The Lost American

Chapter Ten

The response of the American President to the supposed new Soviet initiative was an example of consummate diplomacy and consummate diplomacy is impossible without matching, consummate intelligence. Which was Blair’s intelligence. Washington delayed replying for two weeks, robbing Serada of any chance of achieving a surge of international momentum. And when that reply came it was the result of an intensive fortnight of work, by both State Department officials at Foggy Bottom and US peace negotiators at Geneva, guided by what Blair provided. The Soviet proposals were displayed point by point and their failings and unacceptability listed against those points and that intelligence. The US reply was delivered simultaneously to the Soviet embassy on Washington’s Sixteenth Street and to the Geneva conference.

What followed was further impressive, politically. Before Serada had an opportunity to make a second television appearance in anticipation of a US rejection, the American President made a prime-time TV appearance of his own, with a European hook-up, in which the offer was dealt with more generally – because some of the unacceptable issues were diplomatically esoteric – but from which it was quite clear that America had no alternative other than the stance it was taking and that despite extensive rephrasing, a lot of the Russian offer was old and already dismissed from the negotiations with the proveable agreement of both sides.

The politics continued to be impressive. Nowhere was there the slightest criticism or accusation in the American President’s speech, no apparent attempt to gain an advantage from such obvious Soviet manoeuvring. Throughout the US reply the tone was studiously that of a world statesman, which had precisely the intended effect of diminishing Serada’s stature.

And on it went. The news of the Soviet container ship chartering was leaked – clearly through liaison Brinkman recognised – in London. The Lloyds insurance cover was the key. At once Ottawa confirmed the wheat deal – further liaison, Brinkman guessed – under supposed pressure from diplomatic correspondents.

From the White House the President declared his sympathy – not outrage – at the Russian move, in view of the understood grain shortages within the country, quoting the publicly announced reshuffling within the agricultural ministry as confirmation of an internal difficulty. Humanity overrode ideologies and differences and for that reason the United States offered substantially to increase shipments beyond the already contracted and agreed amounts to relieve any suffering the country was experiencing: the fact that common humanity overrode ideologies and differences was repeated here, in case anyone had missed the point.

Demolishing completely the Russian leader’s ploy, the President said his offer was formally being communicated that day to the Russian leadership not only through their Sixteenth Street residence but also through the US embassy in Moscow and that he looked forward to an early and obvious agreement, because what other responsibility did a government have than to help the people it was in office to serve? In anticipation of that unquestioned acceptance he was allocating special rail transportation from the Mid-West storage hoppers so that wheat would be available immediately at ports, reducing to an absolute minimum any delay in shipments once the formal request came from Moscow. Newsweek carried a cover story, calling him ‘Humanity’s man’ and public opinion polls showed his popularity to be higher than at any time since directly after the election.

Brinkman realised the Central Committee elections were important, avid when the announcement came, isolating Orlov among the three newcomers and identifying him certainly as the youngest. The luncheons between himself and Blair – alternating between the safety of their respective embassies – became regular, weekly affairs and Brinkman learned at the older – and still more experienced – man’s knee. At first he wondered if the advised and recommended indicators weren’t too simplistic but he followed them anyway because he didn’t know any alternative and he acknowledged the American’s expertise in such a closed society.

Absence – explained or otherwise – was identified by Blair as a prime clue which was why Brinkman concentrated upon the arrival of a Cuban delegation which included Raoul Castro and in so doing did not rely upon Soviet television because of the ease with which the coverage could be controlled, but instead actually taking the trouble to go out to the airport for the ceremony, which Tass, the official news agency and Pravda had earlier announced Serada would be heading.

Serada didn’t appear.

And because his unexplained absence was disguised on the television coverage, Brinkman was able to get the message to London in advance of the speculative news stories, speculation which was heightened by the TV manipulation.

