The tide of people began to flow into the theatre, taking away his cover and Brinkman moved near a pillar. There was still quite a crowd around but Brinkman felt naked and exposed. Perhaps not as good as he had thought. In fifteen minutes they would all be inside and he would be entirely obvious, an actual object of attention, the reverse of what he wanted. He’d have to go before then: certainly if he wanted to use it as a meeting spot again. Which he did, because he had no other.
Orlov came curiously through the foyer, his coat not checked although over his arm in readiness, programme notes already purchased and thoughtfully – cleverly – in his hand. It would have been difficult to imagine the Russian as anything other than a genuine ballet lover, if he were under surveillance.
Orlov had no reason to know – or imagine – why he was there, remembered Brinkman. He moved out, through the rapidly thinning crowd, not to intercept the Russian but to move parallel and just slightly ahead of him, so that Orlov would see him approaching. Orlov gave no sign of recognition until just before Brinkman spoke, a frown of half-recollection, deepening at full memory as soon as he heard the words.
‘The American embassy,’ said Brinkman. With only seconds and therefore the need immediately to snare the other man, he went on, ‘The night you made the approach to Blair. I’ve seen Harriet, Comrade Orlov. I spoke to her a few days ago, in New York. She’s very anxious to see you again. I’ve promised her I’ll make that possible.’
Brinkman broke away without waiting for a reaction, moving not towards the body of the theatre, the direction in which the latecomers were going, but through the last exit door out on to Sverdlova, anxious for the sudden darkness. It should have worked but he didn’t know if it would. He’d been quite sure until the actual moment of approach but now he wasn’t. He didn’t know what he would do – what he could do – if Orlov didn’t follow.
But he did.
Brinkman was conscious of the footsteps – if it were an arrest there would be more than one man, surely! – and then the Russian drew level and reached out, to stop him.
‘What is it? What does it mean?’ demanded Orlov.
He’d made the catch, thought Brinkman. Was this exhausted but triumphant feeling the sensation that fishermen felt landing a game fish after a battle that seemed as if it would never end? It was an intrusive, indulgently dramatic thought and Brinkman put it irritably aside, knowing that he had to establish control from the outset. ‘We’re going towards Red Square,’ he pointed out. ‘I think we should walk the other way don’t you?’
Obediently Orlov turned. Practically gaffed, thought Brinkman. ‘It means that the British want to offer you everything that the Americans have,’ he said. ‘I know it all. Why you want to defect… that you intend to defect. We want you to change your plans. Come with us. Not the Americans.’
‘That is not possible… there are already preparations…’ started Orlov but Brinkman cut him off, determined for supremacy. ‘It is possible. The preparations you’ve already made must be broken. If they’re not, you’ll never see Harriet again.’
Orlov stopped, turning to him. ‘What do you mean by that?’
Brinkman told him. He knew the words now, because he’d set it out to Maxwell and to Harriet and to Maxwell again and Orlov listened in complete silence. ‘I’m not interested in your telling me what you think of me personally,’ concluded Brinkman. ‘Harriet did that… used all the words. I actually agreed with her. It’s just the way it’s got to be.’
Orlov didn’t waste his time on unnecessary anger and Brinkman was grateful. ‘Who says it’s the way it’s got to be?’ the Russian demanded.
‘We do,’ said Brinkman. ‘Please don’t be resentful. I know it’s going to be difficult, at first. But I mean what I say. We’ll provide everything that the Americans would have done. Maybe more. You will be safe and Harriet will be safe. Eventually, if you decide you don’t like England, it would probably be possible for you to go on to America.’
‘After you think you’ve got everything from me that it’s possible to get?’ said Orlov.
‘Yes,’ said Brinkman at once, maintaining brutal honesty. ‘After we think we’ve got every last thing it’s possible to get from you. I’ve been utterly and completely truthful with you. I don’t know – or care – what the Americans have told you. You know what you’re doing and you know what we want for helping you… for making it possible. I want you to believe me. And I want you to believe me when I say that if you don’t come with me then you won’t go with anyone.’
‘Do you enjoy what you do, Mr Brinkman?’
‘I’m prepared to argue philosophy and morals if you want to,’ said Brinkman, easily. ‘Would you like to argue the morality of the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan? Or the psychiatric prisons in which you incarcerate and make mindless your dissidents? Or the Siberian gulags? All right, you are not personally involved. Governments and members of those governments never are. In America there’s even an accepted phrase, freeing the President from any culpability for anything that goes wrong and becomes public knowledge. It’s called plausible denial. I’m the sort of person who’s denied and cast aside, if anything does go wrong. Despite knowing which, yes, I like it. I’m not doing you any harm, Comrade Orlov. You want to cross to the West to be with someone you love and I’m making that possible for you. I don’t see anything to be ashamed of in that.’
‘You evaded the criticism and you know it,’ said Orlov. ‘I was talking about your threats, if I don’t agree to cooperate with you.’
‘What are you prepared to do, to get to the West? demanded Brinkman.
Orlov considered the question. ‘Anything,’ he said. ‘I am quite determined.’
‘Which is what I am, professionally determined,’ said Brinkman. ‘So I am prepared to do what needs to be done, to achieve the objective.’
‘Do you know what would happen to me, if you exposed me to the authorities?’
The last time he’d walked along this road it had been with Ann, remembered Brinkman. He said, ‘Yes, I know what would happen to you. And so do you. Which is why I know, after you’ve made the protests and the arguments, you’ll do exactly as I say.’
‘Yes,’ conceded Orlov, sag-shouldered. ‘I suppose I will, won’t I? There’s really no alternative, is there?’
‘Not now, no,’ said Brinkman. ‘But it isn’t as if you aren’t achieving what you want, is it?’
‘Should I be comforted by that?’
‘I don’t see why not.’ Brinkman paused, then demanded, ‘Tell me all the arrangements you’ve so far reached with the Americans. All the plans that have been made.’
It took a long time and before Orlov had finished they had walked a considerable distance from the centre of the city and actually turned back upon themselves. When Orlov finished Brinkman said, ‘What about a delegation?’
‘It hasn’t been possible, not yet. The occasion hasn’t occurred even to make discussing it possible.’
‘It’s the best way, so try for that if you can,’ said Brinkman. ‘Somewhere in the East if actually getting out into Western Europe isn’t possible. I’ll ensure that London create an incursion operation to get you out, if a delegation is not possible.’
‘You are so similar, to the American,’ said Orlov.
We even share the same wife, thought Brinkman. He said, ‘You must break all contact, of course. No more meetings.’
‘What if his response is to do what you threaten?’
‘It won’t be,’ said Brinkman, confidently. ‘He won’t know you’re with me. He’ll imagine some internal difficulty.’
‘Which could arise,’ said Orlov.
‘How?’ asked Brinkman, his confidence dipping.