Dead Men Living

19

Charlie let Natalia feed and bathe the still-demanding Sasha (“If it’s a silly word, why did you say it?”), needing the escape more than the time. He still used the time, though. It was necessary to rethink. Reevaluate. It had been stupid leaving the grave when he did-downright bloody stupid. Not a disaster-easily recoverable, in fact-but that wasn’t the point. The point was getting everything-getting it all-the first time, and he hadn’t, which was more arrogance, hurt pride, than professional objectivity. So what was professionally objective? London’s secrecy intention-perhaps Washington’s, too-was now at Moscow’s mercy. A major reassessment. But more a diplomatic consideration than his, at operational ground level. What was there at his level? Vadim Lestov hadn’t told all to Miriam. So much for pubic power. Which wasn’t an irrelevant reflection. Told him something about the Russian detective. Had to keep it in mind. What else? Get it all, this time. Which he could. And would. So that wasn’t the point, either. The primary consideration-the sole consideration-was whether Natalia had been as successful as she obviouslybelieved herself to have been. Everything else, for the moment, was secondary.

She accepted the wine he had waiting when she emerged from the bedroom corridor and said, “I told Sasha you’d be along in a minute to say good night.”

That, like so much else, was becoming a ritual he enjoyed. “Of course.”

“I had to tell her what shit meant. She still thought it was silly.”

“I’m sorry,” apologized Charlie.

“Is what Denebin found a major problem?”

Charlie poured himself a second malt and said, “Not even one we’re going to think about yet. First priorities first. You.”

Natalia smiled, knowing the preference might have been difficult, the triumph rehearsed during the homeward drive. He listened leaning forward from his encompassing chair, looking into the glass cupped between both hands but not drinking. The silence unsettled Natalia, who’d expected-wanted-as much excitement, as much enthusiasm, as she felt.

Charlie didn’t immediately speak, even when Natalia had obviously finished. Natalia waited, becoming more unsettled. Finally Charlie said, “The adjournment was limited to just you, Viskov and Travin? And Nikulin?”

Natalia nodded. “Lestov was called back at the end, when Nikulin announced he was to take over operational control.”

“But he wasn’t officially appointed by title as your deputy?” pressed Charlie.

“Nikulin talked about there having to be changes, but there was nothing official, no. Letting them sweat, I suppose.”

“Which of them do you think Nikulin was talking about?” demanded Charlie.

Natalia allowed another pause. “Travin, primarily. Reducing his responsibility to the Lubyanka documentation was total humiliation. For him and Viskov, after the way they dismissed it and tried to use it.”

Charlie had hoped for more: a dismissal, even. “Are there any arrangements for you to see Nikulin again? By yourself?”

Natalia shook her head once more.

“Ask for a meeting,” urged Charlie. “It might have been too muchto hope that by itself it would have been enough to get Viskov moved, as well as Travin. But you’ve definitely got to get rid of Travin. Totally. He and Viskov have been humiliated, as well as caught out. They’re a threat as long as they’re still together in the same building, able to plot. Maybe more so than before, after what happened today. They’re fighting for their very existence now.”

The final vestiges of Natalia’s excitement seeped away. Charlie’s killer instinct, she remembered. “So I haven’t won?”

“Not yet.” Seeing her need, Charlie said, “But you will. That’s what we decided, didn’t we?”

“How?” she asked, despondently unsure.

“Using what we’ve got,” he said, inadequately. “Now tell me about the button from the Western uniform.”

“It’s not like those on the uniforms the dead men were wearing-not the same metal. And it’s definitely not from a Russian uniform.”

“Were there any special markings on it?” asked Charlie, urgently. There was another possibility that actually fit the way the English lieutenants had been dressed. There were two uniforms, dress and battle dress.

“I haven’t seen it yet. I will, of course.”

“I need a photograph,” insisted Charlie. He fell silent. Then he said, “I made a bad mistake-a stupid mistake-leaving the grave too early. Don’t like fucking up like that.”

“You’d decided there was someone else,” reminded Natalia, trying to help.

He had, acknowledged Charlie-from the.38 bullet as well as another person’s military knowledge of the waistband label. Charlie said, “It was a possibility that had to be considered. This is proof.” He straightened positively, dismissing the self-recrimination, at the same time topping up both their glasses. The immediate future was more important than the immediate past. Natalia’s survival was still the priority. “What was decided to do about a second English officer?”

Natalia made an uncertain gesture. “I used it as an accusation, as part of the argument: turned it against Travin that he hadn’t approached you or the American to get your findings. Your idea, remember?”

