Orlov recounted the fears of his affair with Harriet being suspected and a danger arising if she were contacted and in the darkness Brinkman smiled to himself, the reason why the Americans had not put the woman under agreed protection finally explained. He wasn’t behind in the race any more, he thought. He was way out ahead and could actually see the finishing line, with the white tape stretched out invitingly. He said, ‘No one was aware of my approaching her. If the KGB had known, they wouldn’t have let the book reach you. And if they had, we’d have both been arrested by now.’
Orlov stared abruptly around him, at the realisation. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I suppose you are right.’
‘So there’s no danger to Harriet and there’s no danger to you. You’re going to get out, like you want to.’
‘I suppose you’ll want to maintain this sort of contact?’ said Orlov wearily.
‘Contact,’ agreed Brinkman. ‘But not personal meetings, like Blair wanted. They’re too dangerous…’ He took the Russian’s hand and placed in it a list of the public telephone numbers he’d laboriously copied after leaving the cinema. ‘They’re all street kiosks,’ Brinkman explained. ‘All untraceable. We’ll keep Tuesdays. Every Tuesday, at three o’clock precisely, you telephone me, starting with the number at the top of the list I’ve given you. If there’s a problem, wait until the succeeding Tuesday, at the same time, and move one number down. There’ll be no proveable connection between us: you’ll be quite safe.’
Brinkman was conscious of the other man nodding, in the darkness. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘That’s very good. I was getting extremely frightened, having to make personal meetings.’
‘The only purpose of the calls will be for you to tell me that you’ve succeeded in getting on a delegation. Once you do, I’ll set everything up.’
Orlov sighed. ‘I understand,’ he said.
‘It’s going to be all right,’ said Brinkman, trying to encourage the other man.
Orlov stopped walking again and turned to confront the Englishman. ‘I’m sick of hearing that,’ he said. ‘And phrases like that. Shall I tell you something, Mr Brinkman? I know I’m trapped now. Trapped without any possibility of going back. But if I had that opportunity I think I would. I think I’d abandon Harriet and remain in Russia.’
It was difficult – almost impossible in the first, gut-churning hours – for Sokol to subdue his fear-driven fury. But he did. It would have been easy but pointless to punish the street men, like he’d punished the others. It was his fault, for not taking personal charge to the point of face-to-face briefings and control room command, leaving it instead to subordinates who in turn left it to the ground personnel. Embassy surveillance was regarded within the serice as the most menial – although it shouldn’t have been -the place for rejects from other departments. Which was an attitude he’s also known and disregarded. No mistakes, Sokol remembered. And he’d gone on making them. Would it be possible to catch up?
Chapter Thirty-Three
With Sokol in personal control, the surveillance was complete. There were rotating squads attached to Blair and Brinkman, the schedule devised so that at no time, day or night, did the number in those squads fall below thirty men. Each group was supported – again on a twenty-four hour basis – by a fleet of radio cars which were linked through individual studio vans. There were disguised television vehicles employed whenever possible, picturing the Englishman and the American as they moved openly about the city. On the first Friday Blair tried to leave the embassy by the same method as before but this time every vehicle was followed and he was seen getting out on the Ulitza Neglinnaya. Before the American successfully crossed and entered the foyer of the Metropole Hotel, going into his avoidance pattern, the alarm had been raised. The central control room in Dzerzhinsky Square was the centrepiece of the voice traffic and Sokol worked from there, a map spread out before him to coordinate the operation. He swamped the Sverdlova area, bringing in all his prepared units. The vast building was surrounded, twenty people in place and more en route, when Blair emerged from the west door on to the Marksa Prospekt and started north, towards Ostankino. He was identified immediately and around him formed a phalanx of unseen, unrealised watchers. By the time Blair reached the main metro station serving Dzerzhinsky Square a television van was in place but it was useless because Blair ducked down into the underground system.
From his command post ironically less than half a mile from where Blair was moving Sokol muttered to the attentive technicians. ‘Got him! This time we’ve got him!’
The Russian snapped his fingers expectantly and was obediently handed another map, this time of the underground system. Sokol gave his instructions over the radio crisply and concisely, identifying the interchange points from which Blair might try to switch, moving cars and men to them to be ready above and below ground: within minutes one of the men who had descended into Dzerzhinskaya emerged to report through the waiting radio the direction in which Blair caught the underground train and Sokol began to track the American’s route on the map, with a wax pencil.
Blair was vaguely aware that for the time of the day the carriages seemed more crowded than normal and he wrinkled his nose at the cabbage smell that seemed so pervasive in the city. The seeming indigenous smell had worried him when he first arrived but now – apart from rare occasions like this – he ceased to notice it. Ann still smelled it, of course. Poor Ann; Blair reckoned that she could recite every disadvantage of the Soviet capital, without missing one. Blair made his first move at Kropotkinskaya, alert for anyone who followed. Three people did but only one remained on the platform and Blair hung back, letting the man take the next train without attempting to board it himself. He got confidently on to the second connection, unaware that the two who had hurried up the stairs had done so to alert four more at ground level who came down in time to follow the American on to the train. Blair disembarked again at Arbatskaya and climbed to street level, setting off down Suvorovskiy Boulevard and abruptly hailing a taxi, which would have worked had the surveillance been less complete. As it was there were two radio-linked cars able to alternate the pursuit and give -literally-a running commentary back to Sokol at the KGB headquarters. Sokol moved his pencil from the underground to the street map.
‘Staying close to the river,’ he realised. At once to the people around him, he said, ‘Get a boat.’
Blair paid his cab off on the Ulitza Bol’shiye Kamenshchiki, going at once underground again but only for a short journey this time, emerging once again at Kiyevskaya and walking the remaining distance to the park.
‘Krasnaya!’ identified Sokol triumphantly, as the pencil stopped its movement. ‘Encircle it,’ he ordered. ‘I want people moved in carefully, replacing any staff there. Attendants, sweepers. Everyone.’
In the park Blair settled himself near the archer statue, feigning to read his copy of Pravda. How long would it all take? he wondered. It could be weeks – months possibly – before Orlov could get on to a delegation. He hoped it wasn’t months. He wanted to resolve things with Ann quicker than that. And the problems could be resolved. He knew they could. Everything could be resolved and they could be happy again, if they had the chance. It was only Moscow. He’d be glad to get out, now. Once he’d regarded it as the most important posting of his career – which it undoubtedly was – but now he regarded settling things with Ann as more important.
Blair checked his watch, seeing there were only fifteen minutes to go before the appointed meeting, idly watching a park attendant emerge from a side path, stabbing at leaves with a spiked stick. From another path a couple came hand in hand, appearing unaware of anyone or anything, and sat on a bench facing him from across the circle. Blair hoped their presence wouldn’t disturb Orlov, if the Russian kept today’s meeting. There was no reason why it should; from their absorption in each other, which was getting increasingly intimate, it was more likely that the presence of the two men would eventually disturb the lovers.