Charlie was waiting when she finally looked up. He smiled at her. She made no response, instead looking away with the appearance of discomfort. Charlie accepted that his conclusion might be wrong, but it was the best he could manage. OK, Natalia Nikandrova Fedova he thought, if you want to see a performance then you’ll see a performance. As the one thought came, so did another. Always honest with himself, Charlie realised that he’d enjoy showing off to her.
There were five, in addition to Natalia, one other woman and four men. Although the room was small, it still left a lot of space. They arranged themselves in seats in varying rows: Natalia was third from the front. Charlie waited until they had settled themselves, watching while the other woman and two of the men took out notepads and arranged pencils alongside.
‘ Dobraya utra,’ said Charlie.
‘ Dobraya utra,’ every one of them replied and Charlie slapped the desk and said, ‘You’ve all just been arrested.’
The group assembled in front of him looked among themselves uncertainly and Charlie said, ‘What you’ve just done is inconceivable! You are supposed to have qualified from every training course, to be ready to be infiltrated anywhere in the West. You’re not Russian any more. You don’t think Russian, speak Russian, you’re not Russian.’
It had been gimmicky – the oldest gimmick in the book – but it had worked. He had their attention. The fact that they had fallen for the oldest entrapment gimmick didn’t say much for their training.
‘You,’ said Charlie, pointing to a fair-haired man nearest to him, in the front row. ‘What is your name?’
‘Belik,’ replied the young man, ‘Gennadi Belik.’
‘What have Zachary Taylor, James Buchanan and Rutherford Hayes got in common?’
The young man smiled, relieved. ‘They were all presidents of the United States of America.’
Charlie sighed. ‘Shall I tell you who knows that?’ he said. ‘American historians, academics, know that. A few hundred college students. And foreign agents force-fed facts, in the stupid belief that it gives them cover…’ If Krysin heard this – and Charlie didn’t have any doubt that he would – he’d be even more unhappy. He said to the man, ‘All right, what should you have said?’
Belik coloured, the uncertainty obvious. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted, responding to Charlie’s question.
‘Exactly!’ accepted Charlie. ‘You didn’t know. Don’t ever go beyond what is absolutely essential to maintain whatever legends you’re living. Someone who can recite the names of three obscure presidents of the United States is drawing attention to himself. The essential requirement if you are going to survive – and this is what we’re literally talking about, survival – then you must never, under any circumstances, draw attention to yourselves. You become people of whom nobody is aware. You see but are not seen…’ He pointed to the other women. ‘What is your name?’
‘Olga Suvorov,’ replied the woman. She was nondescript and mousy haired: a good choice, thought Charlie.
He said, ‘Before entering the room, you assembled, outside?’
She nodded.
‘You see but are not seen,’ repeated Charlie. ‘Stay looking directly at me, like you are at the moment. Stay looking directly at me and describe how everyone else is dressed, in the room.’
Olga’s eyes flicked sideways and Charlie said, ‘Look at me!’
Predictably, Olga began with Natalia. ‘Grey dress,’ she began, awkwardly. ‘Belted. Shoes… I think the shoes were black. The men… suits, all but two. I think three were grey… no, two were…’
‘Stop,’ said Charlie. Holding the woman’s eyes he said, ‘You have an oatmeal dress, brown shoes and a ladder in the left leg of your stockings. It’s not visible now, because of the way you are sitting, but you have a necklace with a black stone pendant, and your ear-rings don’t match. They’re dark blue. The other woman in the class is wearing a grey dress. The shoes aren’t black, they’re dark grey and if you remembered that the dress was belted you should have remembered also that the front buttons are heavy and black. She has a gold chain at her throat, not ear-rings, although her ears are pierced. She isn’t wearing stockings. The man in the front seat is wearing a green sports jacket and grey trousers, which haven’t been pressed. He’s a smoker, because the fingers of his left hand are nicotine stained. That’s not the only indication of his being a heavy smoker. Sometimes he does it surreptitiously, holding the cigarette cupped in the palm of his hand. The hand is stained, too…’ Instinctively Belik moved to cover his hand. Charlie went on… ‘He has a grey shirt and a grey knitted tie. The left cuff of the shirt is frayed. Sometime in the past his fountain-pen leaked: there’s a large stain, which was visible when he took out some pencils to take notes, at the beginning of this session. The two men in the back row are wearing suits. One is plain grey, the other with a predominant blue check over grey. Both the shirts are white: one tie is red, the other a pattern, mostly blue. The grey suit is old: there is a repair mark on the left knee. The check isn’t new, either. The seat is worn and shiny. Both have black shoes. The man in the grey suit has the nervous habit of biting his nails, left hand more than the right…’ The accused man moved his hands, like Belik had earlier. ‘The man in the patterned suit also has a nervous mannerism, moving the ring on his left hand. The fourth man in this class is wearing a brown sports jacket with lighter brown trousers, with brogue shoes. The shoes are in need of repair, both badly down at heel. The tie is red and trying to conform to some earlier instruction, the knot is a wide one, no doubt a style you’ve been taught is popular in the West, particularly in America. The man in the brown jacket is impatient with this lesson, considering it a waste of time: five times already he’s checked the time. He’s appeared to make notes but from the movement of the pencil, they haven’t been notes. They’ve been doodles, a way to pass the time…’
Charlie broke away from his direct stare at Olga Suvorov, encompassing the class. The face of the man in the brown jacket blazed red and both Belik and the man at the rear sat with their hands beneath the desk now. Gimmicky again, conceded Charlie – later they might even decide it hadn’t been such an impressive trick, because he’d had the advantage of looking out at them, even though they’d have to accept that all of them were partially hidden by the desks at which they sat – but it was still effective. They were all looking among themselves, with the exception of Natalia. She met Charlie’s gaze this time, the expression on her face one of faint amusement. Was it amusement? wondered Charlie. Or contempt?
To the embarrassed man in the brown jacket Charlie said, ‘How are you called?’
‘Popov,’ said the man. ‘Yuri Pavlovich Popov.’
‘No!’ said Charlie. ‘Listen, for Christ’s sake listen! You’ve been trained to infiltrate countries that speak English. Which means England or the United States or Canada or Australia or New Zealand or – although unlikely – South Africa. No one there, seeking your name, says “How are you called?” That’s English constructed from a foreign language. It’s another interrogation trick, like saying good morning in Russian.’
‘How should we respond, then?’
The question came from Natalia. Charlie looked to her, thinking again how attractive she was: not beautiful, but attractive. A contemptuous question? he wondered, recalling her earlier expression. Or one of genuine interest? He was talking of interrogation – entrapment – and she’d interrogated him. It could be a test. If he proved himself too adept at confronting and resisting interrogation then she might suspect that he’d tricked her. ‘Always with innocence,’ he said. ‘Because that’s what you always are, innocent of whatever stupidity has caused whatever has happened to you. Not anger. Or arrogance. Anger and arrogance fit, of course, but unless they’re absolutely genuine they’re too easy to detect and undermine. Innocence is the barrier. Because if you’re innocent then it’s natural to be confused and if you’re confused then it’s perfectly understandable if you stumble and appear awkward – if you make dangerous mistakes, even.’ Charlie hesitated, wondering whether to continue. She was concentrating absolutely upon him and Charlie was warmed by the attention. He went on, ‘But use being a confused innocent…’ He looked to the brown-jacketed man who had identified himself as Yuri Popov. ‘“How are you called?” didn’t fit and instead of being anxious to respond you should have come back at me and asked me what I meant. By doing that, you tilt the balances so that I have to provide, to your questioning.’