“What about disclosing it? I challenged Denebin in Yakutsk about everything else I saw him recover.”

“They know you went off before Denebin found the buttons-that you don’t know. That the American doesn’t know, either.”

“So?”

“It comes down to what you-and she-officially offer,” said Natalia. “Maybe not even then. It’s a hell of an advantage for us: the worst imaginable, as far as you’re concerned-” She hurriedly stopped. “The worst imaginable for Britain. I didn’t mean you personally.”

Was there a differentiation? wondered Charlie. There shouldn’t be, logically. But logic had very little to do with getting out from under when the toilet was flushed, and Charlie had a longtime aversion to getting covered in little brown bits. His was the name on everything: even on television, the identified person at the bottom of the toilet bowl. Charlie said, “But I know! And by knowing I can avoid a mistake.” He paused. “Any more mistakes,” he added, refusing himself an escape.

“I hope,” said Natalia, at once wishing that she hadn’t.

Charlie didn’t pick up on the remark. He said, “Lestov, with whom I always had to liaise anyway, is effectively your deputy?”

“He was the obvious choice,” Natalia pointed out. “Suddenly to have introduced anyone else as an operational controller-apart from his need to be totally rebriefed-would have shown our internal problem. Lestov getting the job can be explained, even if there’s a need to explain, as a promotion. Which he rightly deserved.”

“And which he must get, by title,” insisted Charlie. He hadn’t done enough to reassure her, he decided. He really wasn’t used to worrying about people and protecting people other than himself. It meant a further delay in talking to Natalia about Novikov, too: her involvement in that was the last thing that could be risked with Viskov and Travin still in place and working against her.

“Which you still haven’t told me how we’re going to achieve?” prompted Natalia.

“You are still going to get the camp archives before Travin?”

“I insisted upon it,” confirmed Natalia. “Said I wanted personally to be sure that a search neither Travin nor Viskov judged important was carried out properly.”

“Excellent,” exaggerated Charlie. It would have heaped further humiliation, increasing their determination to hit back.

“I’m waiting!” protested Natalia.

“I already think Colonel Vadim Leonidovich Lestov is a good policeman,” said Charlie. “We’re going to make him better ….” He paused again, remembering Miriam’s lunchtime phrase. “Superman, in fact. And when the great discovery comes from Gulag 98, Petr Pavlovich Travin is going to miss it.”

“What if there isn’t anything to discover about Camp 98?” argued Natalia, raising at last one of her nagging doubts. “We don’t even know that the records of every camp have survived.”

The reason to get Novikov and whatever the man had to Moscow as soon as possible, thought Charlie. “We do know there was a Gulag 98 for special prisoners?”

“Yes?” agreed Natalia, doubtfully.

“None of whom, after fifty-four years, will still be alive today?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so,” Natalia further agreed.

“All we need is a name. I can invent an importance supposedly from an English source,” said Charlie, simply.

“What if there isn’t a surviving file?” pressed Natalia, relentlessly.

“The three bodies were where a special camp once existed, weren’t they?” coaxed Charlie. “The information from England-from me-will still be that it was vital to trace a prisoner there. The failure to locate the file will be Travin’s, won’t it?”

Natalia shook her head. “Sometimes you lose me, Charlie.”

“That’s something I’m never going to do,” he said, using her remark.

She started, at the strident sound of the street-level bell. So did Charlie. Shit! he thought. “I forgot to tell you,” he apologized. “I invited Irena to supper.”

“Why, Charlie?” demanded Natalia, seriously.

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll tell you if I find out,” he answered, obscurely. “Maybe it’s nothing.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“Trust me.”

Natalia wished Charlie wouldn’t keep asking her to do that.

Irena’s last flight had been to Japan, where there is a theme park dedicated to the cartoon character, and Sasha’s present was a Thomas the Tank T-shirt, complete with a smiling-faced railway engine printed on the front. Sasha, who was still waiting for Charlie, insisted upon putting it on and announced she was going to sleep in it.

“No,” refused Charlie. “You can wear it tomorrow.”

“Shit!” Sasha challenged, in English.

Irena sniggered, turning away.

Charlie said, “I told you that was a silly word. I don’t want you saying it again.”

“Why did you, then?”

“To see whether you would be silly and repeat it,” said Charlie, desperately. “Or whether you were a big girl. So now we know: you’re silly, like the word. And you can’t sleep in the T-shirt.”

“I want Mummy!”

“Take it off and go to sleep.”

Sasha sat in bed with her arms tightly folded, not moving, glaring although not directly at him. Her lips were tightly together, too. Irena said, “I don’t think I want to talk to silly girls. I’ll come back later.”

