"I heard you," Miriam said.
"It was nothing like you got," said Craig. "That's work for experts. But this poor bastard's scared silly. He's got nothing left." He turned to Kaplan, and this time he spoke in English.
"Now tell this woman what you told me," said Craig. "Unless you want to change your story again." "I told you the truth," said Kaplan. "Now tell it to her."
Kaplan looked at her, but his whole body was concentrated on Craig, standing beside him.
"I'm sorry," he said, "but most of what I told you yesterday was lies. There were no friendly Lapps, no smuggling across the border to Sweden."
"You didn't escape?" Miriam asked.
"No. The other nine did—that is true. But I did not."
"Tell her what you did, Kaplan," said Craig.
The agony on his face was unbearable.
"I betrayed them," he said, "to the commandant of the camp. The price of my betrayal was a pardon."
"Get on with it," said Craig.
"I told the commandant the night we—we were ready to go. You have to be in Volochanka to know how it was. Slow death in the camp, quick death outside. The commandant was drunk all the time. He was drunk when I came to warn him. He beat me. Threw me out. Went back to his vodka. Then it happened. We made our break. Only I didn't go. I went to the deputy commandant instead, told them where to pick up the others. He got seven of them. All the time I had to hide in his hut. If I'd come out, the other prisoners would have killed me. Then the commandant was shot, and the deputy took over. He put in a word for me, got my pardon. I was allowed to live. They gave me new papers, sent me to work in the Crimea. On a collective. I was happy there." He paused till Craig raised his head, then went on immediately. "Then a man came to see me from the Central Scientific Bureau. They'd opened up my dossier again, run some tests on my theory. He said I was to be pardoned."
"But what had you done?'" the girl asked.
"Slept with a man's wife and been found out," he said. "The man was a close friend of Lavrenti Beria. The charge was moral degeneracy." He looked at Miriam. "It wasn't that. I swear it. I loved the woman very much. It was the second time in all my life I had known what love was and-"
"Tell us about your theory," said Craig.
"It's a way to bring water to desert places. It's part engineering—using atomic plant to make sea water into fresh water—and part agriculture—the growth of certain crops intermingled to help each other—catching the dew and so on. The Central Scientific Bureau said it ought to be tried out in a limited experiment. They were going to rehabilitate me. I couldn't stand it. I ran away."
"You couldn't stand what?" Craig asked.
"Coming back to life. Beria was dead by that time, but his friend—the man whose wife I loved—he's still alive. Doing well. His wife is still with him. I'd have had to meet them again, go to receptions, parties—as if nothing had ever happened. And he knows I betrayed my friends. I couldn't face them—not with that. I ran away, stole money, crossed the Turkish border. It wasn't easy, but I'd been trained how to do it in Volochanka. In Turkey, I robbed again—it seems I have a talent for that, too, and bought papers. When I had enough money, I settled down, paid those peasants to keep their mouths shut. I had a life of my own then. It was a good life, but the peasants betrayed me. I should have expected it. It's what I did myself."
"You felt safe?" Miriam asked.
"I'll never be safe. But the ones I feared were all Russian. If they knew I was alive, they'd kill me. The knowledge I have is too important to be taken out of Russia."
"They know you're alive," said Craig. "They're looking for you now."
"You won't give me to them?"
"Not if we can get a better offer," Craig said. "I'm pretty sure we can. The Americans want you, Kaplan." "They don't need my skills."
"A gift to underdeveloped countries. A nice gesture from Uncle Sam."
"Well, it is," said Miriam.
"Of course it is," said Craig. "If they can keep him alive."
CHAPTER 11
Late that afternoon, Angelos came back. Omar was watching the window and called out to Craig, who brought the rifle, held the MGB in its sights until Angelos stopped the car and walked up the path, a wad of newspapers under his arm. Craig left Omar on duty by the window, and let Angelos in. The rifle made Mm smile.
"I expected a Bren gun at least," he said.
"I could use it," said Craig, and led him to the kitchen. "What's happening?" he asked.
"Nothing. The two Israelis got very drunk, but they made love to my girls first."
"Nobody followed you here?"
"Nobody as far as I know. I haven't your skill in these matters. I brought you your papers. And came for my instructions."
"I'll have to read the papers first," said Craig.
He began to read through the small ad columns of the Herald Tribune, the Christian Science Monitor, the continental Daily Mail, the London Times, and the London Daily Telegraph. It was a long and boring process, but in the end he found what he wanted.
"Tell the girl to come here," he asked.
Angelos stiffened to attention, the parody of a soldier.
"Jawohl, Herr Oberst," he said.
He went out, and Miriam came in.
"There are a lot of messages for you. I've marked them," said Craig. "Look."
He handed her the European edition of the Herald Tribune. An advertisement read, "Darling, Won't you listen to Stardust just once more? Marcus misses you." A box number in Paris followed.
"It's in every paper," Craig said. "Crude—but they're in a hurry—and worried about you. So they make you worry about Marcus."
"They shouldn't have mentioned him," she said. "That gave it away."
"Only to me," said Craig. "And they know you're with me anyway. So they mention Marcus—and tell it to me too. Stardust was your code name, I suppose?"
"Yes," she said.
"How many times did they reach you?"
"Only once. In Istanbul. Our people aren't too strong in Turkey. They were blown—that's the word isn't it?—six months ago."
"That's why they hired Loomis," said Craig.
"What do we do now?"
"Write to the box number. Tell them our terms." "Our terms?"
"Mine, then. They can have him for me—if they'll get Department K off my back. Otherwise he goes to the Russians."
"Can they get Department K off your back?" "If they want Kaplan badly enough, yes. But with the Yanks it's easier."
"You can trust us, you mean?"
"Of course not," said Craig. "But you spend more money."
He found a piece of paper and an envelope, wrote an answer to the box number in the Herald Tribune, and gave it to Angelos to post, watched the MGB back down the path to the road, then went to bed and slept for four hours.
That night, he and Omar took it in turns to watch the road, patrol the grounds. He trusted Angelos—all his instincts told him that he was right to do so, but he had no faith in his competence. For this kind of operation he needed a Royce and a Benson; what he'd got was a moralist, a female idealist, and an old man.
Next day, Angelos came back at dusk. Again Craig followed the drill in admitting him, and again Angelos grinned at the sight of the rifle, this time in Omar's hands.
"I have some news you should know," he said. "There are two English people in Famagusta asking for you. Or at least for someone who could be you. They are asking for a tall, well-built Englishman and his American wife, believed to be traveling with the girl's uncle and an elderly Turkish servant. The Turk is causing a great deal of excitement."
"I believe you," said Craig.
"They are saying the Englishman has come into a great deal of money, that is why he must be found." "Who are they?"