That decided it. Briggs took his courage firmly in both hands. ‘I was wondering, sir, if you could let me know why he’s being put down in the Shetlands at five o’clock when it is your intention that the police should pick him up at seven o’clock?’
The commodore shook his head. ‘At times, Briggs, I despair of you. I should have thought it was perfectly obvious. He will be arriving under cover of darkness because we don’t want it known how he arrived or who brought him. By allowing a two-hour interval between his arrival in the Shetlands and his apprehension by the police we accomplish our purpose. Got it?’
Briggs replied with a doubtful, ‘I see, sir,’ and made for the door. He had an unpleasant feeling that the commodore was keeping something from him. It wouldn’t by any means be the first time.
When his assistant had gone the commodore picked up a phone and dialled an MOD internal number.
‘Lewis here,’ answered a cheerful voice.
‘Come down to my office will you, Freddie. It’s urgent.’
‘Be with you in a trice, Ratters.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The pilot of the Wasp helicopter tapped the shoulder of the man next to him. ‘Muckle Flugga,’ he said, pointing to the flashing light on the port side. ‘Another five or six minutes to Esha Ness. See the light there? Dead ahead.’
Liang Hui nodded, looked round at Krasnov. The Soviet lieutenant’s head bandage covered his eyes. ‘We’ll be landing in a few minutes,’ the Cantonese shouted to him in Russian. There was no response. Liang Hui remembered the ear plugs and smiled sympathetically. He looked at his watch. Five minutes to five. It was fifteen minutes since they’d taken off from Aries The Royal Navy was nothing if not punctual.
The pilot switched off the navigation and dimension lights, throttled back and the Wasp began to lose height. It was dark, a night of no moon, but stars shone brightly in a clear sky.
When the light at Esha Ness was two miles ahead the pilot turned the helicopter south-east. Flying low he followed the southern shore of Ronas Yoe. A mile down it he swung inland, leaving to port the flicker of light from Heyler. Soon afterwards he switched on the landing lights and put the helicopter into a slow turn. They’d almost completed a full circle when he said, ‘The broch is ahead. Almost under us now.’ The helicopter hovered. Liang Hui looked down The stone tower was on the edge of the circle of light beneath the Wasp.
The pilot chose a patch of moorland close to the broch, lowered the Wasp on to it, switched off the landing lights.
He turned to Liang Hui. ‘Okay. Keep your heads down and make it snappy. Sooner I get out of here the better.’
Instinctively, like a woman patting her hair before entering a room, Liang Hui adjusted his shoulder-holster before opening the port door. He climbed out, crouching low, uncomfortably aware of the whirling rotor blades. Once on the ground he leant back, reached for Krasnov, told him to keep his head well down, helped him out. Bent double, the two men moved away from the helicopter. The pilot opened the throttle, the engine screamed its head off and the Wasp lifted clear. The pilot swung it to the north-west in a steep turn and made for the sea.
Liang Hui unwound the bandage from Krasnov’s head, removed the ear plugs and handed the Russian a pencil torch. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You lead. We’re making for that stone tower.’ He turned Krasnov in the direction of the broch and they set off across the heather. When they reached the tower they picked their way between fallen stones as they made through the open arch. The roof had long since gone, it was cold and damp inside but thick jerseys and duffle coats helped keep them warm. Liang Hui shone his torch round the walls. ‘Sit on those stones over there,’ he said. ‘Don’t move until I tell you.’ Krasnov sat awkwardly on the pile of stones, Liang Hui leaning against the wall opposite.
A long silence followed, broken at last by the Russian. ‘What are we waiting for?’
‘We’re on British soil now,’ said Liang Hui. ‘You’ll be picked up by the local police soon after daylight.’
‘And then?’
‘They’ll hand you over to the Special Branch.’
‘Who are they?’
‘The British security police. You’ll receive the usual treatment given to a defector. There are certain formalities. Debriefing, that sort of thing. When you’re cleared, when they’re satisfied you’re not a plant, you’ll enjoy the privileges of political asylum.’
‘What are they?’ Krasnov’s hoarse voice was full of doubt.
‘The life of a citizen in the West. In a free society. You’ll have friends. There are a good many defectors.’
The Russian was silent, thinking of what had been said. ‘you talk of me as a defector. As if I’d done this voluntarily.’ He was burning with resentment. ‘You know it was forced on me.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Liang Hui shone his torch in Krasnov’s face. ‘You were found on a life-raft north of Vrakoy. When they picked you up you said you were a defector, claimed political asylum.’
‘That’s a pack of lies.’ The Soviet lieutenant’s voice rose in a confusion of distress and anger. ‘You know it is. I was taken from Kolhamn by force. At gun point. Then drugged. I remember you in the rorbu. You and that Chinese woman.’
Liang Hui drew a deep breath, eyed him severely. ‘Try to keep calm, Krasnov. You’re suffering from hallucinations. They can be dangerous. May jeopardize your freedom. The British might think you’re a spy. That wouldn’t be pleasant, would it? Stick to the truth. It’s safer. There’s no disgrace in being a defector. Remember we have witnesses. You have none. And we’re giving you the political asylum you asked for. A new life lies ahead of you.’
Krasnov’s voice trembled with frustration. ‘I’ve heard stories of the lies and deceptions of the imperialist capitalist powers. I had begun to believe they might be propaganda. Now I know differently.’
Liang Hui ignored the remark and they relapsed into silence. Later the Cantonese said, à propos of nothing. ‘What made you think you were in a British ship?’ Krasnov didn’t answer so Liang Hui repeated the question.
‘It was not a matter of thinking. I knew.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Never mind. It’s not important.’ The Russian shook his head.
Sitting on the pile of stones waiting, cold, miserable and frightened, wondering what the future held for him, Krasnov considered Liang Hui’s last question. He managed a smile in the dark because the explanation he was not prepared to give was so simple, the precautions the British had taken so elaborate. His thoughts went back to the steel cell in which he’d awakened.
After the interrogation, when he was stilt dazed, suffering from shock and drugs, they must have taken him there, laid him on the stretcher, covered him with the blanket. He had vague recollections of a steel door clanging, the sound of a key turning. He must have slept for hours. When he woke he remembered his surprise at finding his wrists and ankles no longer bound, his eyes no longer masked. Not that he could see for there was no light in the cell, but the mask had gone. The plugs were still in his ears, so he pulled them out and stuffed them into a trouser pocket. For some time he lay there thinking.
Later, very quietly, he got off the stretcher, stood up and tested his limbs. He found with relief that they were undamaged. Slowly, and with no plan other than a desire to satisfy curiosity, to do something rather than just sit in the dark, he explored the cell. It was small, four by three metres, with shelves along one side and across the far end. He felt along the empty shelves, found the door, the handle and the keyhole. It was a solid door, perhaps watertight because no chink of light showed through between it and the frame. Afterwards he found the light switch, turned it on. He’d been in the dark so long that it took time to accustom his eyes to the brightness of the single lamp in the deckhead. For the first time he saw the stretcher and blanket, the rows of empty steel shelves, and realized that he was in a ship’s storeroom, not a cell. He was about to sit down on the stretcher when something caught his eyes. It was on the highest shelf, on the far side; the edge of something just clear of the line of the shelf. He reached up, touched it, pulled it down.