Sasha’s bottom lip didn’t stay tight. Charlie was hot, sweating, a never-lost man completely lost. It was unthinkable-literally-to slap her. Charlie said, “I’m waiting.”

Sasha said, “I want Mummy.”

Charlie didn’t turn at Natalia’s arrival. Natalia said, “What has Daddy told you to do?”

“He’s not my daddy!” said the child.

“He is and you do what he tells you,” said Natalia. “Take the shirt off.”

Sasha started to pull it over her head and to cry at the same time, pointedly offering it to Natalia, who didn’t reach for it. Charlie held out his hand and after a moment’s hesitation Sasha gave it to him. Natalia kissed Sasha and left Charlie in the room with her.

Charlie said, “Do I get a kiss?”

“No,” said Sasha, her voice muffled in the pillow, her body rigid.

“This isn’t much fun, is it?”

There was no reply.

Charlie leaned forward, kissing Sasha’s turned away head. He said,“I am your daddy and I love you very much.” It was a whisper, but he still heard her say, “shit,” before he got to the door.

The two sisters were waiting for him in the smaller lounge, Irena already with the whiskey Natalia had poured for her.

Irena said, “What was that all about?”

“Growing up,” said Charlie. “Sasha and I together.” He still felt hot, disoriented by something he hadn’t known how to handle or control and wished hadn’t happened. How difficult was the rest of the evening going to be?

“It’s a learning curve, I guess,” suggested Irena.

“Maybe I’ve got more to learn than Sasha,” conceded Charlie.

“I certainly have,” simpered Irena. “Learning the man my sister’s involved with is an international detective was a hell of a surprise!” She was wearing one of her second skin outfits, a black catsuit that didn’t show panty or bra ridges because she wasn’t wearing either. “I thought you looked terrific on television.”

“I didn’t,” said Natalia. She was serious, subdued.

“What sort of policeman are you?” persisted the younger woman.

“A clerk,” dismissed Charlie, his script ready in outline at least. He should have prepared Natalia; prepared himself better. Another stupid mistake. Too late now. “I just exchange information between London and here.”

Irena made a sweeping gesture around the apartment. “Clerks don’t live in palaces.”

“There are ways,” He smiled. Would this eventually qualify as another learning curve? He hoped so.

Irena regarded him curiously. “Like what?”

“Always useful, having access to foreign currency.”

Now Irena smiled, although uncertainly. Natalia was looking at him in bewilderment, mouth slightly open. Irena said, “You don’t, do you?”

“You should know how to turn dollars around: the best use of any foreign currency in the financial mess this country’s in.”

He refilled Irena’s empty glass. Natalia shook her head irritably against any more. He left his drink as it was.

With forced indignation, Irena said, “I don’t deal in foreign currency!”

“I don’t believe you,” challenged Charlie, expansively. “You’d bea fool not to, with the chances you’ve got. We’ve got it made, people like you and me.”

Irena looked at her sister. “Is he telling the truth?”

“I don’t know what he does or what he’s saying,” Natalia, said with a shrug, angrily soft-voiced.

“Aren’t you worried?” It was still a question addressed to Natalia.

“If it’s on a scale to support this place, I suppose I should be.” Natalia was looking intently at Charlie, seeking a lead.

Irena went back to Charlie. “You could be arrested!”

“You show me a Moscow policeman you can’t bribe,” demanded Charlie. “Most of them would sell their mothers for fifty dollars. And I’m on the inside, as a liaison officer. Who’s going to go up against me?”

Irena shook her head in bemusement. “You are serious, aren’t you?”

“You shocked?”

“No, of course I’m not shocked! And you’re right, I have sold a few dollars, here and there.”

“Of course you have,” said Charlie. “It’s the system: the way the world goes ’round. The Arbat’s best, I’ve found. A lot of conmen, hunting tourists.” He looked at Natalia. “What about that prime Scotch steak I brought home?”

Natalia hesitated before moving off into the kitchen. Irena waited until her sister had gone before saying, “I knew you and I had a lot in common.”

“And I told you I was in love with Natalia,” he said, hoping she could hear from the kitchen. So far, so good, but this wasn’t the way he wanted the conversation to go. But he’d play this different sort of word game if he had to.

“You don’t seem to be worrying very much about her, doing what you’ve just told me. What about her position?”

Charlie felt the icy fingers run up his back, all the heat of his previous discomfort gone. Why the hell hadn’t he talked to Natalia first? “I don’t understand.”

“Couldn’t she get into trouble if there was a problem you couldn’t bribe your way out of?” suggested the woman.

