Minevsky shrugged. ‘Doesn’t really matter. I suppose the military attaché is the most obvious choice.’
‘All right,’ said Kaganov. ‘Let’s use the military attaché.’
‘What’s his name?’ asked Minevsky, not really wanting to know, but anxious to extend the recording. The other two men stared at him, curiously. ‘Haven’t the slightest idea,’ said Kaganov. ‘It doesn’t matter, does it?’
‘No,’ agreed Minevsky. ‘Of course not.’
Chapter Five
It was planned for surprise effect, the second interview coming as a complete contrast to the first, concentrating completely upon technicalities and conducted in a formal, rigid pattern, calculated to shatter any rehearsed reaction.
A defector was never accepted as genuine until at least six debriefing sessions.
Pavel had expected to continue the bickering of the previous day, but Adrian curtailed him brusquely. He spoke almost as if they had never met, sitting with the clipboard of questions before him, isolating himself completely from any dissension, a cipher almost.
‘I have a list of questions,’ he began. ‘I’m sorry, but I am not a technical man, so I will have to refer to these notes. I won’t, of course, be annotating your answers …’
‘… Because of the recorders …’ He was still laughing. Adrian ignored the invitation.
‘How many Soyuz missions have there been?’
‘But you must know that. They have all been made public. Surely you don’t think we’ve put some up without announcement? I thought your monitoring stations were better than that.’
‘How many Soyuz missions have there been?’ repeated Adrian, doggedly.
‘Fifteen.’
‘Tell me about your suitings.’
‘Very similar to the American Apollo EMP-A-7lbs for intravehicular operations. The suit design for extravehicular activity is almost identical to the EV-A-7lbs of the American Apollo 15 mission, but with a back-pack lighter by about two pounds.’
It wasn’t on the form before him, but Adrian knew the questions would be asked, so he said, ‘You seem well informed of the Apollo equipment. How?’ Pavel lounged in one of the leather armchairs, completely at ease.
‘America is such an open society,’ he mocked. ‘Did you know that Apollo 15 had a 157-page press kit, as well as technical releases to trade press and experts?’
‘No,’ said Adrian.
‘Any enterprising diplomat in Washington can work full time ferrying information back which the Americans seem only too anxious for everyone to know.’
Adrian pictured the reaction that remark would cause among the C.I.A. when they got a recording. ‘What space suit changes were made following the Soyuz disaster?’
Pavel laughed. ‘We announced that, too. Our cosmonauts no longer re-enter the atmosphere after a mission without suits, in case of minuscule oxygen leaks.’
Adrian flicked a page and Pavel said, ‘Why this change of attitude?’
Adrian didn’t answer.
‘Complaints about the way yesterday’s interview went?’ he persevered with uncanny accuracy.
‘I’d like to talk about the equipment on moon probes,’ said Adrian.
‘Wasn’t anybody distressed at our obvious antipathy?’
Pavel was over-stressing the mockery. Did that show over-concern?
‘Are any more moon probes planned?’
Pavel shrugged, apparently accepting the mechanical responses of his interrogator.
‘Three,’ he answered. ‘None will be manned. We plan a much bigger version of the American mooncar and much more sophisticated than our first one. It will be fitted with more automatic rock collecting and measuring devices.’
‘How much bigger?’
‘The American L.V.R. was small, only ten feet two inches long, with a 7·5-foot wheelbase powered over individual wheels with a quarter-horsepower electric motor. Ours will be at least twenty feet over a comparable wheelbase and have a midwheel section, giving total wheeling of twelve feet. It will have a payload capability of 2,670 pounds. The American only had 1,080 pounds, including astronauts.’
‘Electrically powered?’
Pavel shook his head. ‘Solar systemed, with an earth-operated electrical back-up system.’
‘How are you going to boost a thing that size into orbit?’
Pavel laughed again. ‘Typical earthbound question,’ he jeered. ‘Who says you’ve got to construct it on the ground?’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning the rover vehicle, which will have a cabin rather like a caravan in which a man could operate without any protection whatsoever, will leave earth on a rocket much smaller than that of the Americans. It’ll be assembled in space in an orbiting laboratory.’
Adrian paused. Everything Bennovitch had said was confirmed. But there was nothing new. ‘What else will be the function of the lunar caravan?’
‘Solar wind composition experiments, to determine the isoptric makeup of inert gases in the wind, and it will also include a laser retro-reflector to act as a passive target for earth-based lasers for calculation over a long period.’
‘The Americans have organized similar experiments during the Apollo series. Isn’t it wasteful duplicating exchange-material tests?’
‘It’s only surface duplication,’ said Pavel. ‘The adaptation of the results could differ.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Adrian, departing from the form again.
‘The Americans are still a long way from establishing a space platform. Don’t always look to the end of the experiment for its ultimate worth. The success of a moon rover — whether it functions, the incidence of errors — will indicate whether or not we can successfully create something in space.’
A hint? Adrian continued the line that Pavel had opened. ‘Is there a Russian plan to establish a space platform for military purposes?’
Pavel laughed, that jeering sound again, and Adrian felt he had been drawn too far, tricked into asking a stupid question.
‘Why do you have to begin every question with the supposition that Russia is the villain, pursuing the virginity of the rest of the world?’
‘That’s an exaggeration. I wouldn’t have expected that from a scientific mind,’ countered Adrian. ‘It’s an obvious question, when we talk of space platforms capable of building lunar caravans.’
‘What about forecasting?’ asked Pavel, carelessly.
‘Unnecessary,’ countered Adrian again, quickly. ‘All necessary weather information can be obtained from unmanned satellites.’
‘True,’ conceded Pavel. ‘What about astrological research?’
‘Unnecessary again,’ said Adrian. ‘You can conduct those probes as well from unmanned stations.’
‘I’ve got you away from the listed questions,’ said Pavel and laughed, an excited sound, like a trainer who had encouraged a seal to balance a ball.
Adrian flushed, bending back to the clipboard. ‘Let’s talk about space photography,’ he said.
‘As you wish,’ said Pavel, condescendingly. Adrian jerked up. The other man had replied in Russian.
‘As you wish,’ responded Adrian, lapsing easily into the same language. He supposed Pavel had done it to discomfit him, but he was utterly sure of his language control.
‘Are you interested in Gegenschein?’ Adrian recited.
‘Do you know what Gegenschein is?’ mocked Pavel.
‘The faint light source covering a 20-degree field of view along the earth-sun line on the opposite side of the earth from the sun,’ replied Adrian, immediately. He looked up. ‘The questions are listed to prompt me,’ he said. ‘I try awfully hard to escape portraying myself as a complete cretin.’
Adrian was glad they had lapsed into Russian. Irony sounded so much more vitriolic. Pavel nodded, accepting the rebuke.