Goodbye to an Old Friend

Chapter Three

The idea occurred to him half an hour after leaving London, so he pulled into a layby and carefully reversed the cuffs, trying to cover the embarrassment of yesterday’s shirt.

He examined the disguise and nodded, satisfied. Not bad, certainly under a jacket. No one would notice. Well, almost no one. Miss Aimes would see it, immediately. Adrian pictured the quick smirk, the half nod of secret confirmation. Perhaps her wig would fall off. He wondered if she washed wigs like shirts … ‘Is your wig whiter than white? If not, use …’

He smiled and pulled out into the traffic again. He had been to the house before and so he was familiar with the route and his mind butterflied, hovering around the forthcoming interview. A preliminary meeting, Sir Jocelyn had said. Let’s assure ourselves completely that he’s the right man. It wouldn’t be difficult, thought Adrian, with the guidance he’d already got from Bennovitch.

He’d be on his way back by three and that was important because Sir Jocelyn was awaiting his return. The baronet would probably suggest his club, but Adrian had already practised the refusal, unwilling to sacrifice the time.

Anita had stipulated eight o’clock.

Adrian recognized the turn just before Pulborough and swung in, slowed by the narrowness of the lanes. Like that in which Bennovitch was hidden, only a few miles away, the house had once been a country retreat, lying deep in easily guarded, wooded grounds and now adopted for its specialized purpose, a prison without bars or warders, a place which kept out people instead of detaining them.

Pavel had been brought there the previous night, by a roundabout route from the house in London where he had been kept for the twenty-four hours since his helicopter flight from the NATO headquarters in Brussels. Adrian knew the men whose responsibility it was to keep Pavel alive, but nevertheless went through the regulation procedure of identification, even having his fingerprints taken and matched against the records already at the house of those half dozen people who were to be allowed access, once all other checks had been passed.

The routine was followed without any half cynical ‘I’m sorry, but …’ smiles from the men appointed to guard Pavel. The second Russian defector had been allotted the highest security risk rating, ensuring a permanent guard of twenty men, two in constant attendance except for debriefings, even for lavatory visits.

Pavel was breakfasting when Adrian arrived and the Englishman watched him through one of the observation points fitted into every room. The scientist ate solidly, unconcerned at the security men who sat near the door, silently observing the meal.

Eggs, thought Adrian. Yellow, crisply fried eggs and toast, with the choice of preserves or marmalade. His stomach felt empty and echoed its hollowness with a belch, which he subdued. He turned away from the observation point, embarrassed.

‘It’s like watching an animal feed, at the zoo,’ he said to the man who stood alongside. The security official shrugged. ‘Your department fixed the classification,’ he said. ‘We just do as we’re told and hope to Christ nothing goes wrong.’

Adrian didn’t reply. He stood in the hallway until the breakfast was cleared and then gave the scientist ten minutes before moving into the room. The Russian looked up, acknowledging a new face.

‘Good morning,’ said Adrian, smiling, his accent perfect.

Pavel smiled and ducked his head in appreciation. ‘I speak English,’ he said.

‘As you wish,’ responded Adrian.

‘But I wish my English were as good as your Russian.’

Adrian smiled at the compliment. ‘Perhaps I have more practice.’

‘Perhaps.’

Adrian half turned to the security men, who rose together. One nodded and said, ‘Think we’ll take a break.’

He spoke in Russian, too, and Pavel laughed, aloud. ‘Perhaps I should start awarding marks.’

Adrian sat in a deep leather armchair bordering the fire, studying the other man, marking the contrasts with Bennovitch. Pavel was medium height, but quite thin, unlike his squat, rotund partner, and the fastidiousness showed. He appeared quite relaxed, hands cupped in his lap, nails clean and well manicured, his suit crisp and pressed and better cut than that of Bennovitch, showing almost Western tailoring. The eyes were blank and unrevealing behind the spectacles, the receding hair separated by a parting that was ruler-straight.

‘You must be one of the important men,’ said Pavel. ‘What would the word be — quizmaster?’

Adrian felt he was being laughed at. He smiled at the irony. Unusual confidence, he thought. Normally there was more uncertainty. He shrugged, adopting the diffident attitude so necessary to question arrogant men who made mistakes because they thought they dominated the interview.

