Comrade Charlie

25

The physical reaction to what he was being forced to do began with Emil Krogh more than a week before his London flight. Some nights he did not sleep at all and on others he was always awake by three in the morning to lie, sweating with unformed fears, until it became light enough for him to get up. And then he was invariably sick, retching over the toilet pan until he couldn’t be sick any more and then dry heaving until his eyes ran and his stomach and chest ached from the empty convulsions. He and Peggy slept in different beds and had their own separate bathrooms, but he still expected his wife to notice something, to make some remark, but she didn’t. She had half suggested that she travel to England with him but he pointedly refused to pick up on the idea and she didn’t press it, which was a small relief, but so small he instantly forgot it.

At Petrin’s insistence they met for a final briefing session in the park again, although nearer the golf course this time. For once the Russian was prompt, arriving practically as soon as Krogh sat down.

‘You’re not looking any better,’ accused Petrin at once.

So today there wasn’t going to be any legsspread relaxation and patronizing crap about the Californian weather. Krogh said: ‘I’m all right.’ For weeks, long before the sleeplessness, he’d tried to imagine a way out, and the previous night, puddled in perspiration, he’d realized that suicide would be an escape: he’d had to get up earlier than usual to be sick.

‘You break down and everything goes,’ warned Petrin.

‘I’m not going to break down. I said I’m OK.’

‘I’m going to London ahead of you,’ announced Petrin. ‘Everything will be ready for you when you arrive.’

‘How do we contact each other?’ asked Krogh dully.

‘Where’s your hotel reservation?’

‘The Connaught.’

‘Just check in and wait. I’ll already be there.’

‘After making sure it’s safe?’ said Krogh, in an attempt at a sneer that failed.

‘Of course after making sure it’s safe: you should be grateful,’ said Petrin. ‘That’s why the way you look concerns me: the only thing you’ve got to be frightened of is yourself.’

‘I keep telling you I’m all right.’ Dear God how he wished that were true: increasingly he felt suspended from reality, like he’d felt sometimes when he was very drunk or when he’d smoked one of the special joints that Cindy rolled. He hadn’t bothered to contact her, not even a telephone call, for nearly three weeks now. He decided not to, before he went to England. Maybe he never would again, just walk away and leave her, forget about the condo and the car. That’s what he wanted to do, walk away and forget about everything and everyone.

‘What do the British say?’

‘That they’re looking forward to meeting me,’ said Krogh reluctantly. That had been another straw he’d attempted to clutch, the hope that the British would refuse to cooperate with him. But the Russian had anticipated his trying to hide that way and warned he would want to see any rejection letter. Which there hadn’t been anyway so Krogh hadn’t tried to lie.

‘What about here?’

Krogh shrugged. ‘Here I make the rules,’ he said. It sounded conceited but wasn’t. He’d announced his intention at the last directors’ meeting and his father-in-law had seized upon it at once and launched into a speech about devotion to work and to the company and he’d gone along with it, thinking: If only they knew, if only they knew.

‘So!’ said Petrin, forcefully. ‘If I’m going to get everything ready I’ve got to know what you want.’

Krogh gave another listless shrug. ‘I don’t really know, until I get there.’

Petrin sighed. ‘The basics,’ he insisted. ‘Tell me what you’re bound to need.’

‘A drawing office, I suppose,’ said Krogh simply. ‘A board. All instruments…’ He turned to the Russian, on the bench beside him. ‘I don’t see how this is going to work!’ he said in weak protest. ‘I could need to make dozens of drawings: I’m not going to be able to absorb and memorize everything in one visit. Not enough to re-create it all!’

Petrin turned too, to stare back at him. ‘You’re going to have to, Emil. And if you can’t memorize it in one visit you’re going to have to go again. And keep going until you do get it all. There’s no choice about this: no choice at all.’

Krogh felt sick again, the familiar sensation, and swallowed against it. He said: ‘That’s all I can think of needing, at the moment. Anything else will have to wait until I get there and see the sort of work involved.’

‘You keep a grip on yourself, you hear?’

It was the tone of voice he’d used towards Joey and Peter when they’d played up as kids, Krogh recognized. But he didn’t feel any resentment: he didn’t feel anything at all. All those sorts of attitude towards the other man – resentment and hatred and contempt – were past now. There was only an emptiness, like a vacuum. There were ways to kill yourself, without pain. Sleeping pills. A length of hose from an exhaust pipe. The idea this time didn’t bring the stomach jump like it had during the night. He said: ‘I’ll see you in London.’

Petrin drove straight from McLaren Park to the airport. He was one of those lucky travellers who found it easy to sleep on aircraft and he did so, soundly. It was a polar flight that landed in England by mid-morning and he arrived feeling completely rested. Any visit to the Soviet embassy was precluded by the known permanent, twenty-four-hour watch maintained upon it by British counter-intelligence. Petrin went instead to the hotel where Krogh was booked, remaining only long enough to register in and unpack. Professionally cautious, Petrin rejected the idea of a taxi. Instead he indulged himself by circling the block to go through Grosvenor Square and past the US embassy to reach Hyde Park, walking its full width to the bisecting park road before cutting up towards the restaurant overlooking the Serpentine lake. He made several checks as he did so, ensuring there were no followers.

