‘Can you clean boots?’
Confused by the officer’s unexpected question the soldier stumbled a hesitant affirmative.
‘Good. When I take a new post I always like to start from scratch. You will look after me. I do not have time for petty detail. So long as my uniform is not crawling and my car is always ready when I want it, you should do. Can you manage that?’
‘I think… Yes, Comrade Colonel.’
‘At last. You are the first in this building I have found prepared to commit himself. You can clear away… wait… this meal, who prepared it?’
‘Sergeant-major Gorbatov, Comrade Colonel. You did not like it? He is usually very good, he was cook at our Washington embassy for five years. Very often he has cooked meals for…’ Realizing he was being indiscreet he stopped abruptly.
‘I know what you were going to say. Sometimes my predecessor would lend him out to party officials to cater for private parties, in return for certain favours. Who is Gorbatov’s assistant in the kitchens, what is he like, speak up man.’
Any idea the junior sergeant might have had of softening or colouring the truth evaporated when the officer raised his voice. ‘It is Private Zhiraev, he… he is not a good cook. Gorbatov is always shouting at him. I think they are, that is I think they may be related, by marriage.’
‘And Sergeant-major Gorbatov, probably at the prompting of his wife or mother-in-law, is keeping the dolt here, far from the dangers of the front line. Another of the cosy arrangements that have been so much a feature of this department. Tell Private Zhiraev he is now in charge of the kitchens, tell him that as long as he does not poison anyone, without having been ordered to do so, he can ignore all complaints from my staff. He can refer them to me if they are persistent.’
‘What of Sergeant-major Gorbatov, Comrade Colonel.’
‘He is to report to Lieutenant General Akenshin at the department of satellite surveillance control at the ministry of defence.’
Ignoring the soldier’s departure with the tray. Ro-zenkov turned back to his map. Every thirty minutes during the afternoon Major Morkov had come in and moved the yellow markers a fraction to indicate the GRU units’ latest reported positions. In a rough circle the lemon topped pins converged on the pencilled projected route the civilians were likely to travel, but they weren’t closing quite as fast as he might have expected for such well equipped troops. And between two or three of the encircling companies there were larger than usual gaps.
‘Get me Lieutenant General Akenshin at the defence ministry.’ Rozenkov continued to study the disposition of the yellow markers as he waited for the call to be connected. ‘Hello, Gregor, it’s Rozenkov… Thank you. It is still subject to confirmation, but, I think I shall yet make your exalted rank. Gregor, I have been able to do something for you. Do you still enjoy your love affair with your stomach… I thought so. I am sending you a chef I have discovered. Try him, you will not be disappointed…Well yes, there is something. If I give you some coordinates can you let me have a fast breakdown of activity in the immediate area, say within a hundred miles… The Zone, southern sector, Bavaria…You can…? Yes, ours and theirs, especially ours… Excellent, enjoy your meal.’
As he replaced the receiver, Morkov came quietly into the room and working from scribbled notes on a pad moved each of the pins.
‘Your men are spread more thinly than I’d expected, Major, even in that area. See, there are large gaps, here and here.’ Slouched in his chair, Rozenkov indicated where he meant by raising a leg and kicking at the locations, indenting the map into the soft plaster backing it.
Major Morkov sought any reason to be worried by those seemingly reasonable words. Though he found none, he began to perspire, and itch inside his smartly tailored uniform. ‘As the colonel must know, there are never enough men or vehicles to do everything precisely as-we would wish to.’
‘Probably you are right, though I must admit, of late I have been gaining the distinct impression that the GRU has been obtaining all of its requirements and more, at the expense of KGB military units.’ Enjoying a thin smile at the liaison officer’s difficulty in immediately refuting that, Rozenkov declined to go in for the kill, choosing to let his prey run a while longer. He saved the major from having to find an answer.
‘No matter. If those are all the troops you have available, then they will have to do. I am sure you would produce more if you could.’ Able to breathe again through a windpipe that nervous tension had constricted, Morkov made an excuse and left. In the corridor he paused to dab beads of water from his brow, and scrubbed the dampened handkerchief over his palms.
He could hear Rozenkov move about, and strained to hear what he was doing. For a moment he had half expected the colonel to come after him and order his arrest, it was with great relief that he heard the distinctive squeal of the drink cabinet being opened. So he was safe, and the overwhelming sensation of realizing that ruled out any further speculation as to what the head of Department A might be doing next without knowing the position of all his opponents’ pieces. Such an advantage did not have to stay the monopoly of his adversary. The game was now more complicated, more dangerous.
It was tempting. Rozenkov held the red pin between thumb and forefinger, but finally decided to replace it in the hole it had occupied beside the map. It was too soon to make his move yet, he would hold his men back until the picture was clearer. At this stage he strongly suspected he was having to play the game.
ELEVEN
‘They can have left only a few minutes ago, perhaps ten, not more.’ The reading Boris obtained from the infra-red detector was strong. Residual heat still radiated from the ground where the Range Rover had stood, and a higher level of emission from the ground below its engine even betrayed in which direction it had been parked.
‘Damn.’ Revell didn’t conceal his annoyance. He’d been counting on the civvies calling a halt during the hours of darkness. ‘Ten minutes or ten hours, it makes no difference. That wagon of theirs can outrun us. We’re never going to catch them in a tail chase.’
‘There’s short cut we could take, Major.’ Using a hand-held torch to illuminate the map board, Hyde indicated a side road that turned off the autoroute to cut through the mountains and rejoin it forty kilometres further east. ‘Those civvies have stuck to the main roads so far, doesn’t seem too likely they’ll change tactics in mid-course. If we can manage a decent speed over the high ground then we should come out in front of them, with time to arrange our own reception.’
‘Can we keep up speed?’ There were attractions in the suggestion but the success or otherwise of the idea rested on whether or not the battle-weary APC was capable of maintaining the performance required.
Burke shrugged. ‘The engine’s oil tight, and now it’s thoroughly warmed up it’s not running too bad. I’ve driven much worse further and faster. If we’ve already discovered the only weak link in the track, and if the transmission holds together, then we must be in with a chance.’
It was his decision and his alone, Revell was very aware of that. If they lost the trail, for whatever reason; if the civvies turned off before the roads rejoined, or if their rendezvous with their Russian friends was somewhere between here and the junction, then he’d failed.
But damn it, what ever arguments could be raised against the NCO’s suggestion, it came back down to the fact that on present form their pursuit must fail. They couldn’t count on the civilians stopping again. If they wanted a slice of good luck for a change they were going to have to cut it themselves.