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ he replied. ‘I’m just convenient because I speak languages.’

‘How many?’ asked Pavel, immediately.

Unusual again, thought Adrian. He’d used the dismissive ploy several times in the past, but never been challenged on it. As a rule they were nervous, concerned only with questions revolving around their own safety.

‘Quite a few,’ he said, still modest.

‘But how many?’ There was an edge of impatience in the query, showing a man used to questions being specifically answered the first time, without prevarication.

‘Twelve,’ replied Adrian, immediately. Let him dominate the interview, initially, just to gather more confidence.

‘Chinese?’

The question was a surprise until Adrian remembered the boy on the Chinese border. ‘Mandarin and Cantonese, and one dialect.’

Pavel nodded, as if the answers had solved some secret questions.

‘Are you worried about Georgi?’ asked Adrian, shifting the initiative.

Pavel smiled. ‘Georgi? You know of my son?’ Then without awaiting an answer, he said confidently, ‘Alexandre has been talking.’

Adrian wondered whether to disclose that the fact had come from the Moscow embassy and decided against it. Let him think Bennovitch was being co-operative.

‘He’s very fond of you,’ said Adrian. ‘He refers to you almost as a father.’

Clever, thought Adrian. So far he’s effortlessly avoided the only question.

‘Is Alexandre happy?’

Adrian shrugged again, still allowing the control to slide away from him.

‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘Any more than you are now or will be for some months yet. There’s too much uncertainty and anxiety yet for there to be any enjoyment apart from the exhilaration of getting away.’

It had been a tenet of his psychology training to be as honest as possible with any interviewee. The moment the subject caught the questioner in a basic dishonesty, any hope of co-operation disappeared. Pavel nodded, accepting the attitude.

‘Does it get better? How long does the uncertainty last?’

Adrian thought he saw a gap in the confidence and moved to widen it.

‘It depends on the person,’ he said.

‘I feel guilty,’ admitted Pavel suddenly, and Adrian stepped in, accepting the opening.

‘That’s inevitable,’ he said, ‘and it’ll be more difficult for you than it was for Alexandre. He only left a sister. And being your wife, she was protected. But now she isn’t. Neither are Georgi or Valentina.’

Adrian had spoken purposely, trying to shatter the man’s demeanour, accepting the frowns that the abrupt questions and statements would later cause among the people who argued that there should be as few reminders as possible of the difficulties that a defection caused an émigré’s family. Pavel was going to be difficult, perhaps the most difficult yet. The reaction is worth the risk, judged Adrian.

‘You’re not taking any notes,’ said Pavel, suddenly.

‘No.’

‘So everything is being recorded?’

Adrian sighed. It was going to be the most difficult.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Funny,’ mused Pavel. ‘I knew it was done in Russia, but I never imagined it being done here …’

‘… It’s for convenience,’ broke in Adrian. It was important to establish a guide to this drifting conversation. ‘Notebooks or unspeaking shorthand writers in the corner of a room unsettle people, make them aware that every word is being noted. A tape recording is a convenience, that’s all. We make no secret of it. I could have lied.’

‘But that would have been pointless, wouldn’t it?’ said Pavel. ‘And endangered any confidence growing between us.’

Adrian frowned, unsettled by the other man’s knowledge. Where had a space scientist learned psychology? Pavel stared around the elegant breakfast room. ‘There are observation points, of course.’

Adrian hesitated, momentarily, feeling himself blush. He decided to maintain the honesty and said, ‘Of course.’

He paused, then added, ‘It’s a protection device, for your safety …’

Pavel’s ridicule cut him off.

‘Hah! That was a mistake,’ snorted Pavel. ‘So far you’ve been honest with me and I’ve recognized it. But that was stupid. I came to England in the dead of night, by helicopter from the Continent. So no one in the world knows exactly where I am except the people you choose to know. It’s not my safety you’re worried about at the moment.’

Adrian decided he had to jar the other man’s confidence.

‘For a man who has abandoned his family and his country and knowingly become a traitor, you’re remarkably unconcerned,’ he said. That question would cause more than frowns. There would be complaints now.

