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The policemen put him into a closed car which quickly pulled away and drove through the night-lit streets, streets which were deserted except for occasional groups of soldiers posted at points along the roads as though standing by in case of trouble. As they pulled up outside MVD headquarters, he saw an armed body of soldiers marching down a side-street, behind a rumbling tank.

Something was up, all right.

He was ordered out of the car and the escort fell in again and marched him up a long flight of steps and through an imposing doorway into a gloomy corridor, a bare, concrete-walled passage which somehow had the very smell of death and agony about it. Then he was turned towards a door with a card on it saying COLONEL ROGOVIN, and he entered a large office, an office as austere as the passage with several hard chairs ranged along a wall. A pale-faced man in plain clothes, evidently Colonel Rogovin, sat at a desk dealing with some papers. He took no notice when the escort clanked to a halt in front of him. He went on with his work, puffing at a cigarette, and then, after two full minutes, during which time Shaw attempted to speak but was peremptorily silenced by the N.C.O., he looked up, thrust his chair backwards, stubbed out his cigarette and lit another. He had a long neck which weaved from side to side as he stared at Shaw — rather like a snake, Shaw decided.

Rogovin stared coolly for some seconds and blew smoke towards Shaw in a long, contemptuous stream. Then he said, “His passport.”

The uniformed N.C.O. put the passport down on the desk. Shaw, who didn’t like this third-person treatment, hung on to his temper but it took a big effort. “Just what,” he demanded icily, “does all this mean, Colonel Rogovin?”

“Patience.” Rogovin was looking at the passport, flicking the pages right through to the end, examining the various visas and rubber stamps which signposted “Peter Alison’s” journeys on behalf of WIOCA But he seemed to be giving the document only a cursory examination; the check seemed to be more a matter of form than a really close scrutiny. Then slowly he turned back to the Uzhgorod entry and Shaw found his legs trembling a little. He trusted Carberry to do a first-class job, but Latymer had specifically warned him — and the warning hadn’t been necessary — about the MVD He broke out into a light sweat, and Rogovin glanced up at him, asked, “You are hot?”

“Not particularly. Just tired. Your chaps got me up rather early, you know. It’s stuffy in here, too.”

Rogovin — Shaw had mentally christened him Snake's-head — said indifferently, “Get the Englishman a glass of water.”

There was a rattle of metal equipment behind him and one of the troopers went away, came back with a glass of water which Shaw drank, though he didn’t want it in the least. The plain-clothes man murmured, “You are, of course, a guest in our country, Mr Alison — and a distinguished one, since you represent WIOCA We do not wish to treat you with impoliteness.” He finished going through the passport for the second time, and slammed it hard on the desk. “Neither do we wish to inconvenience you, and I regret the necessity of bringing you here at this hour. Now — your WIOCA connexions, Mr Alison. I understand you are attached to the Moscow office?”

“Who told you that, Colonel Rogovin?”

Snake’s-head snapped, “I ask the questions. We have our avenues of information.”

Yes, Shaw thought, remembering the forms he had filled in — the Nikolai Hotel most likely. He said, “Yes, I’m from Moscow. I’d like—”

“One moment. There are questions which I am forced to ask you. This you must understand and forgive. Now. For what purpose have you come to Moltsk from Moscow?”

“To investigate the possibility of establishing an office in the town, and also incidentally to pay a courtesy call on a certain Professor Godov, who was for very many years connected with WIOCA” They would probably know he’d been out there anyway, he thought; the hired driver would quite likely have reported it. He added, “You can check all that with Moscow if you want to.”

Rogovin nodded and made a note on a sheet of paper. “I understand.” He made no other comment but went on, “With what section of WIOCA are you connected?”

“Literature.” Rogovin went on staring at him and he couldn’t resist adding, “That’s to say — books.”

The colonel glared at him coldly. “It is kind of you to explain. The point had not escaped my notice that books were literature.” He went on moving his neck and staring, and Shaw came to the conclusion that it was a mannerism, a nervous tic which he couldn’t help. “In the broad sense, that is. You have read Dr Zhivago, by our own writer, Pasternak?”

“In parts.”

“Which parts?”

Shaw grinned. “Well now — I read it when I knew I was being sent here, you see, so I read only the parts approved by the Soviet.”

“You trifle with me. Do not do that.” Rogovin’s eyes glittered angrily and then he scrawled on his sheet of paper, which appeared to be a report form. “What else?”

“What else what?”

“What else have you read?”

Shaw lifted an eyebrow. “Very much else, too numerous to mention. We’ve got a writer or two, back in England.” Anticipating the next question he added, “Dickens, H. G. Wells, Bennett, Bernard Shaw, Maugham, Priestley.” He sweated again now; he didn’t like this. He was going to get caught solid before long… and then he realized that he wasn’t, after all. Snake’s-head was losing interest already and in fact none of the questions had had much bite behind them. The man had simply been going through the official routines.

Shaw knew he was dead right when Rogovin snapped suddenly, “Very well. Now then, please listen with great care and attention. You have been brought here because I am instructed to inform all aliens personally that until further notice they are confined to the town and district of Moltsk — that is, in your case you will not be allowed to return to Moscow or, of course, to leave the U.S.S.R. for any reason whatsoever. Your passport will be returned to you in due course. For now — it remains here.” He held the document up tantalizingly, then dropped it into a drawer which he pushed shut. “You need have no fear for your safety, I assure you. We are not arresting you, Mr Alison, but merely making provisions for your own good.”

“What do you mean?”

Snake's-head stared at him for a few moments in silence, then leaned across his desk and said softly, “During the next few days you will hear and see — certain things. Disregard them. Much of what you hear will be rumour, and none of it, or the seeing, concerns you. You will see, for instance, armed parties of troops and armoured vehicles in the streets. Do not worry, do not fear. I say again, it will not concern you and it will not threaten your safety. Unless, that is, you should be so unwise as to show undue curiosity, in which case, and I warn you of this officially, the soldiers may shoot you. You will make no attempt to communicate with anyone outside the town and general district of Moltsk or, for instance, to get any word through to your relatives in England.” He shrugged. “You will not be able to do so, of course — but I want to make sure you understand that if you are discovered in any attempt to do so, you will be arrested and, if found guilty, will be sentenced to die. Beyond this, there will be no undue restriction on your movements, and I trust your stay with us will be a pleasant one. I regret that it has been necessary to interfere with an official of your excellent organization…”

Shaw cut in, “What about Professor Godov? Shall 1 be able to go out and see him?”

Rogovin said, “Godov lives within the district of Moltsk, which extends just to the north of Emets. But I do not advise you to go to see him again, Mr Alison, for such might be construed as an act unfriendly to the Soviet Union.”