Just before lunch, it was announced that parties would be taken round the factory area for a preview, so that the journalists could gain their impressions of the district free from all the trappings, inseparable, even in Russia, apparently, from the visit of a VIP. There was a rush to put down names for the three coaches available, but Shaw decided to miss it. There was no point in moving about until Kosyenko arrived, and in the meantime, he preferred to remain where he could be in touch, if necessary, with Moscow. However, Treece (who had been away all morning on business of his own) decided to go and took Virginia along; and when they returned they were both clearly impressed with all they had seen.
Virginia said, “We don’t have anything to touch it, back in the States. It’s fantastic, for sheer size alone.” She glanced at Treece as she tucked a strand of hair into place. “They must employ more men and women than all the US Armed Forces put together, with the Pentagon chucked in as well!”
Shaw laughed. “That does it! It really must be colossal.”
“You’ll see for yourself tomorrow,” Treece put in gruffly, rubbing at his eyes. He blew noisily through his pipe-stem and fragments of tobacco were projected violently past Shaw. “Your intinerary will have told you, Kosyenko arrives at the airfield at 3 pm. After the official reception, he leaves right away for the Chalok Dam, with a fleet of cars carrying his entourage.”
“And the Press?”
“And the Press, yes.”
“And me — or should I say, us?” Shaw glanced at Virginia as he spoke and he caught the faintest suspicion of a nod. She wanted to come along.
Treece said shortly, “All three of us.” He paused, staring at Shaw. “There’s one more thing I’m sure you’re anxious to know, and that is why I decided to fly out to Kyakhta at the last moment.”
“I’m certainly curious,” Shaw agreed. “I tried to ask you last night… but you went to bed. I confess I somehow got the impression earlier that you intended staying on in Moscow till this thing was sorted out, and when—”
“I did, yes, that’s quite correct.” Treece passed a heavy hand across his jaw, raspingly. “I changed my mind at the last minute because I had word of something interesting that could become a definite lead.”
“But back at Bykovo Jones said there hadn’t been any fresh developments.”
“And so far as he knew there hadn’t! This was too vital to pass on to anyone, yourself and Jones included, until we were here on the spot.”
“You mean,” Shaw said pointedly, “I was right in saying this was the danger area?”
“I mean what I said and no more,” Treece answered a trifle mysteriously, leaning forward. His breath reeked of whisky; Shaw fancied he was a little drunk — maybe he’d taken a bottle with him on his tour. “Anyway, with that in mind, I’m taking you and Miss MacKinlay with me tomorrow for Kosyenko’s arrival. Then we’re going out to the dam.”
“I see.” Shaw studied him ironically. “You can’t be just a little more precise, I suppose?”
“Not at this moment.” Treece put a hammy arm on Shaw’s shoulder, an arm that the agent wished irritably he could shake off. “I propose to handle this myself for just a little longer.” There was something odd in the air; Shaw didn’t like the smell of it. He himself was not in this game for the personal kudos; Treece, it seemed, was. And that could be dangerous.
Shaw didn’t ask, next afternoon, where Treece had got hold of the car; but it carried a perfectly genuine Press sticker on the windscreen, so no doubt it had been organized from Moscow. It was a Russian car and it was fast. It took them in the first instance out to the airfield for the arrival of Kosyenko — still in the rain that had kept up almost throughout the night. Kosyenko’s plane was half an hour late, but at last a short, powerfully-built figure in astrakhan cap and fur-collared greatcoat appeared on the platform of the disembarkation ladder, waving and smiling chubbily, in Churchillian fashion. Indeed, Shaw fancied he could catch more than a passing resemblance to Churchill in that shrewd, beaming face and authoritarian, yet human, manner. Kosyenko waved again to the crowd, and there was a burst of clapping in which he himself, in the Russian style, joined good-humoredly before stepping heavily down the ladder. Shaw and Treece had managed to insinuate themselves into the front rank of the newspaper-men so as to be handy if there should be any incident; but there was nothing, nor could they spot Wicks or Fawcett. However, they got a near view of Comrade General Kosyenko in the midst of a concourse of officialdom and security men, Andreyev being very much in evidence now, and they listened to a brief speech from the leader in reply to three masterpieces of verbosity from the welcoming committee, before Kosyenko was escorted into the airport buildings and the Press dispersed to the fleet of cars waiting to join the motorcade for the run out to the Chalok River.
Treece remarked, as he settled behind the wheel of his car, “Don’t think I’ve ever seen a procession this size — let alone been part of one.”
Shaw was watching him. “If I might make a suggestion, Brigadier,” he said quietly, “I’d maneuver now to get in the front of the Press cars.”
Treece shook his head impatiently. “I’m aiming for the exact opposite — the tail of the line.”
“But that’s going to make it impossible for us to do a damn thing if anyone tries anything!”
“I don’t agree. It’ll give us much more maneuverability. Gives us freedom to move without danger of being hemmed in.”
“Freedom to move too late, you mean!” Treece said icily, “Would you mind very much leaving this to me?”
“It seems I have no alternative,” Shaw snapped back.
Treece gave a brisk nod and then, craning his neck out of the driving window, announced, “Here he comes… they haven’t wasted much time. Just getting in his car now.”
His hand dropped to the gear lever, and then they were moving slowly off, past the airport buildings and heading into open country. Soon the speed was put on and the motorcade began to straggle a little until they were all into their stride, heading a little south of west, under more heavy rain, for the old valley of the Chalok River. Soon they were driving past huge factories standing shoulder to shoulder along a broad highway and extending deep into the old valley on either hand. There were no cheer-parties here, along the way; the order, Treeee said, had gone out from Comrade General Kosyenko himself that not a shift, not an hour, not a minute of precious working time was to be lost to the Soviet Union. This was to be just another working day. Shaw was sitting in front with Treece while Virginia was in the back. He looked in amazement at the sheer extent of this new industrial site.
Noticing this, Treece started on a courier act. He said, “Pretty soon this valley’ll contain around three-quarters of Russia’s atomic potential. Some of the other uranium deposits are running out — either that, or there are various more or less insuperable technical difficulties involved in getting the stuff out. Underneath the valley farther along they say it almost asks to be mined.” He leaned over the wheel and wiped condensation from the windscreen with a gloved hand. “Then there’s the big atomic power station that serves all this area and a good deal of other territory besides… it has a capacity of something like a million kilowatts, so I’ve heard.”
“Pretty big.”
Treece nodded. “The old hydro-electric station that served the area’s already on its way out, though it went into operation only in 1957 — of course, I suppose that’s quite a way back as things go these days. We’ll see the atomic station soon.” He added a moment later, “The publicity angle apart, Jones tells me Kosyenko’s coming in to spread the bull as thickly as possible. More politely, he’s coming to boost the morale of the toilers for Soviet power. Thousands of them have been drafted in, I gather, from other places, from as far as Leningrad, even, and they’re feeling a little cut off… fed up, mucked up, and far from flaming home, as we used to say, more or less, in the war. Kosyenko’s going to assure them in what great esteem they’re held throughout the Soviets — that they’re looked upon as heroes to a man — you know the sort of thing. His visit’ll help to sweeten the forthcoming pill, I suppose.”