Pavel looked at him, solidly, measuring his reply.

‘Are people usually nervous then?’

Adrian refused to let the initiative get away from him.

‘Aren’t you?’ he retorted.

Pavel smiled. ‘Yes — very,’ he admitted. There was a pause, and then he added, ‘And I’m very conscious of what I’ve done to my family.’

‘Then why have you come over?’ Adrian maintained the aggression, anxious to establish supremacy.

Again Pavel took time to reply and spoke haltingly, uttering the thoughts as they came to him. ‘I thought my work was more important to me than anything else … even before Alexandre defected from the congress in Helsinki. I was getting more and more frustrated at the restrictions that were being imposed upon me … I’d even thought of trying to get away, not knowing Alexandre was thinking the same way …’

The Russian smiled, suddenly. ‘Alexandre never indicated a thing,’ he said. ‘I had no idea what he was planning. Me! — He wouldn’t even trust me.’

He sounded hurt.

‘I know,’ said Adrian.

Pavel took up the explanation again. ‘With Alexandre gone, our programme was broken. I could have got another colleague, certainly, but it would have taken too long — years — to get to the level at which Alexandre and I were working.’

‘Why did the Russians let you go to the air show, so soon after Bennovitch’s defection?’

Adrian spaced his question, the most important he had to put initially to the scientist.

Pavel shrugged, accepting the emphasis that the Englishman placed upon it, but dismissing it. ‘But whyever shouldn’t they?’ he said, rhetorically. ‘As far as the authorities are concerned, my return was guaranteed … my wife and daughter in Moscow … my son at Alma Ata. They thought they had enough hostages to let me take up my exit visa …’

‘But they were wrong?’

Pavel didn’t reply. Adrian was quite relaxed now, analysing everything the Russian said.

‘You spoke in a strange tense a little while ago,’ continued Adrian. ‘You said you thought your work was more important than your family, as if you’d changed your mind now. Have you?’

Pavel humped his shoulders in uncertainty. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It’s just that … that I don’t have the feeling I expected to have. I keep thinking of Valentina … of the girl … of what will happen to them …’

He trailed off, swallowing. Adrian let him recover, knowing the Russian would sense the gesture and appreciate it, perhaps become less hostile.

‘See.’

Pavel took a large wallet from inside his jacket, the size making it difficult to get from his pocket.

‘My children,’ identified the scientist, proudly.

Adrian examined the boy in soldier’s uniform and the girl in her stiff graduation dress.

‘Georgi is a lieutenant,’ said Pavel, the proud father. ‘They’ve let Valentina stay on at the academy. They say she’s so good that she could become a concert violinist.’

‘Nice children,’ said Adrian, inadequately.

‘I miss them,’ said Pavel, softly, his voice reflective.

‘Bennovitch doesn’t know you’re here yet,’ said Adrian, wanting to break the other man’s mood. ‘He’ll be excited. His chief regret is the thought of not seeing you again …’

Adrian paused, then extended the lure. ‘He was reminiscing yesterday, talking of your wedding …’

He stopped, purposely, and waited. Pavel smiled. ‘God, he got me drunk,’ he said. And then, in snatches, repeated the story that the other Russian had told, confirming details that it would never have occurred to the Russians to furnish any assassin impostor.

But unlike Bennovitch, the memory saddened Pavel. ‘I thought I had let Valentina down then,’ he said, disgustedly. ‘Now look.’

Adrian glanced at his watch and realized he had been with the Russian for three hours. It surprised him. Pavel saw the move and recovered some of his earlier arrogance.

‘Satisfied?’ he asked.

‘This was only a preliminary meeting …’ began Adrian, but the other man completed the sentence: ‘… to make sure I was genuine.’

‘… to make sure you were genuine,’ agreed Adrian.

‘And am I?’

‘I think so.’

‘And they’ll take your word alone?’

‘We’ll meet again,’ said Adrian and once more the Russian cut in.

‘For more recordings to be made and examined for accuracy.’

‘… for more recordings to be made and examined for accuracy,’ echoed Adrian. ‘But ultimately the decision on whether or not you’re granted permanent asylum will be made upon my report.’

