‘You know,’ said Anne Sinclair, at the doorway, ‘I wish I were as kind as you.’
There was a mirror in the lift and Adrian stared at his reflection as he descended. I haven’t thought about it for a long time, he thought. All this trouble and suicide hasn’t occurred to me. He suddenly felt very happy.
The lift stopped and the doors opened, but Adrian make no attempt to leave. He stood, studying his reflection, like someone introduced to a stranger. He was aware of the porter staring at him, curiously, but he didn’t care. The buzzer sounded as someone summoned the lift several floors above.
‘You all right?’ called the porter.
Reluctantly Adrian got out. He smiled at the attendant.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘as a matter of fact I’m fine, just fine.’
He stopped. The porter wore a wig, an obvious National Health wig. He hadn’t noticed that, either.
‘Fine,’ he repeated, ‘just fine.’
The porter watched him walk out of the door.
‘Bloody fool,’ said the man, to himself.
Chapter Fourteen
Pavel sat alone in the reserved section of the Ilyushin airliner, watching as the plane taxied towards Sheremetyevo control tower, with its surround of coloured lights. In Paris once, many years before, he had been driven past a funfair and there had been several sideshows and amusement rides decorated the same way and he was always reminded of it when he arrived at Moscow airport. He had always regretted not stopping at that funfair, even riding like a child on one of the imitation animals constantly chasing its own tail.
This would be the last time, he realized suddenly. He would never again depart or arrive and be reminded of a Paris funfair he should have visited. He had made his last trip abroad, ever. He sighed and stood up, pulling his raincoat and cardboard case from the rack. It didn’t matter. Only one thing mattered.
Everyone else was held while he disembarked, walking alone down the steps that had been run especially into the front of the aircraft.
There were a few militiamen around the car and Pavel saw he was to get a motorcycle escort into the capital. Everything is back to normal, he thought. A driver respectfully held the door open for him. Back in his accustomed environment, Pavel nodded curtly and handed his luggage to the man, then got into the gleaming black Zil without speaking. He stopped, half in, half out, still crouched.
Kaganov lounged in the back, in the far corner.
‘Welcome back,’ said the chairman.
Pavel completed his entry, wedging himself into the opposite corner. He did not return the greeting.
The driver turned, looking to Kaganov rather than Pavel for guidance. The chairman, who was wearing military uniform unmarked by any insignia, nodded and the car pulled out and a convoy formed around it.
‘Welcome back,’ repeated Kaganov. ‘And my congratulations. You were very accurate. Everything went as planned.’
‘You hardly thought I’d fail, did you?’ snapped Pavel. He wore arrogance like an overcoat, a protection against the cold.
‘No,’ agreed Kaganov, pleasantly. ‘We didn’t think you’d fail.’
‘What about my family?’ asked Pavel.
‘They’re perfectly all right,’ assured Kaganov. ‘Just as we promised you they would be.’
‘And Georgi?’
‘He was brought back from the Chinese front two days ago. He’s attached to the Kremlin now. He’ll be home with you every weekend until he finishes his service.’
‘I have your word?’
‘I told you before you went,’ rebuked Kaganov, mildly. ‘If you kept your side of the bargain, we’d keep ours. Your family are in perfect health and looking forward to your return.’
The car was in the city now. They went by Krasnaya Ploshtchad and Pavel looked at the Kremlin beyond. It’s beautiful, he thought. Beautiful and peaceful. Only people are ugly. They crossed Kammeni Bridge and turned right. Pavel looked into the park, where the trees were weeping their leaves at the thought of winter. A little month and it will be autumn, he thought. Everything will be dead, just like Bennovitch back there, all alone, in England.
‘I’m interested in the person who debriefed you.’
Kaganov broke into the reverie and Pavel turned to him.
‘What?’
‘The man who debriefed you.’ He made the pretence of taking a notebook from his greatcoat pocket and checking the name. ‘Dodds, Adrian Dodds. According to what our people can gather at the embassy, the English regard him rather highly.’
Pavel remained looking across the car, saying nothing.
Kaganov reached into his briefcase at his feet and pulled out six photographs. Three were blurred, but the remainder were of good quality, although they had all obviously been taken by hidden cameras.
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Identify him, if he’s any of the men pictured here,’ said Kaganov.
‘What for?’ asked Pavel, aware of the answer.
Kaganov laughed and Pavel saw his false teeth were made of steel, dull and grey looking. They made laughter a horrifying grimace. Many Russians had had them made like that during the war, Pavel remembered, but only a few had kept them, for affectation. It gave Pavel another reason for despising the man.
‘Well,’ said the chairman. ‘It occurred to me that there might be some other misguided fools in the future who might think like your brother-in-law … people who might find in Dodds just the sort of sympathy and understanding to unburden themselves …’
He laughed again.
‘… So I thought we might safeguard ourselves by arranging an accident for Comrade Dodds, if we could discover what he looks like …’
He splayed the photographs out, like a poker player revealing a winning hand. Adrian stared at Pavel from the second picture, one of the better ones. He was shown getting out of a taxi, looking smarter than Pavel remembered him, wearing a suit that was crisp and well-pressed and with well-polished shoes.
‘Take your time,’ coaxed Kaganov. ‘There’s no hurry. Some of them aren’t very good quality, but you’ll understand that they weren’t exactly taken under ideal circumstances.’
Dutifully Pavel went from print to print, then completed another survey, remaining expressionless. Then he looked up at Kaganov.
‘He’s not one of these men,’ he said.
The other man frowned. ‘Are you sure?’ he said, quizzically.
‘Are you doubting me?’ the scientist demanded, refusing to be intimidated. ‘I was with the man constantly for over a week. Is it likely I wouldn’t be able to recognize him?’
‘But the embassy were sure …’
‘Then the embassy are wrong,’ snapped Pavel. ‘And how can they be sure if they have to send six different pictures?’
Kaganov accepted the rebuke. Slowly he stored the photographs back into his case.
‘Pity,’ he said, mildly.
‘Hardly a great loss,’ said Pavel.
The chairman looked at him, curiously.
‘The English might regard Dodds highly, but I thought he was a fool.’
‘Really.’ Doubt still tinged Kaganov’s reactions.
‘He accepted my defection completely, never doubting me for one moment,’ lied Pavel. ‘He can speak perfect Russian, certainly, but he’s very naive. He’s little more than a clerk, reciting questions that the experts have set, with little awareness of what they mean. Deviate from the list and he’s completely lost.’
‘Not worth killing, you mean?’ said Kaganov.
Pavel stared at him. ‘You are the man who decides who should live and die,’ he said, ‘not me. But I think you’ve overestimated Dodds.’
It wasn’t much, Pavel decided. If Kaganov were determined, then it was even a stupid gesture. But he was not going to be responsible for any more deaths. He’d struck a bargain with Kaganov and he’d kept it. There was no need for him to go beyond what he’d already done.