Goodbye to an Old Friend

Chapter Eight

Adrian travelled with Pavel in a chauffeur-driven car, leaving his own vehicle at Pulborough for collection the following day. They went a roundabout route, going east into Kent and then looping back, approaching London from the Maidstone direction.

It was a bright, sharp night, the stars set into the sky like jewelled buttons.

Pavel slumped in the seat alongside Adrian, staring up.

‘Hundreds of millions of miles away,’ he said softly. ‘Look at them. Some we know about, some we don’t. They just glitter there, the winning posts for a race of giants. I wonder if it really matters who gets there first. Or whether anybody gets there at all.’

‘That’s an odd doubt, coming from someone like you,’ said Adrian.

Pavel looked at him in the darkened car. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘I just make it possible. I don’t say whether it should be done.’

He twisted, looking out through the darkened rear window.

‘Are we alone?’

Adrian remembered his nervousness. ‘No,’ he said, ‘of course not. There are two cars, one in front, one behind. There’s no risk.’

‘Very professional,’ said Pavel. ‘I can’t make out either of them.’

‘They wouldn’t be much good, if you could, would they?’ remarked Adrian, mildly. He felt hungry and wondered if the canteen would be open when they arrived. Probably not. But there was always that French restaurant near the B.O.A.C. terminal at Victoria. He’d taken Anita there on one of their first dates, trying to impress her with his worldliness, insisting on ordering the meal and the wine in French, like an A-level schoolboy. No, not quite like an A-level schoolboy. His accent was better. Yes, La Bicyclette would be nice. He’d go there, even if the canteen were open. A French meal and a bottle of wine and a headache in the morning and damn them all. In his mind he parodied Ebbetts’s hectoring tones: ‘The condemned man ate a hearty meal, took the bill to put on his expenses and even had a brandy.’ He might even have two brandies.

He looked at the dashboard clock glowing ahead of him. They’d be in that comfortable flat now, overlooking the Thames and they’d be drinking brandy, too, Anne probably holding her glass out, registering her dominance, Anita fluttering from the drinks trolley, eager to please, like a newly wed housewife. He paused at the thought. I suppose she is, really, he decided.

‘Will we come back tonight?’

Adrian jumped. ‘What?’

‘Will we come back tonight?’ repeated the Russian.

‘No. It’s already arranged. We’ll stay in London and then travel down to see Alexandre tomorrow.’

He hesitated, then added, ‘We’ve decided to take your advice. Tomorrow we’ll travel by helicopter. We decided there was enough time to use the car tonight.’

It had been Adrian’s idea, when he realized that to stay overnight would mean travelling back in daylight, with more chance of detection.

They arrived in London just before eleven and Adrian’s intention to have a French meal collapsed with the summons to see Binns in his office. It had been decided that Adrian should not attend the interview with Pavel although the Russian had demanded that he be accompanied.

The risk of a British debriefing expert, even one about to be fired, being recognized and marked by a member of the Russian embassy had to be avoided.

The Permanent Secretary nodded curtly and indicated his usual chair and Adrian realized his dismissal had not been reconsidered.

‘Not a very edifying meeting this afternoon, was it?’ he said, the stutter jerking the words from him.

‘No,’ agreed Adrian.

‘We detected little sympathy in some of your remarks.’

Adrian noted the ‘we’. So Binns had listened with the Prime Minister and others.

‘I wasn’t aware I was employed to show sympathy,’ retorted Adrian, disregarding the usual respect. Why the hell should he sit and take criticism from everyone? His thoughts stopped. Why the hell? — that phrase wouldn’t have come to mind a few days ago. But then, neither would the thought of getting drunk on French wine and brandy have appealed, either.

‘I thought the only need was speed: milk the man dry and then play international politics with him and Bennovitch, like disposable chess pieces.’

Binns noticeably winced. Adrian realized that the gap between them was widening at every meeting.

‘That is the point,’ agreed the Permanent Secretary, trying to compete. ‘But you don’t seem to be achieving it. What was the result of today’s meeting? Nothing.’