‘I was right,’ said Pavel. ‘You are one of the important ones.’

‘I get the feeling you enjoy being right all the time, don’t you Viktor?’

The Russian reacted to the sarcasm, frowning. Adrian wondered whether the response was at the irony or the intentional disrespect of using his Christian name.

‘Are you often rude?’ snapped Pavel.

‘Not often,’ said Adrian, honestly.

‘I don’t think you and I are going to establish a relationship,’ said the Russian pompously. ‘I want someone else to examine me.’

Adrian laughed, the amusement genuine but protracted to arouse the other man’s anger.

‘But you’re not in a position to make demands, Viktor,’ he said, carefully stressing the Christian name again.

‘You want my help,’ reminded Pavel, almost triumphantly, like a man laying a winning card in a whist game.

‘Not as much as you need ours,’ trumped Adrian.

Pavel stood up and walked to the window, speaking with his back to Adrian.

‘I expected to be treated differently from this,’ he said, but there was an uncertainty in his voice. The confidence was being chipped away.

‘Perhaps we both did,’ remarked Adrian, mildly, a note of dismissal in his voice.

He stood up and when he spoke again his attitude was one of complete superiority, calculated to annoy the Russian.

‘I’ll be here again at nine tomorrow morning,’ he said, curtly. ‘Try and be ready, will you? I had to wait twenty minutes for you today.’

He heard the Russian turn, to reply, but swept out of the room before he had chance to speak, ending the interview on his own terms.

Adrian drove slowly back to London, allowing the motorcycle dispatch-rider ahead of him adequate time to deliver the tape, so that his conversation with Sir Jocelyn would not be a parrot-like recital of facts.

Adrian was uneasy.

The man he had just left was definitely Viktor Pavel, the other half of the most important space scientist team that the Russians had ever established. He was the man in Bennovitch’s photograph and the personal account that the man had provided tallied with every detail from the first defector and from the Moscow embassy.

Unquestionably, once the confidence had been eroded, the man would co-operate, filling in the gaps of Bennovitch’s debriefing, giving the West the most comprehensive account of the Russians’ space development and future planning.

And yet?

Adrian edged through the early afternoon traffic, towards Westminster Bridge, unable to isolate the doubt in his mind. Or remove it.

Binns was waiting for him in his office, characteristically hunched, his face expressionless. Adrian lowered himself into his usual chair and then remembered his cuffs, lowering his arms uncomfortably by his side. Sir Jocelyn did not appear to notice.

‘You heard the tapes?’

Binns nodded.

‘And?’

Sir Jocelyn did not reply. ‘Others heard them, too,’ he said and Adrian detected a curtness in his voice. ‘Even the Prime Minister sat in.’

‘Well?’

‘They thought you handled the interview appallingly.’ He slowed, then added, quickly, embarrassed almost, ‘So did I.’

Adrian was shocked. He’d realized the way that the interview had gone and anticipated the criticism that his attitude would arouse among some people. But he never expected it to extend to the Permanent Secretary. Sir Jocelyn was his friend. Adrian felt let down.

‘You?’ he said, the surprise showing.

‘Yes,’ said Binns and because of the stress, the impediment began to clutter the conversation. The nerve jumped near his eye, the indicator of stress.

‘… antagonized the man … he’s hostile now … resentful … won’t help …’

‘But that’s not true.’ Halfway through the protest, Adrian’s voice cracked, so that it finished on a whining note.

‘Pavel is hostile,’ said Adrian, coughing. ‘For years he’s led a favoured life, treated with special respect. I had to handle him like that, don’t you see?’

‘No,’ said Sir Jocelyn stiffly. ‘No, I don’t. And neither do the others.’

‘Then they’re stupid,’ said Adrian, surprised at his own vehemence, aware he was including Binns in the condemnation.

‘I’ve got to antagonize him, humiliate him, to a degree. If he feels that he is controlling the interview, then it will be pointless and the debriefing will take months. If he’s allowed control, real control, not just that which I contrive to allow him, then all we’ll learn is what he wants us to know, not what we want to learn.’

‘The Prime Minister wants you taken off the debriefing,’ announced Binns, abruptly.