In the restaurant he did not take a seat, although confirming there was a table reservation. Instead he stood at the bar until Losev entered, staying expressionless until the man reached him. Petrin thought he detected a reserve in the other man’s greeting, but conceded at once it could have been a misconception.

‘The beer’s warm,’ Petrin cautioned.

‘It frequently is in England,’ said Losev. ‘You get used to it. There wasn’t any need for the precautions you took getting here: you were protected.’

Petrin was curious at the other man’s need to boast of the guarding observation: annoyed, too, that he hadn’t detected it, which he should have done. He said: ‘That’s comforting to know.’

‘How’s your man?’

‘Shaky,’ admitted Petrin. ‘Showing signs of the strain, which is pretty considerable.’

‘He’s not going to collapse, is he?’

‘I don’t think so: he knows what would happen if he did. There’s a lot to be done before he arrives.’

A support role, thought Losev at once, bitterly: the other man’s attitude was very much superior to subordinate. He said: ‘Like what?’

‘I want the equivalent of a complete drawing office: all conceivable equipment and instruments and a place where he can work without interruption. Can you manage that?’

I want, isolated Losev. And can you manage that, like it was some junior initiative test. He said, with some exaggeration: ‘Of course. We have a completely secure house unknown to the British authorities quite near here, in Kensington.’

‘What about equipping it?’

‘Do you know precisely what he’ll need?’

Instead of replying Petrin handed over the list he had composed at the beginning of the overnight flight, before sleeping.

Losev glanced at it, hot with irritation. He thought: Run, little messenger boy, run. He said: ‘I’ll organize it today.’

‘Any change in the situation of the man you’ve got inside the factory here?’

It was a gloating question, decided Losev. Exaggerating again, he said: ‘Now he’s been cleared there’s the possibility of a transfer. Moscow consider him important.’

‘How soon is the transfer to be?’ punctured Petrin at once.

‘There’s no date,’ Losev was forced to admit, discomfited.

‘It would be good to have the insurance of a second source,’ said Petrin objectively.

A waiter advised that their table was ready and both men sat and ordered before picking up the conversation. Petrin asked for the details of travelling to and from the Isle of Wight and what the factory was like, and asked Losev to inform Moscow of his arrival: everything really was politely requested but Losev inferred them as demands and felt further antagonism, giving short, clipped responses. They agreed to communicate daily through the number that Blackstone had, which was to a telephone in the safe house Losev intended setting up as Krogh’s drawing office, and Losev said he would forward any queries from Moscow to Petrin’s hotel using the same route.

Towards the end of the meal Petrin was sure he had not been mistaken about Losev’s initial reserve or about the later hostility. Finally he said: ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Wrong?’

‘I have the impression I’ve offended you in some way.’

‘No,’ denied Losev. ‘I’m not offended about anything. How could I be?’

‘That’s what I couldn’t understand.’

‘Maybe you’re tired after the flight.’

Petrin gazed steadily at the London station chief across the tiny, window-side table. ‘Maybe I am,’ he agreed. Then he said: ‘I don’t think anything should be allowed to endanger what we’ve got to achieve, do you?’

‘That remark is incomprehensible to me.’

‘It means that we should work together,’ said Petrin.

‘I don’t imagine it being any other way,’ said Losev stiffly.

‘Good,’ said Petrin. ‘I wouldn’t like it to be any other way.’

Charlie caught Laura on the pavement outside the office. As soon as she saw him her face opened into a smile but Charlie didn’t smile back. Bluntly he said: ‘I’m going to have to back out of the arrangement we made on Sunday. I’m sorry.’

Laura’s expression faded. She said: ‘Why don’t we rearrange something for another evening?’

‘Maybe not for a little while.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I see.’

‘I think it would be best.’

‘I told you a long time ago there wasn’t any danger of it getting out of hand. Not on my part anyway.’

‘I remember,’ said Charlie.

‘Is it anything I’ve done? Or said?’

‘No.’

‘So why?’

‘I just think it’s best, that’s all.’

‘I think I deserve an explanation at least.’

‘I can’t give you one, not yet. Maybe after I get back from holiday.’

‘Or until you want to learn something you can’t get from anyone else!’

He’d deserved that, Charlie accepted. He still wished she hadn’t said it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated.

‘Me, too,’ said Laura, turning abruptly and hurrying into the building.

Charlie gave her time to get the lift to the floor high above his office and then followed her in. Would he ever be able to give her an explanation, he wondered.

‘He gave no reason?’ demanded Harkness, who’d been disappointed for weeks with the titbits of gossip Laura passed on.

‘None,’ said the sad-faced girl.

‘Maybe after he gets back from holiday,’ repeated Harkness reflectively. ‘What could that mean?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Laura.

‘But I’m going to try to find out,’ said Harkness positively.