‘And that’s the position that we are in, too. The supply of information is controlled in this country. The selection we get is distorted. So the value even of the information that does get through the filter is diminished. We know nothing worth knowing about what goes on outside our frontiers. Worse – we know very little more about what goes on within them. Beyond the light of one’s own personal experience – darkness. What are people thinking? What are they feeling? How do they behave? Messages of reassurance or exhortation come through. One reads between the lines. Friends pool their knowledge. But in general we live like animals, in ignorance of the world around us.
‘So in despair those of us who can do so turn to the West to learn about ourselves. We use our academic status to read Western publications in the closed sections of the libraries. Visitors smuggle us books. Such information as I get hold of is seen not just by Raya and me. It’s passed to a whole circle of trusted friends we have built up over the years. Our aims aren’t subversive, Paul. Don’t think that. Not one of us who isn’t a pure Leninist. There must be dozens of similar circles in Moscow alone.
‘What we’re always looking for is a regular channel for information from the West. Raya and I have approached a number of regular foreign visitors – journalists, businessmen, diplomats. None of them would help. They were all frightened of damaging their standing with the Soviet authorities.
‘All right, then. A man who can’t get food honestly must get it by other means. Necessity can’t afford scruples. So we resort to exploiting Proctor-Gould.
‘I want him to expand his activities, Paul, and act as a courier for us as well. On every trip he makes to Russia I shall want him to bring certain designated books and documents. I shall also expect him to use his own initiative in finding additional material. Since he has the confidence of the Soviet authorities he can help us with very little risk to himself. And I shall hold that suitcase of books as a warranty for satisfactory service.’
Manning gazed out of the window at the hurrying dark wall of the tunnel. It evaporated suddenly into the echoing white tiles of a station. Krasnopresnenskaya. They were on their second go round.
34
It had rained all night. A weak sunlight filtered through the shifting white and grey screens of cloud, making the little concrete copies of classical statues in the Park of Culture and Rest gleam sadly among the wet bushes. The bench on which Proctor-Gould and Manning sat was damp, and each time the breeze blew, droplets of water fell from the branch above their heads. From the loudspeakers among the trees came the slow movement of a violin concerto, austere and heartbreaking. On such a morning people walked gravely with a sense that the world was well-ordered and poignant.
‘That music, Paul!’ sighed Proctor-Gould. ‘The whole soul of Russia is in it.’
‘It’s Bach,’ said Manning shortly. He felt very tired, as though suspended a foot above the surface of the earth, and drifting past things without ever quite making contact.
Proctor-Gould gave a little giggle. He seemed remarkably cheerful altogether, as if restored to himself. His crumpled plastic mac hung open, and Manning could see that there was fluff on his blazer again, and an egg-stain on his trousers. The range of ballpoint pens and propelling pencils had reappeared in his breast pocket. As they walked about the park earlier he had been interested, even amused by Manning’s account of his conversation with Konstantin. When Manning had explained about the substitutions, and Raya’s visits to the office behind the Izvestia building, Proctor-Gould had laughed ruefully.
‘Well, well,’ he had said. ‘Wheels within wheels.’
And when Manning had told him about Konstantin’s demands, he had merely clicked his tongue and shaken his head.
Now Manning brought up the subject again.
‘What are you going to do about it, Gordon? Konstantin said he wanted a definite assurance by this evening.’
‘I’m going to get back to signing up clients, Paul. That’s what I’m here for. The whole Raya incident is closed and forgotten.’
‘But what about the books that Konstantin’s got?’
‘I haven’t decided yet, Paul. I might go to the militia and charge him with stealing. I might not.’
Manning stared at him in astonishment.
‘This is a great change of line, Gordon.’
‘I don’t have to think about protecting Raya any more.’
‘But last time we talked about this, Gordon, you agreed that the books might contain something incriminating that you didn’t know about.’
‘I suppose they might. That rubbish-bin over there might contain the Russian Crown Jewels, wrapped up in a copy of Pravda. But it’s not very likely.’
‘And what happened to your concern about other people’s property? You were prepared to pay nearly 300 roubles to get the first case of books back, just because some of them didn’t belong to you.’
‘All right, Paul. I’ll give Konstantin the same for the second case, if he’s interested in selling.’
‘You don’t seem very concerned about it.’
‘Oh, I’m deeply concerned.’
Proctor-Gould reflected for a moment, and then began to giggle again.
‘On second thoughts, Paul,’ he said, ‘I don’t think I will buy the books back. I don’t think I’ll complain to the militia, either. We’ll just sit tight and let him hand the books over to the security people. Think of them, Paul, sitting there examining every full stop, comma, colon, and semi-colon throughout twenty-seven books to see if it has a micro-dot stuck to it! Not to mention the dots over the i’s.’
He couldn’t stop tittering. The sound began to irritate Manning.
‘You are a most extraordinary man, Gordon,’ he said. ‘One moment you’re being as pompous as a bishop, and the next you’re sniggering like a schoolgirl. What’s come over you?’
Proctor-Gould stopped tittering, and looked into the distance.
‘I suppose it’s nervous relief,’ he said slowly. ‘For a moment this week I really did think we were sunk with all hands.’
Manning ground his shoe back and forth in the gravel.
‘You mean, the first lot of books …’ he began.
‘Just one of them, Paul.’
‘What was in it.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘How do you mean, you don’t know?’
‘I was simply given it and told who to deliver it to. I didn’t inquire about the contents, I assure you.’
‘But you knew they had something to do with intelligence?’
‘I knew that the man who handed me the book had something to do with intelligence.’
Manning couldn’t bring himself to look at Proctor-Gould. He felt a great sense of sourness, a distaste with the world in general.
‘So you were lying to me before?’ he said awkwardly.
‘These things involve deception. You know that, Paul.’
‘But, Gordon, you gave me your word, voluntarily, that you had no knowledge of anything that might incriminate you.’
‘I wanted to set your mind at rest, Paul. I didn’t want you to be involved in any risks that I might have been running.’
‘Well, I was involved, wasn’t I? And I am still. If you’re caught I shall certainly be arrested too.’
‘There’s been some risk, certainly….’
‘I think you’ve behaved badly, Gordon, very badly.’
‘I haven’t asked you to accept any risk that I didn’t share.’
‘Gordon, you didn’t ask me to accept the risk. You were the one who was asked. You put me in danger without my even knowing about it.’