Adrian stared out of the window, following a flock of pigeons, aware that his eyes were misted and that he couldn’t see very well. He wondered if the bird with the broken beak were among them.

‘I said they want you taken off the Pavel debriefing.’

‘I heard,’ said Adrian, with difficulty. Then, his voice growing stronger, he said, ‘Are you going to suspend me?’

Binns hesitated. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘The recordings sounded bad, but considering the explanation you’ve given, there seems some sense in your attitude. Pavel was arrogant.’

‘So?’

‘The decision was left to me,’ said Binns. ‘I think you should continue.’

As Adrian slowly released his sigh, the other man added, ‘At least for one more meeting.’

‘One last chance?’ said Adrian, surprised at his own sarcasm.

Binns held out his hands, an expression of helplessness. ‘You can’t begin to appreciate the pressure of this thing,’ he said, apologetically. ‘We’ve got the whole Russian space programme for the next decade, here in our hands. We daren’t make the slightest mistake.’

‘If you replace me,’ said Adrian, desperately, ‘then you’ll be making just such a mistake. Handle Pavel gently, in the early stages, and you’ll get nothing, nothing that he doesn’t want you to get.’

Binns frowned. ‘You’re talking as if he’s not genuine … as if he’s not serious about defecting …’

‘Oh, he’s genuine,’ corrected Adrian, immediately. ‘I’ve no doubts at all that he is Viktor Pavel.’

‘Then what?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Adrian, knowing it sounded inadequate. ‘Something is not right.’

‘But what? There must be something.’

‘His attitude,’ said Adrian. ‘Didn’t it strike you as odd, the way he sounded on the recording?’

Binns smiled, apologetic again. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘a good deal more attention was devoted to your attitude.’

‘Then that was an error,’ said Adrian, primly. ‘Play it again.’

Binns pressed a button set into a console on his desk and the sounds of that morning’s interview echoed round the room. They both sat, unspeaking, for a long time and then Binns stopped the track.

‘Well?’ he asked.

‘He’s too confident,’ said Adrian. ‘Think of it. A top scientist, a man in an honoured position, able to make almost any demand and know it will be met, someone who knows that his defection will cause untold hardships to the wife he adores and the children he idolizes, suddenly decides to turn traitor and cross to the West …’

‘But he explained that,’ cut in Binns. ‘He’s a scientist, a man to whom research is all-important …’

‘He’s not,’ snapped Adrian, his turn to interrupt. ‘Pavel’s no white-haired eccentric with his head in the clouds. He’s a very clever, very dedicated man. He’s the sort of person who never makes a sudden, unconsidered move. And he’s not frightened.’

‘Frightened?’

‘Yes. Frightened,’ said Adrian. ‘What’s the feeling they all have when they come across, the very first thing that registers when you go in for the first time and speak to them? It’s nervousness. It’s the uncertainty of not knowing what’s going to happen to them, the doubt about whether we’ll accept them or whether we’ll torture them, like their propaganda says we do. If a car backfires they leap eight feet into the air, imagining it’s an assassin’s bullet. You can smell the fear on them, like sweat. Everyone has it, everyone I’ve ever debriefed.’

‘Except Pavel?’

‘Except Pavel,’ agreed Adrian. ‘Listen to that tape again. He’s measuring me, flippantly almost. That man was playing a mental game of chess, a game he was far too confident of winning.’

Binns toyed with a paperweight, arched forward in thought.

‘But what’s the point?’ he asked. ‘Just for the sake of argument, let’s accept these suspicions of yours. What on earth can it achieve?’

Adrian shook his head, aware of the flaw. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘I just can’t think of an explanation. All I feel is the doubt.’

‘I’m not going to get very far with the Prime Minister tomorrow, trying to explain a vague feeling devoid of evidence.’

‘I know,’ accepted Adrian. ‘And I know it makes my attitude look stupid.’

‘The Minister will dismiss it as pique because someone got the better of you for the first time in a debriefing.’

‘Do you?’ jumped in Adrian, quickly, anxious for the answer.

‘No,’ said Binns, ‘no. I don’t. I accept completely your explanation for the way you conducted the meeting.’