“Of course not,” said Charlie, with seeming carelessness, flourishing the bottle between the two of them. “I told you: there’s nevergoing to be a problem. So the question doesn’t arise.”

“There’s still another unanswered question from last time.” Irena smiled.

“You got your answer then.”

“Where’s the danger in a little adventure?”

“In setting out on it.” He was glad to see Natalia emerge from the kitchen: time for him to manipulate the guidance he hadn’t given her.

Natalia said, “Ready when you are.”

Charlie said, “Irena’s worried you’ll be fired if someone blows the whistle on what I’m doing.”

Natalia’s pause, retrieving her wineglass, was far too imperceptible for Irena to notice, although Charlie readily saw it. “I don’t see how it could affect me, even if it did happen.”

It was enough and Charlie felt a sweep of relief. “That’s what I told her.”

“You work for the government, don’t you? You did when …” The woman stumbled to a halt, briefly flustered.

“Pensions!” jeered Natalia. “I’d get a medal for finding money where there hasn’t been any to give out for months!”

Charlie couldn’t believe that until that moment he’d never known Moscow and London used pensions for the same cover! So many learning curves. He said, “See? Nothing can happen to us.”

“I’m fed up with this conversation,” stopped Natalia. “Let’s eat.”

A completely sober Charlie continued playing the genially tipsy host but dropped the bombast, refusing to talk any further about imaginary illegal currency transactions or what his supposed job entailed, switching the conversation instead on to Irena. She responded with air stewardess anecdotes, some genuinely amusing, leading easily into Charlie’s demand about Irena’s love life, to Natalia’s stiff-faced concentration on her food and to Irena’s insistence that she wasn’t involved with anyone in particular. “Still looking for someone who lives in a palace.”

Charlie walked Irena to the street-level door, which she ignored when he opened it.

“I don’t give up when I’ve set my mind to something.”

“You’re going to have to this time.”

“We’ll see. Do I get kissed good night?”

“No.”

Natalia hadn’t moved from the table by the time Charlie returned. Looking steadily at him, she said, “Well!”

“She’s got a situation with Richard Cartright,” said Charlie. “You would have thought she’d have mentioned it, wouldn’t you?”

“I would have expected you to mention to me what the fuck you were doing.”

“Another silly word,” he tried, hopefully.

“Stop it, Charlie!” she refused. “Not telling me was stupid-ridiculous!”

“I didn’t want to rehearse you: make it look too obvious. But I should have said something, I know. Irena arrived before I expected her.”

“She’s not a nice person, Charlie.” She hesitated, looking directly at him. “She’s bound to talk to Cartright about us, isn’t she?”

“So what?” said Charlie, forcing the glibness.

“What if he tells London?”

“Why on earth should he? And what would there be to tell? That I’m living with someone who works for the Russian pension authority?”

“I thought this had been a good day,” said Natalia. “Now I don’t, not any longer.”

“I didn’t do very well with Sasha, did I?”

“It was a point in the relationship waiting to happen.”

“I hope it doesn’t again.”

“So do I,” said Natalia, although not referring to Sasha and Charlie. She’d call Irena, she decided: call her and warn the bitch that there wasn’t going to be a repetition of what had happened with Konstantin. Which wasn’t Natalia doubting Charlie. It was her awareness of her sister’s determination.

“There’s something important I want you to do,” said Charlie.

Natalia listened, her face furrowed into a deep frown. “You want me to check if he officially saw anyone at our Foreign Ministry?”

“No. Just use the name Peters to trace that of the other man. The visa should give us a hotel, shouldn’t it?”

“Miriam said he’d gone.”

“I just want to make sure he has.”

“What could he be here for?”

“I don’t know,” lied Charlie.

When he arrived at Morisa Toreza at eight the following morning, there were already two demands from Sir Rupert Dean on Charlie’s voice mail.

The director-general said, “The name of your man is Simon Norrington. He was the elder son, thirty-one when he died, of Sir William Norrington. The younger brother, Matthew, automatically inherited the title upon the death of his father. And is still alive-”

“What was-” tried Charlie, but Dean talked over him.

“According to the family, Simon Norrington graduated with a Double First in fine art from Oxford University in 1932. He was attached to the War Office from 1940 as liaison with de Gaulle’s Free French forces. He was seconded in 1943 to 140 Provost Company, a specialized unit officially part of the military police, with the rank of lieutenant, to provide the necessary authority for what he had to do-”

“Which was?” tried Charlie again.

“Listen!” insisted Dean. “The family believes Simon Norrington died in April 1945 and is buried in a Commonwealth military cemetery in Berlin.”