ‘Garson Ruttgers. And allow me to introduce my English counterpart, General Sir Henry Cuthbertson.’
The Briton had followed him around the table, hand held forward.
‘A pleasure, General,’ assured Cuthbertson. ‘A very great pleasure.’
Kalenin shrugged off his topcoat and held it awkwardly. Immediately Braley was at his arm, taking it.
Ruttgers took the Russian by the elbow, moving him further into the room.
‘A perfect crossing,’ congratulated Cuthbertson. ‘A copybook operation.’
‘I have the necessary power,’ reminded Kalenin, modestly.
‘A drink,’ suggested Cuthbertson. ‘I think a celebration is in order.’
‘I enjoy your Scotch whisky very much,’ accepted Kalenin, hopefully. ‘And I agree, we’ve got something to celebrate.’
Ruttgers and Cuthbertson were tight with excitement, each aware of the incredible prestige of their coup. The Briton over-filled the glasses, only remembering Braley as an after-thought.
‘We had taken every precaution to ensure nothing would interfere on this side,’ guaranteed Ruttgers, eager to boast.
‘A plane is waiting, at Schwechat,’ added Cuthbertson, ‘we’ll be safely in London by dawn tomorrow.’
From the communications centre below, notification of Kalenin’s safe arrival had already been sent to Wilberforce and Downing Street. By now, guessed Cuthbertson, a personal telephone call would have been made by the Premier to the American President.
‘Your health,’ toasted Kalenin, raising his glass.
‘And yours,’ responded Ruttgers, sincerely.
Kalenin moved to one of the more comfortable chairs arranged around the table.
‘It was important that you came personally to greet me,’ he said, to both Directors.
‘It’s unthinkable that we would not come,’ replied Ruttgers.
Kalenin sipped the drink, appearing quite relaxed.
‘Tell me your plans,’ he ordered.
‘There is accommodation waiting in England,’ reported Cuthbertson. ‘Four completely safe houses in each of which you’ll live from time to time.’
‘It will be a long process,’ suggested Kalenin. Apparently reminded of time, he looked at his watch.
‘Yes,’ agreed Ruttgers. ‘But during it you will live in absolute luxury and complete safety. Your security will be a joint American-British responsibility.’
‘Of course,’ said Kalenin.
‘We’ve taken every step to ensure your comfort,’ expanded Cuthbertson. He smiled, a man about to produce the best present at a party.
‘You enjoy war-games with tanks, I believe?’ he asked.
Kalenin frowned, then nodded.
‘They’ve been provided for you, at every house,’ smiled the English Director.
‘That was very thoughtful of you,’ thanked Kalenin.
‘We are anxious that you will be completely happy … we’ve complied with your every request so far …’
‘Indeed,’ said Kalenin. ‘I’ve been very grateful.’
He looked pointedly at his empty glass and Cuthbertson moved immediately to fill it.
‘As soon as you feel sufficiently rested,’ said Ruttgers, ‘perhaps it would be a good idea if we were to get to the airport.’
Kalenin nodded, without replying, the glass held before his face with both hands.
‘You created a remarkable operation,’ said the Russian, at last.
‘Thank you,’ said Ruttgers.
‘… the road all the way to Schwechat covered, this entire area from the canal to the city hall and Am Hof Square, right down to the riding school and the Volksgarten …’
Ruttgers nodded, content with the praise. His voice was strained by the smoking and he coughed, frequently.
‘… and then the border organisation, with teams at Stockerau and Wolkersdorf, Ernstbrunn and Korneuburg …’
Ruttgers began staring at the Russian, curiously.
‘How …?’ he began, but Kalenin shook his head, imperiously. Again he looked at his watch.
‘It’s been an hour and thirty minutes since I arrived in Vienna,’ the Russian declared, smiling.
Both Directors were looking at him now, baffled.
‘Time enough,’ completed Kalenin.
‘General,’ tried Cuthbertson, hopefully, ‘I’m sorry, but …’
‘… you don’t understand,’ finished Kalenin. There was a tone in his voice now, a man in control.
Reluctantly he placed his empty glass on the table.
‘Excellent whisky,’ he praised, turning to them and smiling. ‘No, there’s no possible way that you could …’
He looked carefully from Cuthbertson to the American and then back again.
‘Over a year ago,’ he said, addressing Cuthbertson, ‘you British broke a Soviet espionage chain … it was remarkable for you to have done so. We thought of it as a brilliant installation, virtually undetectable. That you did uncover it was extremely damaging for us … and personally embarrassing to me …’
Both Directors were quite stilclass="underline" Cuthbertson had his head bent to one side, as if he had difficulty in hearing. His face was deepening in colour and his eye was fluttering.
‘Moscow regarded the system created by Alexei Berenkov as the best in Europe since the war …’
From where Braley stood there was an uncomfortable movement of scuffing feet.
‘… Now Berenkov is in jail. And you both know that Russia does not allow its operatives, particularly one so highly regarded as Berenkov, to remain in captivity longer than is absolutely essential …’
‘… Are you telling us …’ attempted Ruttgers, but again Kalenin cut him off.
‘… I’m telling you that the Soviet government, which has already, incidentally, established a service to replace that which was broken, decided to repatriate Berenkov as soon as possible and deal to the espionage services of the West as damaging a blow as possible, to compensate for the destruction of Berenkov’s network.’
He stopped, waiting, but now neither Ruttgers nor Cuthbertson spoke.
‘Within the last ninety minutes,’ recounted the Russian General, ‘my men have seized, I sincerely hope without any fighting, the 200 operatives that you had positioned to guard my crossing …’
‘… But that’s impossible!’ protested Cuthbertson.
‘Oh no, not at all,’ disagreed Kalenin. ‘All you need is organisation and the right information, and I’ve got both. But I anticipated you would find it difficult to accept. I’m now in complete charge of this house. No doubt you’ve a method for summoning your people. Try it …’
Cuthbertson jabbed at a button set into the table, prodding it impatiently for response. They remained waiting for several minutes, but no one came.
‘Oh my God,’ muttered Cuthbertson.
‘… But that means …’ realised Ruttgers, unwilling to complete the fear.
‘… that as well as your operatives, I intend taking back to the Soviet Union for barter the English and American security Directors,’ confirmed Kalenin, happily.
‘As I explained,’ he enlarged, ‘we decided to make it as damaging as possible. Of course, we’ll release you both, in exchange for Berenkov. And all your operatives, too. They will be useless, unfortunately, photographed, fingerprinted and identified. But at least you’ll have them back …’