‘But not my surmise?’

‘Give me some proof, anything, some lie the man tells. Then I’ll try and see it. At the moment, I think we’ve got a genuine defector who is perhaps covering the nervousness you regard as so important with a great show of confidence.’

He paused. Then, reminding Adrian of the psychology training, he asked, ‘Isn’t over-confidence one of the surest signs of an inferiority complex?’

Adrian nodded. ‘I accept there’s nothing you can relay to the P.M.’ he said.

The Permanent Secretary glanced at the clock and stood up and then, as Adrian had anticipated, said, ‘Why don’t we have a drink at my club, to cover the finer points?’

‘Do you mind if I don’t?’ said Adrian, immediately noticing the change in attitude of his chief, the withdrawal of a shy man who has been rejected.

‘No,’ said Binns, immediately, sitting down again awkwardly. ‘No, of course not.’

‘I’ve got to see someone …’ began Adrian, recognizing the emptiness of the statement. He blurted out, ‘Anita has asked me to see her.’

Binns’s attitude evaporated.

‘You’ll go down to Pulborough tomorrow?’

‘Yes — I expect there’ll be some technical questions waiting for me in the office.’

‘This time tomorrow then?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Adrian …’

‘What?’

‘I know … perhaps I’m the only one who does … how much the breakup of your marriage to Anita means. But remember who you are and what you’re doing. What you’re involved in at the moment is far more important than your personal life. It’s the most important thing you’re ever likely to get involved in and that’s a sweeping statement considering the people we’re called upon to debrief. I’ll try and see to it that you’ve got enough time to devote to Anita and whatever meetings you’ll need to finalize things with her. But you have no choice. If a meeting with Anita clashes with something I want you to do, then the meeting with Anita must suffer.’

He stopped, breathless after his lecture.

Adrian was silent for a moment, analysing the doubt that had been placed in his superior’s mind by the taped interview and the reaction to it of government ministers’. Was it justified? Did Anita mean more than two Russians who had a lot of space secrets? He left the questions unanswered in his mind.

‘You don’t have to tell me that,’ he said, stiffly. ‘I’m aware of my responsibilities, to you and to the department. And I recall the undertakings I gave when I joined the service.’

Binns smiled, anxious to thaw the feeling between them.

‘I don’t doubt you,’ he said, placatory. ‘I’m just sorry that personal pressure should come at a time like this.’

Adrian walked down the corridor to his own office, the realization growing of how close he had come to being removed from the debriefing. Sir Jocelyn did doubt him, of course, which is why he felt he had to give the warning. So the possibility still existed that he would be reassigned. He wondered if the hollowness were hunger or something else, the accusation of failure at one thing he had always been fragilely confident of doing well.

The office was empty when he entered and he looked at the clock. Miss Aimes had left forty-five minutes early. He sighed and wrote ‘Miss Aimes’ on the jotter, knowing he would not raise it with her the following day. Perhaps she would see it on the reminder pad and know he intended to and behave differently in the future. He knew she wouldn’t do that, either. ‘Soon,’ he promised himself, ‘I’ll do something soon.’

The questions were in the safe and he glanced at them, noting the similarity to those posed to Bennovitch. He returned them, for collection the following morning on his way to Sussex and then stood, ready to leave the office.

At least Miss Aimes hadn’t seen him wearing yesterday’s shirt. Anita would, though, because he didn’t have time to change and now the shops were closed, so he couldn’t buy another one.

As he walked from the room, he looked hopefully at the window-sill, just in case. It was deserted.

‘They took him out by a roundabout route,’ said Kaganov. ‘He went by road to Versailles and then to Brussels, by helicopter.’

‘And by NATO helicopter to England,’ finished Minevsky, expectantly.

The chairman nodded.

‘So he’s there,’ mused Heirar. He sounded relieved.

‘Yes.’

‘How long before we seek consular access?’ asked Minevsky.

‘I’ve decided to delay it,’ said Kaganov. ‘I thought we’d wait a further twenty-four hours, giving a full three days.’

‘Yes,’ said Minevsky, ‘It would probably be better.’

Heirar nodded, in silent agreement.