Albatross (16 page)

Natalia had never looked more appealing; she had brushed out her hair, letting it flow round her shoulders, and her beguiling body was lightly clothed in a thin silk dress that clung and showed the shape of breast and thigh to Borisov when she moved.

She had prepared him dinner and filled his glass again and again with wine. Her scent was pervasive, her touch constant and suggestive. Watching her, Borisov felt the ache of desire. She came to him, murmuring erotic words of love play, unbuttoning his shirt, touching him with hands that were skilful and sensitive to every tension in his body. He took her to the bedroom and they made love. She drowsed with her head on his shoulder, and he lay awake looking at the shadows on the ceiling overhead. When she woke, she switched on the light and smiled in contentment at him. ‘You're the best lover in the world,' she said. ‘The strongest – the best –' She leaned over him again. Later still she brought him wine and placed a lighted cigarette between his lips. Curled up beside him on the bed, she said, ‘You promised to tell me about Major Rakovsky –'

‘Ah, yes,' Borisov agreed. ‘So I did. He had a purposeful walk, you said, my darling. You were right, as always. I had just given him some important instructions. If he does well, it will mean promotion.'

‘What does he have to do?'

‘Rescue one of our agents from a British prison,' Igor said. ‘Harrington – you know the man.'

‘Oh! But weren't the British interrogating him about Albatross?' she questioned. ‘Isn't it very dangerous to attempt a rescue?'

‘Not as dangerous as letting the SIS find out who Albatross is,' he answered.

‘But you said you were going to replace him,' Natalia demurred. ‘You said he wasn't useful any more because he'd be discovered sooner or later.'

‘Your memory has always amazed me,' he said gently. He stroked her cheek with one finger. ‘You remember every word I say, Natalia. You're right again; I am going to replace Albatross. In due time. In due time I shall put another agent in his place. Would you like to know who it's going to be?'

‘If you'll tell me,' she whispered. Her eyes were wide, sparkling with interest.

‘I'll tell you,' Borisov said gently. ‘If you'll tell me something. How long have you been spying on me for Rudzenko?'

She lost every vestige of colour. Her face changed to a deathly white, and the wide eyes opened and closed as if she were going to faint. Borisov got up. She stayed on the bed, half crouching, looking up at him. At last she said, ‘Igor – what do you mean?' And terror turned her voice into a croak.

‘You are Yuri Rudzenko's spy,' Borisov said quietly. ‘One of the little pool of whores he keeps in reserve to inform on his enemies. When did he recruit you, Natalia? After you began working for me, or before? Tell me. Hold nothing back. He forced you, didn't he? Blackmailed you? Tell me how it happened.'

He had dressed while he was speaking. She opened her mouth and wetted her dry lips. He saw the nervous swallowing in her full throat. There was a red mark on it where he had bitten lightly into the white skin.

The tears began to fall. ‘He made me do it,' she said. ‘He threatened me. He said he'd punish my family if I refused.…' She was crying like a waterfall; Borisov had never seen such a volume of tears. Niobe, he thought dispassionately, whose tears became a river.… She slid off the bed and came towards him; she knelt and clutched at his legs, naked and begging at his feet. ‘Forgive me, oh, forgive me, Igor, my love, my darling … I didn't mean it, I was so frightened, I didn't know how to tell you.… Oh, forgive me.… Kill me if you like, but say you forgive me for what I've done.…'

Borisov leaned down and helped her up. ‘Get dressed,' he said quietly.

She did as she was told. She was shaking so badly that she couldn't fasten the buttons on the silk dress. Borisov poured a glass of wine and sipped it thoughtfully.

‘Rudzenko didn't threaten you,' he remarked. ‘Your family weren't in danger. You didn't betray me out of fear. You were recruited five years ago, by one of my colleagues who was a Rudzenko man. You went to Tashkent to train when you were only nineteen. It's not a place where anyone would expect to find a school for spies and
agents provocateurs
. That's why it was established. They taught you how to look after a man there, didn't they? How to memorize and collect information, how to be an efficient secretary … how to lie and flatter and insinuate yourself into your quarry's confidence. You learned very well, my little Natalia. You were set to catch me, and you succeeded. Was it money? Did they put money aside for you? What was the reason? I'm curious, tell me why you did this?'

