“The name?”
“Yours,” Shaw replied calmly. “Colonel Alexander Ilyich Andreyev, ex-MVD, formerly of the Leningrad headquarters, and recently transferred on promotion to Moscow. Which puts you rather in a spot, to my way of thinking.” He shrugged. “Of course, you’re going to tell me that what I’ve said is a load of eyewash, that you’re as innocent of subversive activities as a new-born babe. All right, so maybe you are — but believe you me,” he said with relish, “it hasn’t been all that difficult to prepare a nice little frame for you within the last twenty-four hours, Colonel Andreyev!”
“I–I—”
“You see, I know a good deal about you. To quote just a few details: age 53, married, wife’s name Jezefina. Four children — three boys and a girl, the latter studying at Kiev University. You fought at Stalingrad in the war, and you were in the siege of Moscow — but you haven’t always been a hero! There’s quite a file on you in the Embassy, and we know this isn’t the first time you’ve indulged in a little activity on the side. Previously you’ve been lucky enough to get away with it — this time you’re in much trickier waters. Besides which, it appears you personally are in charge of Kosyenko’s security arrangements — which gives you all kinds of convenient opportunities, doesn’t it? We really mustn’t let Kosyenko die, must we, Colonel Andreyev? If he does, and if you report this conversation to anybody at all, that frame and that file are going to be passed to the Kremlin at once. So don’t you agree you’d better cooperate with me all along the line from now on — before it’s too late to save yourself?”
Twenty-six
Shaw walked back along the gangway of the passenger cabin, feeling as though a slow fuse was burning inexorably into a charge fixed to his spine and liable to blow at any given moment. He had left Colonel Andreyev in a raging temper but, at the same time, clearly an extremely worried man. Andreyev’s tame amateur spy had turned out to be a scorpion after all… a scorpion with its tail poised to sting, and sting hard — and the Russian couldn’t be certain how much Shaw knew or how much of what he said had been the truth.
After getting a much needed drink from the attentive stewardess, and then watching her safely away along the gangway, Shaw pointed all this out to Virginia, outlining in a low tone what had been said during his interview in the flight-deck cubicle. He added, “It was the biggest bluff I’ve ever tried to put across anyone, believe me, but it’s come off. So far, anyway.” He grinned. “It was all done by mirrors, Virginia… fast talking and putting the fear of God into friend Andreyev. Currently the poor devil has no idea whatever as to how he really stands, but he daren’t take any chances from now on, that’s for sure! His neck’s in the balance for all he knows, and right now he’s realizing that if you don’t keep your nose clean you don’t know where you stand when it comes to a frame-up. I’m pretty confident I’ve managed to convince him it’d pay him best to string along with me for a while — though I admit that’s partly because he knows he’s got me in the long run if things go wrong.”
“Through the real Cane’s family?”
He shook his head. “Their value’s depreciated now he knows I’m not Cane though he’ll assume, and rightly, that I’ll do all I can to have them safeguarded, of course. I was referring to the fact I’ve admitted to being a British agent.”
She nodded and asked, “You didn’t mention Ivan O’Shea Conroy, did you?”
“Of course not. By the way… Andreyev did ask after you, Virginia, but it’s me he’s worried about. That’s not to say he won’t have his eye on you — but I’d say your immunity’ll last just as long as mine.”
“Uh-huh.” She shifted in the seat, moving her body against him. “And the next move is?”
He shrugged. “Exactly as planned. We check into our hotel with the rest of the boys and keep our eyes open while we await developments. We also shadow Comrade General Kosyenko once he shows up and we find out who else is watching him at die same time. It won’t be long before someone starts sticking out like a candidate for the birth certificate of Mr Conroy.” He paused, then added, “I’m still just a little bothered by the fact my chief is on this flight…”
She cocked an amused eye at him. “Beginning to feel kind of stampeded?” she asked.
“Not exactly that,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s just that it’s a shade odd to find the Big White Chief out in the field as a common operator… that’s all, really.” But he added, half to himself, “There is the point that Treece was in the Sappers once…”
“So?” She gave him a quick sideways look, her eyebrows lifting.
“Nothing,” he said absently, and reached into his pocket for the itinerary of Kosyenko’s tour.
He ran his eye down the stenciled sheet — a copy, presumably, of what would have been given to the newspaper-men. The Russian Minister, it appeared, was due at Kyakhta at 3 pm the day after next. There would be an official reception at the airport, and immediately after that Kosyenko would be driven out to the dam on the Chalok River. After this, he would go back into Kyakhta to spend the night at the headquarters of the temporarily superseded Chief of Security for the area, where Andreyev would also be staying, and on the following two days he would tour the factories and the uranium mines, ending up once again at Kyakhta for a grand civic dinner before his return flight into Moscow. It was an extensive itinerary and an exhausting one, with close timings and many places to see en route, and Shaw could only hope Kosyenko would complete it, however tiring he might find it…
Putting the itinerary back in his pocket, Shaw sat in silence beside Virginia for much of the journey, looking down at the darkened, night-shrouded land-mass of the Soviet Union. At intervals the stewardess passed along the gangway, smiling at the passengers, bringing more drinks and snacks. Shaw smiled sweetly at her and got himself another Scotch; he felt badly in need of it after his session with Andreyev.
Up forward, Brigadier Treece seemed to have nodded off to sleep and his companion likewise; the latter’s head was lolling on the insignia of Treece’s military uniform. There was no further sign of Andreyev.
They touched down at Kyakhta airport in the very early hours of next morning. Kyakhta was some seventy miles south-east of Lake Baikal and was the nearest airfield for the Chalok River. They arrived in bitterly cold, torrential rain, and as they emerged from the warm cabin the cold of the airfield met them like a knife. Coming down the disembarkation steps that had been wheeled up to the doors, Shaw noticed the clusters of uniformed, rain-coated MVD men under big arc lamps across which the rain slashed, and the light glittering along the chromium barrels of the quick-firing Kalashnikovas that were slung from the shoulders of the troopers. The whole place had an alien feel, an almost tangible alien smell — some curious hostile emanation, Shaw thought fancifully, of an impending tragedy. For perhaps the first time since crossing into Russia on this current mission he felt in full the terrible grip of authority, the pervading fear of a police state. There had been tension in Moscow, but, compared with this place, Moscow seemed in retrospect to have had an almost friendly, cosmopolitan atmosphere.
Nevertheless, none of the police interfered with the disembarking pressmen though once again, and inevitably, all documents were closely examined as the passengers filed, cold and wet, through a small office in the airport building. Andreyev was in evidence again now; Shaw hadn’t noticed the man leave the plane, but now he was standing behind one of the desks, talking monosyllabically to the official who was checking the papers and authorizations. For a moment, no more, as Shaw went past behind Virginia their eyes met. Andreyev’s face was cold, stiff, but he gave no sign of recognition and made no attempt to hinder Shaw, who, together with the girl passed through without any difficulty. Andreyev was still playing for time; the big bluff still held, though for how much longer was anyone’s guess. Shaw passed through the checkpoint and on into a waiting coach. Once again, he saw Brigadier Treece; and once again was totally ignored. But he didn’t miss the speculative look that Colonel Andreyev, coming out from the building behind the last of the passengers gave the Britisher as Treece’s thin, ungainly body clambered aboard the coach.