Blair hadn’t been at the airport, which enabled Brinkman the feeling of superior satisfaction when the American called seeking confirmation of the Soviet leader’s definite absence before committing himself but Blair had an exchange to offer, unusual and interestingly late-night arrivals and departures of official Zil cars from the Kremlin, another seemingly innocuous indicator but according to Blair an important one. Brinkman messaged London – rigidly restricting himself to the facts, not offering any opinion – and was glad he did because the following day came the brief formal announcement that Ivan Serada was being hospitalised for tests for an undisclosed indisposition. No acting deputy was nominated but at London’s request for advice, Brinkman predicted Chebrakin, because he calculated the military were important. He accompanied the message with as full a profile as possible upon the man and two days later got his confirmation when Chebrakin emerged as the host at a government reception for the still-visiting Cubans. Blair’s later admission – because that was how close they were now – that he’d backed the outsider in Didenko gave Brinkman more satisfaction than the hero-gram from Maxwell. Brinkman conceded it had been a horse-race and no one – not them, at least – had been sufficiently on the inside to back the winner with any certainty. But Blair, the acknowledged pundit had gone for an outsider and Brinkman, the punter, had wagered on the favourite and won. Luck, certainly: but everyone needed luck at the races.

It was for Brinkman a period of exhilaration, not simply – or even predominantly – because he appeared to be so consistently right but because he had the impression of being at the centre of developments he was able to anticipate: he was a surfer on the highest of high rollers, able always perfectly to judge the break and catch it just right and ride it into the shore, close enough for the beach of accuracy to stop off without his feet getting wet.

The ambassador confirmed the reputation he was establishing in London – not offended because Brinkman had usurped the man’s function as the proper political analyst – at the monthly gathering.

The monthly gathering was an innovation of Sir Oliver Brace, the attempt at democracy – where serf could address lord – and be sure that all was well upon the estate.

It was held at the embassy, the only place of convenient size, the atmosphere glued with embarrassment. Brinkman’s existing successes made it easier: and there had been sufficient offers invoking the friendship of his father anyway to make the encounter easier for him than it might have been for most.

‘Gather we follow similar paths in thinking?’ offered Brace, when everyone arrived and the gathering was established giving him a respite from playing party host.

‘I’m sorry, sir?’ Brinkman had expected the approach before now, the demand why the earlier offers had not been acknowledged and responded to.

‘Get the impression that we’re interpreting certain developments in the same way.’

That wasn’t an impression at all, thought Brinkman. That was the playback from London against his political assessment, compared to the ambassador’s. Had Brace got it wrong and gone for Gushkov or Didenko? Enjoying the taste of the cliche, he said, ‘These are interesting times.’

‘If we get them right.’

‘If we get them right indeed,’ agreed Brinkman. This was going to be an easier game than it ever was with Blair. Despite their now-confirmed friendship, there was always a reserve from the American, a slight holding back. Just – Brinkman conceded – as he always held slightly back. Lie, he thought. His holding back wasn’t slight, at all.

‘Imagine some changes soon?’ pressed the embassador.

‘How do you see the situation?’ said Brinkman, turning the question.

‘I’d like to know whether Serada’s illness is medical or political.’

‘Little doubt about that, is there?’ said Brinkman, continuing the role of questioner without expressing an opinion of his own.

‘That’s the problem with trying to interpret events in the Soviet Union,’ said the ambassador, philosophically. ‘There’s always doubt.’

Brinkman had already filed the opinion to London. Knowing he wasn’t disclosing anything the ambassador might take for his own, Brinkman said ‘Serada’s got to be on his way out. And I think Chebrakin will be the successor.’

‘Chebrakin!’ pounced the ambassador, confirming Brinkman’s guess that the man had suggested somebody else.

‘But like you said,’ reminded Brinkman, ‘there’s always doubt.’

‘Been very impressed the way you’ve settled in here,’ said Brace. ‘Very impressed indeed. An asset to the embassy. Imagine London thinks so too. Heard from your father lately?’

‘Not for some time,’ said Brinkman.

‘Give him my regards’ said the ambassador.

‘I will, sir,’ said Brinkman. ‘And thank you, for what you said.’

