Charlie lied easily, because they were easy lies, just slight but vitally important deviations from the truth that fitted all the facts and all the circumstances. He knew how good she was – what her training was – and although he appeared to be as deeply enclosed as she was Charlie was alert for any reaction from her: for the sort of challenge that her questioners would make, very soon now. There was no dispute from Natalia and Charlie hoped more desperately than he had ever hoped for anything that it meant it would work and there wouldn’t be any way she could be exposed.
‘It means I made a mistake,’ she said. At once, defensively, she said, ‘I wasn’t given enough time. Everything was rushed.’
‘Then it’s not your fault.’
‘No,’ she said, doubtfully. ‘It wasn’t my decision.’
‘There’s us,’ he pointed out.
‘Yes,’ she said.
And then Charlie told her how to account for that, as well, on easier ground now because outright lying wasn’t involved. He was still tensed for her to expose a fault but she didn’t and when he finished Charlie hoped it was because that part of the story was as good as the earlier account and not because her emotions and feelings were clouding her usual alertness.
‘Now?’ she said, emptily.
‘Now,’ said Charlie. He felt the surge of despair and fought against it because it was too late for despair now. They’d recovered what they’d known before because of their acceptance of the end; there was no turning back because there was nowhere to which they could turn. Conflict upon conflict, ifs upon ifs. ‘You understand the importance of the timing, don’t you?’ pressed Charlie. ‘The timing’s got to be precisely right.’
‘Yes,’ said Natalia. ‘I understand about the timing.’
They remained unspeaking on the embankment seat. The light was going now and the shadow from the vast Comecon building stretched like a barrier across the Moskva River, a hurdle for the still busy boats to cross. Her hand was still in his and Charlie didn’t want to let it go.
‘I love you, Natalia,’ said Charlie.
‘I love you, too, my darling,’ said Natalia. She stopped and then she said, ‘And I know I’m going to regret what I’ve done – or what I haven’t done – for the rest of my life.’
Charlie turned to her, hurriedly, about to speak but she squeezed her fingers with his and said, ‘No! Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.’
‘Why can’t you come?’ he said, ignoring her plea.
‘Why can’t you stay?’ she said, defeating him. ‘My loyalty isn’t the only barrier. There’s yours. I’ve already given more than you have. Why can’t you give?’
‘You know I can’t.’
‘Then you know I can’t.’
The shadows on the river got deeper, obscuring the smaller boats altogether. They remained side by side, their hands linked, neither wanting to be the first actually to break the final, inevitable contact.
‘Timing is important,’ repeated Charlie.
‘Then you should go.’
‘Yes.’
‘I wish we could make love,’ Natalia blurted, suddenly. ‘Not like last time. Not like a lot of times recently. Like it was before, when we were like this.’
‘It doesn’t have to be tonight,’ said Charlie.
‘Yes it does,’ she said immediately. ‘Trying to hold on to what we’ve got now, this moment, won’t work…’ She gestured out towards the river, where the evening mist was already forming, in competition to the insect swarms. ‘It’s like that,’ she said. ‘Like the evening fog.’
Charlie made the moment of parting, knowing he had to. He withdrew his hand, positively, not looking at her and said, ‘It’s lucky, that we chose to walk along the river.’
‘Yes,’ said Natalia, consciously trying to put the briskness into her voice. ‘Morisa Toreza is quite near.’
Charlie stood, forcing himself like she was doing. ‘Remember the time,’ he said. ‘They’ll know almost immediately. Don’t wait.’
For a moment they remained looking at each other, Natalia still on the bench, Charlie standing but apart from her, not trusting himself to be too close.
‘I don’t want you to kiss me,’ she said.
‘No.’
‘Just don’t say anything. Do anything.’
Charlie stayed where he was, for a few more moments, knowing that he would never see her again and wanting to etch everything into his mind and then he turned and found the main highway and walked towards the British embassy on the Morisa Toreza. He walked shoulder-slumped, for once in his life careless of anything around him, reluctant actually to get to the security of the British legation but committed now because Natalia’s safety depended upon him reaching it at a certain time. He knew for a long way she would be able to see him – and he her – but he never turned back. By the time he reached the embassy the professionalism had taken over but much of it automatic, right up until the actual moment of entry, which had to be right.
There were still cars and people about, which he wanted and in passing Charlie wondered how much of the passing traffic was genuine and how much official. He crossed carefully, long before the embassy entrance, approaching on the same side but appearing to take no interest in the approaching building. There were uniformed Soviet personnel near the entrance which Charlie hadn’t expected and couldn’t remember from his previous time in Moscow. He strode on, confidently, with no break in his stride, the turn into the compound abrupt yet still confident, a man accustomed to the route and unprepared for any challenge.
None came.
Charlie hurried into the vestibule, anxious to gain official British territory. There was the reception desk and security personnel, but British this time. The receptionist was a man. He looked up, blank-faced, towards Charlie and said, ‘Can I help you?’
‘Yes,’ said Charlie. ‘I want to go home.’
Pending the investigation, Alexei Berenkov was held in Lefortovo prison, the same jail in which, months earlier, Cecil Wainwright had been broken into admitting his cowardice. It was not a usual concession and Berenkov guessed at Kalenin’s intervention and was gratefuclass="underline" on the third week he was permitted a visit from Valentina. The small woman appeared even smaller in the echoing surroundings of the prison, cowed by everything around her. She perched, fittingly bird-like, on her chair and blinked through the grill at her burly husband behind it and Berenkov ached for her fear.
‘They say I can only stay for a few moments; that I’m lucky to be here at all.’
‘Yes,’ said Berenkov. He wanted so much to be able to reach out to touch her, to caress away her terror. ‘You mustn’t worry,’ he said. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘You’re in jail!’ she said.
‘I’ve been in jail before,’ he said. ‘It’s easier, this time.’
‘I don’t understand what’s going on, Alexei,’ pleaded the woman. ‘I don’t understand why you’ve been arrested and put in jail and I don’t understand why Georgi’s examination has been rescinded and his exchange facilities withdrawn.’
‘When did that happen?’ asked Berenkov, sadly.
‘Last week,’ said Valentina. ‘There was no explanation. Just a letter from the principal. He’s asked for an interview but it’s being refused.’
‘It will be,’ said Berenkov, sadly.
‘Tell me something, Alexei,’ insisted his wife. ‘Tell me something honestly. Have you done anything wrong?’
‘No,’ said Berenkov, at once.
‘Then what’s happened?’ shouted the woman, in unusual anger.
‘I don’t know,’ said Berenkov.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The reaction was very quick and although Charlie was distracted – Natalia and his worry about her constantly intruding into his mind – he was impressed. There was only one telephone call from the vestibule and within minutes he was taken to a man who identified himself as Hollis and another named Greening. Both young, urgent and anxious, Charlie recognised; he wondered, in passing, if he’d been like that at the beginning. They took him to a part of the embassy Charlie recognised from his earlier, official visit as the intelligence Residency but he was kept in an outer office while Hollis kept appearing and disappearing, for what Charlie presumed was contact with London. The reaction there was quick, too, little more than an hour before Hollis re-emerged finally and said, ‘We’re getting out right now: before there’s time for any official protest or action. We’re lucky with British Airways.’