She nodded. “Don’t I know it!”
He held her close for a moment. “Let’s go,” he said.
He kissed her again and they went to the door. Shaw banged it behind him; the sound had a ring of finality about it. They went down the stairs and across the hall. The driver was waiting in the car. Seeing the two approaching, he got out and held the door open. A half-minute later, they were driving fast through the crowded streets for Bykovo.
On arrival at the airport, they found Jones and the Press Attache from the Embassy talking to a group of British and American pressmen. There was no sign of Colonel Andreyev, though a couple of MVD troopers, armed with Simonov semi-automatic carbines, were lounging about by the movement control section through which the men and women would move to the waiting aircraft. Reporters seemed to be everywhere, and from everywhere. Pravda, Izvestia, two men from Reuters… among the others, Poles, Czechs, Germans, Japanese, French, British, American… indeed only the Chinese seemed to be missing. And, as Jones conducted them to the left-luggage office where they picked up two heavy, much-used grips already labeled with their new identities, Shaw spotted someone he hadn’t expected to see at Bykovo: Treece, now once again a brigadier, wearing the uniform of a General Staff Officer. Treece, he was certain, had seen him too but was looking right through him, totally ignoring him.
He asked in surprise, “Is Treece on the flight, then?”
Jones nodded. “Yes, but you don’t know him, of course. It was a last-minute decision. A London newspaper-man developed an appendix, and Treece decided he’d fill the seat.”
“Any special reason,” Shaw asked casually, “that you know of?”
“Not really.” Jones shrugged, made a gesture with his hands. “Treece seems to be a man of whims.”
“Maybe, but a man of purpose too,” Shaw said thoughtfully and without pleasure. “I’d like to know what the purpose is this time — but I dare say I’ll find out! I’m not too keen on being followed around by the top brass, to be quite honest. It doesn’t help, and a man in Treece’s position can become a hell of a liability, though he’d hate to be told so.” Shaw looked keenly at Jones. “By the way… thanks for the use of your flat all day.”
“And night,” Jones said slyly. “I still think it was damned indiscreet, but there we are.” He waved a hand airily; he was in a better mood. “As to the hospitality, think nothing of it. Only too glad to be of service, and I accept there was little else you could have done in the circumstances,” he added as they started back towards the group of pressmen. “I’ve been convinced by our friend the brig.”
“To whom much thanks,” Shaw murmured. “Incidentally, I almost forgot. There was a phone call for you.”
“Oh — really?” Jones lifted his eyebrows. His expression was unperturbed, but Shaw fancied there was a new tautness in his voice. “Who was it? One of my girlfriends, by any chance?” he added with a laugh.
“No, it was a man’s voice. He didn’t say who he was, just asked for you.”
“No message?”
“No. I’m sorry, perhaps I should have asked, but he rang off too quickly for me…” Shaw was still watching the man but he didn’t find out anything from his scrutiny. It could so easily be that he was utterly mistaken about the identity of the caller. Meanwhile he preferred not to alert Jones; if the man was implicated Shaw felt certain that any developments would come to a head in the vicinity of the Chalok River and he wanted to leave it that way.
Jones, meanwhile, seemed to have lost interest in the conversation. He said, “Well, whoever it was, he’ll ring again, I suppose. Meanwhile here’s what you wanted — Kosyenko’s itinerary.” He slid an envelope into Shaw’s hand, and Shaw put it in his breast pocket. “Got all you want, old man?”
Shaw nodded. “Yes, thanks. Someone’s done a pretty good job of documentation,” he murmured in Jones’s ear. “I take it you’re still staying put in Moscow yourself?”
“Yes, worse luck.” Jones ran a hand through his over-abundant hair. “I’d like to have had a look around the Chalok Valley, but there we are.” After a pause he added, “I’ve an idea you could be right after all, and things may come to a head out there.”
Shaw looked up sharply. “Why — anything new cropped up?”
“Oh, no… if there was you’d have been put in the picture—” Just then Treece’s voice was heard and Jones broke off. “Excuse me, won’t you — that’s our boss shouting for me.” He stretched out his hand and beamed through his glasses. “Well, old man, all the best for a successful trip — and I hope you get a good story out of it. There should be plenty of interest for you to see.”
Jones pushed away through the crowd and Shaw heard him hailing Treece. Virginia was sticking close to Shaw, and within a few minutes the airport’s loudspeakers came alive, broadcasting a long harangue at the passengers waiting for the various flights. Shaw said briefly, “That’s us now. Come along.” The crowd of pressmen and women got on the move slowly, making for the movement control and the desks where grim-faced men sat waiting to check the passes and the movement authorizations. The armed troopers took up their stations by the entry to the section, and looking ahead to the exit on to the airfield itself Shaw could see more armed men waiting.
But there was still no sign of Colonel Andreyev.
Forty minutes later, they were airborne.
Shaw, still congratulating himself on getting clear through movement control without question, was sitting next to Virginia as the aircraft lifted above Moscow’s outskirts, heading east. Treece was up front, talking to one of the Reuters men and, across the gangway, to a girl from Associated Press of America and a bespectacled, earnest, young man from Intourist. An attractive stewardess came down the aisle once the passengers were able to dispense with their safety belts, offering a variety of drinks and snacks. The Press, it seemed, was being flown out in style.
Shaw looked down with interest as the aircraft flew eastward deep into the heart of the Soviet Union. A little later, he was about to close his eyes and try to store up a backlog of sleep for the next few days, which were likely to be full ones, when he remembered he hadn’t yet studied Kosyenko’s tour itinerary. He was reaching into his breast pocket for it when his eye was caught by some movement at the forward end of the cabin. The stewardess was coming down the gangway from the entry to the flight-deck, and behind her, looking keenly from left and right as he marched along, was the bulky, threatening figure of Colonel Andreyev.
The KGB had been right on the ball after all.
Twenty-five
Andreyev stopped by Shaw’s seat and said, “So, Cane, we meet again, yes?” He tapped the fingers of his right hand on his palm gently. He smiled, but his eyes were cold and hard, giving nothing away.
“It appears so, Colonel,” Shaw agreed calmly.
“I would like a word in your ear, Cane. If you would be so good as to follow me? The young lady will be well looked after I assure you.”
Andreyev turned about and stalked forward. Shaw got up, bent to squeeze Virginia’s shoulder reassuringly, and then followed the KGB officer along the gangway. Andreyev went ahead through the door to the flight-deck. He walked on past the radio operator and navigator and into a small cubicle containing a metal table and two chairs. When he shut the door, all sound was muted to a distant hum and a low throbbing from the engines. He gestured Shaw to a seat, remaining standing himself for a minute or so and looking down through a port to the cloud that had formed below, a white puffy carpet laid across the Soviet Union. Then suddenly he swung away and sat down facing Shaw.