‘Nothing but the truth,’ said the ambassador. ‘Nothing but the truth. And don’t forget what I’ve already told you. Always willing to help.’

‘I won’t forget,’ assured Brinkman. He didn’t then anticipate how quickly the occasion would arise.

‘You’ve lionised him!’ said Betty Harrison. The Canadian tried to make it a mock protest but Ann guessed there was an element of feeling in what the woman said. Betty coveted the role of the grande dame of the diplomatic wives and would imagine it was to her salon that Brinkman should pay court.

‘We haven’t,’ she said. ‘He and Eddie just seem to get on well.’ She felt a bubble of satisfaction at the other woman’s jealousy.

‘What about you?’ said Betty archly.

‘We both went to Cambridge, although not at the same time. Seem to have a few mutual acquaintances, though’, said Ann.

‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ said the other woman.

Ann, who understood fully what the Canadian had meant, laughed dismissively, refusing to become gossip fodder. ‘I think he is very amusing and great company at a party. But he doesn’t attract me in the slightest.’

‘I don’t believe you!’ said Betty. ‘Have you seen those hands?’

Ann had. And wondered idly how Brinkman appeared to be able to stay so apparently hard-bodied when he didn’t take any exercise that she knew of and the boyish way he had of flicking the dark hair back from his forehead. But only in the way of noticing things about a friend with whom she was frequently in close contact. She hadn’t lied to Betty. The thought of any physical attraction had never arisen in her mind.

‘He doesn’t seem too interested in getting involved with anyone, does he?’ said Ann, carelessly.

Betty seized the remark, able to see several meanings in everything. ‘You don’t think he’s strange, do you?’

‘Strange?’ frowned Ann, not immediately understanding.

‘You know, strange,’ prompted Betty.

‘You mean gay!’ said Ann at last. ‘No, of course I don’t think he’s gay!’ Poor man, she thought, it was like being picked over by a hyena.

‘He dropped Sharon Berring like a hot potato,’ said Betty, warming to her theme.

‘He did not drop her like a hot potato,’ said Ann, conscious that she was in at the beginning of what Betty was rapidly formulating into the week’s top story. ‘He just didn’t submit to having the choice made for him.’

‘How do you know?’ demanded Betty at once.

Ann sighed, mildly irritated by the interrogation. ‘I don’t know ,’ she said. ‘I just guessed. It seemed obvious.’

Betty stared at her friend with her head cocked artificially, in obvious disbelief. ‘How’s Eddie?’ she said.

This was getting ridiculous, thought Ann. Openly to lose her temper would be a mistake. ‘Fine,’ she said. Was that true? Ann thought, letting her mind slip sideways. He was fine, physically, and she knew sufficient about the government changes to understand that he should be preoccupied but there had been times recently when she felt he had been closing up against her. Not recently, she thought, self-annoyed at the conscious vagueness. She could date precisely the beginning of her impression, from the moment when he agreed they should try for a baby. And they weren’t doing that as often as she had hoped, although the work preoccupation could be a reason for his tiredness. And certainly not with any success. Ann knew her attitude was illogical – you didn’t become pregnant just by wanting to become pregnant – but she’d expected something to have happened, by now. Maybe she should go back to the embassy doctor, to try to discover if there was a problem.

‘Just fine?’ said Betty, still allowing the disbelief.

‘Absolutely and utterly fine,’ said Ann, controlling herself. She was glad now that at the beginning, when she was enjoying the other woman’s jealousy, she had not boasted about the tickets she had particularly got to surprise Brinkman for the new production at the Bolshoi.

That night in bed she said to Blair, ‘You know what I think about Betty Harrison?’

‘What?’

‘I think she poisonous. I don’t think she spreads rumours, I think she makes them up.’

‘What about?’ asked the American.

‘Whatever takes her fancy,’ said Ann.

‘I thought you liked her,’ he said mildly.

‘I do’ said Ann, confusingly. ‘But I don’t think I’d trust her.’

She waited, hopefully, but felt him turn away.

‘Goodnight,’ he said.

‘Goodnight.’