‘I suppose Gordon and I both made complete fools of ourselves.’
Konstantin shrugged.
‘I warned him,’ said Manning. ‘I thought from the first that Raya was a bit too good to be true.’
‘I don’t want to moralize,’ said Konstantin. ‘But deceivers must expect to be deceived. Spies can’t complain if they’re spied on.’
‘This is where your thesis goes astray, Kostik. Gordon’s not a spy.’
‘How do you know, Paul?’
‘It’s not in his character.’
Konstantin waggled his head from side to side.
‘Character, character,’ he said. ‘If you were wrong about Raya, why do you think you understand Proctor-Gould?’
‘We come from similar backgrounds, Kostik. We were at the same university. And you get a certain insight into someone’s mind when you interpret for him. Honestly, Kostik, I understand Gordon and you don’t.’
Konstantin didn’t comment. He blinked, and wrinkled his nose up.
‘What you and I think doesn’t really matter,’ he said. ‘Our security forces think Gordon is carrying espionage materials. Gordon thinks he’s carrying espionage materials. Those two expert opinions are enough for our purposes.’
Manning stared at Konstantin.
‘God knows what your purposes are,’ he said. ‘If you think Gordon’s a spy, why don’t you go ahead and have him arrested? Why are you arguing it out with me?’
‘I shall explain.’
Suddenly Manning believed he saw the reason. A warmth ran through him, as if he had taken a draught of scalding coffee.
‘You’re warning us,’ he said. ‘You’re giving us a chance to get out.’
33
The suggestion embarrassed Konstantin. He tore off his spectacles and began to wipe them on the lining of his cap all over again. He coughed, and muttered so rapidly that Manning found it still more difficult to catch what he was saying.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘that’s not formally true…. Sorry to say…. A certain basic misunderstanding….’
‘What?’ said Manning.
Konstantin cleared his throat and pulled the wires of his glasses back round his ears.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Let me explain what Raya was doing for the old man with the sciatica.’
‘She was stealing Gordon’s belongings.’
‘By no means.’
‘What?’
‘Well, of course not. Do you really suppose the security services of the second most powerful nation on earth would have to resort to methods of such crudity?’
‘But we both know what happened….’
‘You’re letting yourself be dazzled by the obvious. Raya was exchanging Gordon’s belongings. She reported to the old man what presents Gordon had in his room. He supplied her with replicas which she put in their place. Then she took the originals to the office.’
‘But, Kostik …’
‘First it was the model university, the Spassky Tower, and the rest. Then the various Russian books Proctor-Gould had been given. Then they had six tins of Nescafé flown over from England. Imagine that! Picture our agent in London. Taken off stealing the plans of submarines, and told to go out and buy six tins of Nescafé! Next they began to have copies of the English books flown in.’
‘But, Kostik, I don’t understand this at all. Raya was stealing those things. We found the books and the Nescafé in your apartment.’
Konstantin sighed.
‘Private enterprise,’ he said. ‘Characterized by all the signs of haste and compromise that go with lack of adequate resources and proper central planning. Like many Soviet citizens, Paul, we were attempting a little private speculation over and above our commitments on behalf of the state. Result: poor quality of production. Only thing to be said in its favour – it worked, and the state enterprise didn’t.’
‘You were stealing the stuff unofficially?’
‘Exactly. And of course we followed the usual habit of speculators – we gave priority to our private efforts. That’s to say, we stole the goods first. If there was no reaction from Gordon we knew they were harmless. In which case we’d pass them on to the public sector. So we come to the books, which we estimate are not harmless. Now we have two possibilities. Either we can turn them over to the state like all the rest of the stuff. Or else we can forward not Gordon’s books at all, but the books Raya was given to replace them with. That would be more likely to promote Proctor-Gould’s continued prosperity. Which we do, of course, depends on Proctor-Gould.’
‘How much are you asking, Kostik?’
‘A lot, Paul. An opportunity like this doesn’t arise every day.’
‘How much is that in roubles?’
Konstantin wrinkled up his nose.
‘What makes you think the price is in roubles?’ he asked. ‘Money isn’t the only thing that people want. Some people value contentment above wealth. Some power. Some fame. Some obscurity. Also it depends what’s in short supply. There are commodities in shorter supply than money in this country.’
Manning studied Konstantin’s face in silence.
‘I told you earlier,’ Konstantin went on, ‘that Raya came from a very grand family. My family was honourable as well – once. A celebrated Bolshevik family, Paul, and very proud. My maternal grandfather was one of the members of the Moscow Soviet who voted for Nogin in 1917. My paternal grandfather lost an arm fighting against Kolchak in Siberia in 1919. Then in the thirties the family was trampled into the ground. Nothing unusual. A normal phenomenon at that time. My maternal grandfather was arrested. He died in prison before he could be brought to trial. My paternal grandfather was sent to a camp. He died there. My father I can’t even remember. He was called up in 1941, when I was three, and killed in the battle for Kharkov two years later.
‘I was brought up by my mother and my maternal grandmother. My grandmother was a proud woman, Paul. They would have murdered her in 1936 as well as her husband, but they were ashamed to touch anyone so erect and forbidding. So my mother always believed, anyway. Grandfather’s death didn’t change her views at all, in any direction.
‘“If you believe in the Revolution,” she used to say, “remain loyal to it, however its name is disgraced.” And the other thing she used to say was: “Know the truth, even if it goes with you in silence to the grave.” She used to sit bolt upright on a hard chair, and when she said these things she would tremble slightly, like tempered steel under load. People like that – not our generation, Paul. She didn’t speculate, as we must, whether the killing, and the lies, and the darkness were all inevitable once the violence had begun, and society had been unmade.
‘So I was always brought up to distinguish the truth, and to value it, without regard to its expediency. As a result I have a craving for it. I’m like a gourmet in a chronically starving land. I hunger not just for the mass of random facts with which some starving people stuff themselves until their brains are swollen. I want information that’s relevant to our condition. I want disinterested interpretations, honest commentaries.
‘Don’t think I reject my country, Paul. Or even reject what it has become. We can overcome our famine. I’m not cynical about Gordon’s activities. If I thought they would harm Russia in any way whatsoever I should do everything in my power to destroy him. But thorough mutual espionage is a blessing to both sides. How can we politick safely against each other unless we can be sure that our true strength and intentions are known?
‘Not that espionage works out quite so well in practice. The information that spies steal is always vitiated by the possibility that its sources are corrupt. Where the source of information is not open to inspection, the possibility always exists that the selection of material is deliberately misleading. Information on its own is not enough; one always needs to know its origin. Stolen secrets either confirm what their recipients already know, or they’re not believed.