Elizabeth noticed that her speed had crept up to 85, but mercifully there was nothing behind her. And there was nothing of the truth in his last words, either: he had been a rich bachelor in his thirties in '58, and the reverse of innocent for sure, then as well as now. She dropped back to 70. 'What went wrong?'
'Hah!' He brightened perversely at the memory. 'Absolutely nothing - at first. In fact, when they knew what I'd got with me, it was all roses and violets. Because it was exactly what they wanted, so they thought -because they had their appalling Hungarian, you see. About dummy2
whom we didn't know, but who had given his half-ticket to them, so they had a much better idea of what Debrecen might have been than we did. They knew more - and they'd also had a look at the place, just like us. But with the same result. And they really didn't know what to do next, or even where to start.' The brightness remained, but it was as frosty as a short winter's day.
'And then in flew Sir Frederick Clinton's new star, with a warm Special Relationship smile on his face and the rest of the ticket in his briefcase. Roses and violets, Elizabeth.'
But dust and ashes to come, thought Elizabeth grimly. 'You had the dates Colonel Gorbatov gave you. But what exactly were these people doing in Debrecen? Why were they there?'
Audley gazed out of the car window at his side, as though he had suddenly found the rural view more interesting. 'You've read the record, haven't you?'
'Yes.' She waited for him to continue, but instead he went on admiring the Hampshire countryside. '"Hand-picked subjects, with good career prospects, psychologically equipped for deep-sleeping".'
'Yes.' Audley nodded at a cow which, from its melancholy expression, looked as though it had heard all about the new EEC milk quotas. 'So?'
'So what was so particularly important about Debrecen?'
Audley turned towards her. 'Isn't that enough?'
It ought to be enough, thought Elizabeth with a deep-down shiver: the idea of long-term treachery, waiting to mature like wine, but cellared instead in the dark recesses of certain human souls. But somehow it wasn't. 'No, David.'
He smiled a sudden genuine smile, which cruelly reminded her of that smile of Latimer's.
'Quite right, Elizabeth. But how do you know?'
Elizabeth was torn between the two smiles. Because if Paul was right and Latimer was gunning for David… if it came to the crunch - whose side was she on? Whose side? The answer confused her horribly, it was so immediate. And she knew she must cover her confusion. 'Don't ask me how. I don't really know.'
'Of course! Who ever does, when it comes to instinct? Don't worry, my dear - be glad that you've got it, that's all.' He nodded. 'Everyone thinks they have it, but it's atrophied in most people - like the hunting instinct. I knew a troop-sergeant in Normandy who'd never dummy2
fired a shot in anger until we landed, but he always knew when there was an 88 waiting for us.' Nod. 'Your Paul hasn't got it - with him it's mostly reason and logic, plus a little experience and a lot of knowledge… all topped off by low cunning and an eye for the main chance. But most women have more of it than most men, anyway. So just be thankful.'
Her Paul, again. Yet, for another inexplicable reason, she felt impelled to defend him now.
'You do my Paul less than justice, I rather think. He's very loyal to you, for a start, David.'
'Loyal?' He half-spluttered. ' Loyal?'
'Or… or protective, let's say.'
He said nothing for another mile, digesting her indiscretion; which must either have confirmed his guess or confused his certainty; and that seemed to be enough for him, too, for the time being.
'Debrecen -' He rubbed both his knees simultaneously ' - what the unspeakable Hungarian had given them, among other things, was names, Elizabeth. Not the traitors' names, which he didn't know… the names of the Russian top brass he'd welcomed, on behalf of Rakosi -
he was one of Rakosi's front-men. Rakosi was the Hungarian top man, Elizabeth.' He half-apologized for assuming her ignorance of mid-twentieth-century history. 'Because the Russians couldn't ship in their top brass, to Debrecen, without going through the motions of trusting Rakosi, who was their front-man. Uh-huh?' Pause. 'So he was there with the red carpet, first for Shelepin, and then for Zhurkin, and also for Semichastny - all future KGB
bosses, but also all top Komsomol youth leaders. And two of them genuine war heroes -
Shelepin was a Hero of the Soviet Union, for his partisan work behind the German lines, and Zhurkin had flown Russian fighters all the way from the Spanish Civil War to Korea -
he was a sort of "Red Douglas Bader", with his tin legs… But they were all real heroes of the people's revolution - even Semichastny, who was trained as a chemical engineer in the Ukraine - son of an illiterate mill worker, pre-revolutionary, whose umpteen children had all made the grade under the new regime: getting a handshake from them, and a pat on the back, and a "Right trusty and well-beloved" commission - which was to be filed in the archives of Dzerinsky Street, never to see the light of day - all that would have been like being tapped on the shoulder by Her Majesty, and blessed by the Archbishop of Canterbury… Or by the President of the United States - or bussed on each cheek by the President of the Republic - do you see, Elizabeth?'
Or touched lightly by the Chancellor of the University, and gowned colourfully for excellence? Touched in the remote hope that the twin evils of ignorance and intellectual arrogance might forever be expelled?
'You mean, it was just a morale-raiser?' She heard her incredulity. 'All that trouble? And dummy2
the risk - ?'
'Ah…' The long legs bent again, and the knees came up for massage. 'There was another reason - or two reasons… Because there was another name. And, if the Wise Men of Research and Development and the Pentagon had it right, it was the big name - the Name of Power, Elizabeth. Although you'll never even have heard of it. Because if you punch the name on that wretched Beast of ours the thing will perform its two favourite actions: first, it will not answer your question, but will request your authorization instead; and second, it will sneak on you to the head teacher and master-at-arms, whether you have clearance or not.' He let go of his knees and smiled at her. 'But I am a different sort of beast. A human beast, am I. And I spit on the new beast - may it be visited with sudden extreme variations of temperature and floods of water from the sewers, and electronic illnesses hitherto unknown. And, most especially, I spit on the memory of its prophet and servant, Comrade Professor Kryzhanovsky - Kryzhanovsky.' He pronounced the Name of Power without benefit of Russian sound, syllable by syllable, much as a Russian might have attempted Worcestershire. 'Vladimir Ivanovitch Kryzhanovsky, Elizabeth.'
This, again, was the authentic Audley: the Audley whom Paul loved to imagine-as casting himself as one character after another out of his beloved Rudyard Kipling.
'I've never heard of him, David,' she said meekly.
'No, you wouldn't have done. He's long dead, thank God. And… hmm… and since it was natural causes maybe we should thank Him, blasphemy or not - ' He stopped suddenly.