Kozlov appeared to consult a reference book and said: ‘It wasn’t originally created like that. There was a tidal wave, about a hundred years ago. It washed away the temple in which the figure was housed and forced its head forward, in that strange position. The people who worship him decided that he didn’t want to live in an enclosed house; that’s why he’s permanently in the open. Why have you asked to meet?’
The circumstances meant that Kozlov had to be by himself, if the defection request were genuine. Which still had to be proved. Until which time he had to watch his own back. Dale had realized the contact and positioned himself perfectly, a roof support protectively behind him and the open square dominated by the buddha set out in front. Covered then, thought Fredericks; there was a group of obvious Western tourists — fellow Americans, he guessed, from their dress — filing in through the rear door to examine the hollow interior of the statue, but apart from that there were no Caucasians at all in the area. Maybe, decided Fredericks, there were certain advantages after all in being a round-eye in Asia. Kozlov was alone: it was an important point to make, when Washington made yet another of its demands for indicators whether or not Kozlov was for real. He said: ‘That’s a cute story. There’s something important for us to talk through.’
‘I don’t know how they’re going to interpret the next tidal wave or typhoon: this place seems to be right in the path of natural disasters,’ said the Russian. ‘You’ve got all the details of the British involvement?’
‘No,’ said Fredericks, directly. There was no purpose in continuing the avoidance and the split-against-eavesdropping double talk, now that they were both sure. He was conscious of the Russian’s abrupt head turn, towards him.
‘Why no!’ demanded the man. ‘That was all that remained to be fixed, after our meetings. Why I agreed to come today, when I got the signal. Everything else had been discussed.’
Kozlov’s rising anger was as Fredericks had feared and warned it might be. After Kozlov’s first approach their encounters had always been his decision, confirmed in the most simple — and therefore the safest — way. The Agency permanently maintained a room -323 — in the Imperial Hotel, with its view of the palace: by some irony, Jimmy Dale, who was now guarding him against any unexpected eventuality, was the man who occupied it, to cover against any hotel staff curiosity. If Kozlov wanted contact, he telephoned a supposed enquiry against the room number, giving the place. Every three days — purporting to be Dale — he called the hotel, checking messages. The American response, if they wanted a meeting, was for the message to be that a conference was necessary, as always leaving Kozlov to be the decider of where the meeting should be. Fredericks had invoked the system on the American part four days earlier, for the first time. The American said: ‘My people aren’t happy, about the British. You’ve no cause to distrust us. We’ll keep every promise that we’ve made: on my life!’
Kozlov began to move, apparently wanting to view the buddha from a different angle. Fredericks had to go as well, to keep up with him. Kozlov said viciously: ‘You’re trying to trick me, like I always knew you would!’
‘No!’ said Fredericks, worried. ‘We’re doing everything you asked. Hear me out.’
The other man stopped, using the camera that he carried, ‘What is it?’ he asked.
Inviting the other man’s understanding, Fredericks said: ‘It’s not me. It’s headquarters. You know what headquarters are like.’
‘What do they want?’
‘It’s unnecessary — they feel it’s unnecessary — to bring the British in …’ Fredericks saw the other man start to speak and said urgently: ‘Wait! Let me finish! You said you wanted $500,000, for yourself. We’ll double it, to $1,000,000, which will give you what you’d get from the British, for Irena. We’ll get you both out: new identities, protection, everything. You can choose whatever house you want, anywhere in America …’
‘We’ve talked through all this,’ dismissed Kozlov. ‘This is a ridiculous conversation.’
‘You’ve no reason to think we won’t keep our undertaking,’ insisted Fredericks, desperately. ‘I’ve been told to offer you whatever guarantee you need.’
Kozlov, who was a small, unobtrusive man of seemingly apparent calmness, said: ‘I’ve already set out the guarantees I need.’ He closed his camera, a positive movement. ‘It’s over,’ he declared. ‘Finished.’
‘No!’ protested Fredericks, yet again. He was hot with fear, knowing what would happen if he lost the other man. They were a bunch of stupid bastards, back there at Langley: trying to impress each other with a lot of bullshit talk in comfortable conference rooms, we want this and we want that and we want this, ignoring the warnings he’d sent. And if it fucked up, because of how they wanted it done, it would be his fault and his butt, with a lot more bullshit talk about his incompetence and his inexperience and how they should have sent someone else, who could have done it their way. Fredericks said: ‘It was a sincere offer; is a sincere offer. But if you want it to stay the way it was, then fine.’
‘If it was fine my way, you wouldn’t have tried to change,’ said Kozlov, unmollified.
Fredericks tried to subdue his apprehension, calling upon the other man’s experience. ‘You know the way it is,’ he urged. ‘Wouldn’t your people try to do the same, if someone from the CIA tried to split a crossing, say between Russia and Poland?’
‘We control the Polish service,’ refused Kozlov, pedantically. ‘They’d do as they were told.’
‘You’re aware of what I mean,’ persisted Fredericks. ‘We want you, Yuri. But we want the whole package, complete. Not divided, like this.’
Kozlov smiled, a rare expression, and Fredericks felt a surge of relief. The Russian said: ‘I’ve made your headquarters nervous?’
Fredericks hesitated, unsure of the response the other man wanted. Then he said: ‘Yes. It’s an unusual demand.’
‘It was meant to be,’ said the Russian. ‘I won’t be cheated. Or tricked.’
‘Like I’ve said …’ tried the American, but Kozlov talked across him.
‘So don’t bother saying it again,’ interrupted the Russian. ‘I accept that you were only doing what you were told to do, by Washington. But that means you hadn’t properly explained the situation, for them to understand how pointless it would be. It’s my way or it’s no way at all. You’ve known that from the beginning.’
Kozlov was arrogant as well as clever, decided Fredericks. He said: ‘All right. Your way, entirely.’
‘What about the British?’ demanded Kozlov.
‘There’s been some communication,’ qualified Fredericks. ‘No one has actually arrived yet.’
‘You delayed, to see what would happen today?’ anticipated Kozlov.
Now Fredericks smiled. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I believe it wasn’t your fault,’ said Kozlov. ‘We suffer fools at Dzerzhinsky Square, too. It won’t happen again?’
‘No,’ promised Fredericks, hopefully. Damn Langley and empire builders, he thought.
‘How much longer?’ pressed Kozlov.
‘I’ll tell Langley today. Say it must be soon.’
‘Very soon,’ insisted the Russian. ‘It’s easy for suspicion to arise in a Soviet embassy.’
‘You think something is wrong?’ asked Fredericks, feeling new concern.
‘Not yet: I’m sure of that. Irena is as alert as I am, so I’m confident we would have detected something, between us …’ He smiled again. ‘I’m just a very cautious person; I was trained that way.’
‘I understand,’ assured Fredericks. ‘I’ll make everything very clear.’
‘I want you to leave here first,’ said Kozlov.
‘Of course.’
‘We’ll maintain the same method of contact?’ said the Russian.
‘Yes.’