‘There’s a place for him, in Boston,’ said Berenkov. Remembering there were towns in both countries and conscious of the chairman’s apparent distraction, Berenkov hurriedly added ‘Boston, America, not Boston, England.’
There was no immediate reaction from Kalenin. He finished pouring and handed Berenkov his glass and said, ‘Going to the West?’
‘I think he would benefit,’ said Berenkov.
‘Are you sure that’s wise?’
‘Which is why I felt I should officially raise it with you,’ said Berenkov.
‘What do you imagine would happen if the Western intelligence agencies were to discover who his father was?’ said Kalenin.
‘I did not think that was a serious risk,’ said Berenkov.
‘Then I don’t think you’ve considered it sufficiently,’ said Kalenin. ‘The American Central Intelligence Agency actively recruits from universities: apparatus exists, for talent spotting. And if they’re that well organised they’d naturally focus upon visiting Russian students. I’d consider there would be a serious risk of Georgi becoming compromised.’
‘Are you telling me officially that he can’t take up the place?’ asked Berenkov, miserably.
‘I’m saying that I want to think further about it,’ said Kalenin. ‘That maybe we both should.’
‘He’s worked extremely hard,’ said Berenkov, emptily.
‘We’re currently experiencing enough difficulty,’ said Kalenin. ‘You’re a deputy within the Committee for State Security, at the very highest echelon. And someone known in the West. I think we should seriously consider the risk of any embarrassment beyond that which we are already suffering.’
That suffering – and that embarrassment – worsened.
The messages to London resumed in a sudden flurry, three intercepted by the KGB monitoring services on succeeding nights. Each formed part of a sensational whole, the complete identities – and their cover designation – of virtually the entire Soviet espionage system within Britain, from the embassy-based Resident under diplomatic title down through every other diplomatic listing and extending to the Soviet trade mission at Highgate.
The last of the three messages promised further identities of agents in the United States and France. And concluded, ‘Shortly intend making promised personal contact.’
In London Wilson said, ‘Well. Here we go.’
‘We hope,’ said the cautious Harkness.
Moscow intercepted London’s radioed reply. It was ‘People don’t notice whether it’s winter or summer when they’re happy.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
All his life Charlie felt he had been running; often literally. He had run in the department, always to stay ahead of the supercilious sods with their nose-lifted accents. He had run, to survive, when those same sods set him up. And run again, to survive again, after he set them up, instead. He’d run in prison, like a trapped animal runs, blindly, from one corner to another corner. And was aware he should have the impression of running here, involved in the most difficult and dangerous operation he’d encountered. But he didn’t. He felt unhurried. Relaxed even. As if there were time – all the time in the world – to rest, with no danger of anyone catching up. It was Natalia, he knew. Just as he knew – without having the rules to guide him, because there were no rules – that he loved her. He loved her completely and absolutely and he wanted never to spend a moment of his no-longer running life apart from her. Which meant staying. Which he couldn’t. Any more than he could consider leaving.
The conflicts – of feelings and loyalty and attitudes and professionalism – crowded in upon him and every time he got halfway towards solving one he tripped over another. Keeping Natalia from the consideration – which would have been a clash of love against professionalism – Charlie became increasingly convinced, after two more failed rendezvous, that there never would be any contact. What had appeared in the Soviet newspapers about the British first secretary was inadequate and inconclusive, like accounts always were in Soviet newspapers, but Charlie guessed whatever had happened involved the person he was supposed to meet at the GUM store. The unanswerable was why, if they’d swept the defector up, he’d remained unaffected. But Charlie recognised there could be explanations, like the man dying rather than face arrest. Or dying under questioning. Or going mad under that same questioning, before he’d been able to disclose and therefore endanger the meeting spot. If that conjecture were correct, then there was no further purpose in remaining in Moscow – another conflict – teaching intended Soviet spies to be better than they were, which was a further conflict. Professionally, he should get out. Professionally he should stop buggering about and start running again. Would she run with him? The idea had been a long time coming – too long – but why not? She hadn’t said so – which he hadn’t, nervous of actually saying it – but Charlie was absolutely sure that Natalia loved him. Why the hell couldn’t it have been her, that day in GUM, who wanted to defect? Or Berenkov, to whom all the signs pointed but who hadn’t committed himself? If it had been Berenkov then Charlie would have been gone months ago, before getting so hopelessly entangled. He shook his head, a physical movement of irritation. What sort of thinking was that, wishing things had or hadn’t happened, like some child! It hadn’t been Natalia and it hadn’t been Berenkov and he had fallen in love and he had to sort it out by logical, sensible thinking, not flights of fancy. It wasn’t just Natalia, of course. There was Eduard. She wouldn’t consider leaving the boy – why the hell should she? – so he’d have to get both of them out, at the same time. Difficult but not insurmountable. Charlie consciously braked the flow of thought. How difficult? Officially he was still British. But Natalia and Eduard weren’t. They were Russian and Charlie doubted the British embassy would consider flying them out if they simply walked into the embassy with him. There would have to be diplomatic this and diplomatic that and a damned good chance that they’d hand them back if the Russian pressure became too heavy. Which it unquestionably would. Practically insurmountable then. What if he lied? What if he took Natalia and Eduard into the embassy and conned London that she was the source for which they were so anxious? They’d bend the rules then and smuggle her out eagerly enough. But what would happen when they got back to London? The Russians would chase, because Natalia was high ranking and because they always chased anyway. And when he realised he had been cheated, Wilson and the department wouldn’t provide any sort of protection. So it would be like it had been before, with Edith, harassed and terrified, from place to place and country to country. Charlie knew he couldn’t stand that. He couldn’t stand it and he couldn’t ask Natalia to endure it: certainly not with a young kid.
A further class came and went, at the spy school, and Charlie knew he couldn’t delay much longer. His confusion and distraction increasingly came between the two of them, like a barrier, marring the earlier tranquility and there were arguments – not serious rows but quarrels of irritability just the same – and it put Charlie under fresh pressure because he didn’t want her to misunderstand and imagine the reverse of his feelings and that he was tired of the relationship.
He tried to plan the occasion. He took her to the Rossiya, where they had had their first meal and from which, on the subsequent occasion, they’d left to go back to her apartment and make love. Everything about Natalia had affected Charlie but a tangible part of their being together had been the reduction in the extent of Charlie’s drinking. That night, however, he drank more than usual with her, needing the support but stayed far short of getting drunk. Completely confident with Russian now, Charlie ordered for them and it was a good choice and seeking omens he decided it was a good augury for later.
She was conscious of his effort and Natalia tried, too, so that the tenseness that had developed between them in the recent days and weeks eased away. Charlie was relieved that Natalia was relaxed again and relieved too that after all the unconcluded agonising the moment had come to be open with her.