‘I acted today under instructions,’ snapped Adrian. He was reddening and stumbling over his words, but curiously, like a man getting drunk for the first time, he found himself enjoying anger. He didn’t have to worry about conforming any more. There was no feeling of sickness now or the need to go to the lavatory.

Not yet, anyway.

‘On your instructions,’ he continued, his voice rising. ‘I told Pavel of the request of his embassy. At your request, I gave him every assistance and he wanted to come immediately, which is why I phoned you from Pulborough and set it up, and why there was no debriefing today. It’s not my way of conducting the debriefing.’

Binns was sitting with his head lowered and for a long time he did not respond. When he looked up, his face was twisted, as if he were in physical pain.

‘It’s split us up, this thing, hasn’t it?’ he asked, not needing an answer. ‘In less than a week, we’ve become enemies almost. And we were friends. We had a mutual respect that went beyond the job, but now we’re people on either side of a fence. I never thought that would happen.’

He stopped, for a moment. Then he said, ‘That’s bad, very bad.’

He sounded extremely sad.

Adrian’s truculence disappeared. He felt embarrassed.

‘I’m sorry, too,’ he said and meant it. He wished he could have put it better.

‘I argued against your dismissal,’ said Binns. ‘No one, no team such as we were can gauge every situation. You’ve brought out nearly everything with Bennovitch and I’m sure, in the end, it would have been a complete debriefing, with nothing undisclosed. You’ve achieved quite a lot with Pavel. I made the points, as strongly as I could, to the P.M.’

Adrian noted that the impediment had disappeared. Was it possible to recross broken bridges?

‘But then there was the meeting …’ went on Binns.

‘… and I opposed him,’ finished Adrian. ‘I was impertinent and unconvincing and made myself look stupid. But surely if I’m right, then he’ll admit he’s wrong?’

Binns laughed aloud, a rare thing, and Adrian noticed a lot of his teeth were bad. Perhaps he was frightened of the dentist.

‘Oh,’ said Adrian, accepting the unspoken contradiction. Secretly he still hoped for the miracle, the sudden move that would prove his doubts were correct, even though he was now unsure about them. Now, it seemed, it wouldn’t matter. Ebbetts was never wrong. Never.

‘I see Pavel asked to be accompanied,’ said Binns.

Adrian nodded. ‘We’ll get a full report by morning,’ he said. ‘I know the two men with him.’

‘What do you think?’

Adrian looked at the man who had been his friend for fifteen years. If he were to preserve his integrity, he had to be honest.

‘I think I was wrong,’ he said.

Binns jerked up, faced with an answer he hadn’t expected.

‘I didn’t …’ he began and stopped.

‘I believed there was something wrong about Pavel’s defection,’ continued Adrian. ‘I still do. It’s still too illogical for a man like that. But he’s genuine about his family. I spent six hours with that man today. I’ve never seen anyone more sincerely torn apart by fear of what is going to happen to his wife and children than he is.’

Binns stared at him. ‘Where does that leave you and your suspicions?’ he asked, finally.

Adrian felt tears coming and fought them, coughing repeatedly to explain the way he spoke.

‘God only knows,’ he admitted. ‘Perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps I’m wrong and Ebbetts is right and I deserve to be replaced because I’m no longer any good.’

Binns looked away, recognizing the emotion and wanting to spare his assistant. What the hell do men come into this business for, he thought. But Adrian had changed his mind. His doubts were wavering and that was a factor to be considered and so he’d have to tell the Prime Minister. But not now, not tonight. He could wait until the morning. It wouldn’t make any difference now.

‘By the way,’ said Binns. ‘There’s been a complaint.’

Adrian looked at him curiously.

‘The maintenance department,’ continued the Permanent Secretary. ‘They say you’ve defaced the window-sill of your office.’

‘It’s chocolate,’ said Adrian.

‘Chocolate?’

‘There was a pigeon. I put chocolate biscuits out for it.’

‘Oh.’

‘It won’t happen again,’ promised Adrian. ‘The pigeon’s gone away.’