She was standing in front of him, her hands clasped, her face distorted with tears and for a moment he thought she was going to throw herself down and beg again.

Suddenly she straightened up. With a hand visibly trembling, she wiped her eyes, pushed the wild hair out of the way and took a breath to steady herself. ‘Can I have a drink?' she said.

He nodded. ‘Help yourself.'

She turned back to him and said, ‘I've been a coward. It was the shock, you caught me unawares. And I was told to go to pieces if I was discovered … just in case you'd believe me. Why did I agree to work for Rudzenko? Because I believe in his Russia, Igor, not in yours. That's why.'

‘You are a Stalinist?' he inquired.

‘I am a Stalinist.' She drank the vodka down.

‘I loved you as a man,' she said softly. ‘As a Communist who was betraying the Revolution, I worked against you. That's all I have to say. Now, I suppose, I'm to go to the Lubyanka.'

‘No,' Borisov said. ‘You are not going to be arrested, Natalia. Rudzenko is not going to know that his agent has been discovered.'

Fear showed on her face again. He thought suddenly, furiously, that she looked sallow and ugly; his rage shocked him. He was glad that he would soon be out of the flat or he might have lost control of himself.

‘What are you going to do?' she said.

‘I'm going to tell you what you wanted to know,' he answered, and he got up. ‘The name of the person who will replace Albatross.' He said it, and went to the door. ‘But you won't be able to tell Rudzenko this time.' He opened the door and she saw two men standing outside. He heard her little gasp of fear as they went inside and he closed the door and left her with them.

Natalia died at 3 a.m. Twenty sleeping tablets and three-quarters of a bottle of vodka were syphoned into her stomach by one of the men while the other restrained her. They held her down on the bed till she lost consciousness. After an hour, one took her pulse, nodded to his companion and they settled down in the small sitting room to wait.

A final inspection showed that she had vomited and choked to death while she was unconscious. Silently they left the flat and slipped out of the entrance, watched by the old
dezhurnaya
in her cubicle. She had seen them come in and go out, but there would be no entry in her book for the police detailing the movement of all occupants of the building. She had been shown the shield with the crossed swords.

When the girl was found dead of an overdose the next day, it was reported as a suicide. Borisov went home to his wife in the evening for the first time in almost a year. He sent a private word of thanks to Zerkhov for his warning about Rudzenko's agent and stated that the matter had been dealt with. He was silent and unapproachable for a long time, and several times he wept when he was alone. She was dead. But he had loved her.

‘She said she was leaving,' Charlie Kidson said. ‘And then she sort of took it back. I had the feeling she didn't want to talk about the job, or Tony Walden. She went rather red when I asked if he was the reason she didn't marry Colin.'

John looked up sharply. ‘Is there something going on there?'

‘Not that Davy would admit.' Charlie shrugged. ‘You know what she's like. She'd hate a messy situation. Living with Colin and fancying somebody else. But I think she rather likes him. If she
is
leaving, John, what does that mean?'

‘Not much. Except where does she go next? Back to the office, I suspect, having done the Chief's dirty work for him. She denied ever having been to Anne's Yard – that proves she's on to something.'

‘She made an odd remark about having no friends,' Charlie said. ‘Only Peter Harrington used to take her round to the pub, till he handed her over to the KGB. She's very bitter, darling, and she can't hide it. She wouldn't listen to the idea of taking on the top job. She spoke about that very sourly too. She didn't think you'd fancy sending other people out to take the risks – that's what she said.'

‘She's always had a chip on her shoulder,' John Kidson remarked. ‘About you, about her parents, about herself – then Sasanov. She hates the Chief; she says she hasn't a friend in the office after working there for fifteen years – what the bloody hell's the matter with her? Doesn't she ever think it might be some of her fault?'

‘I don't think Colin helps,' she said suddenly. ‘He's very chippy too, you know. All these Army specialist people have the same attitude; a sort of contempt for everyone outside their little world. I think they sit together criticizing and carping about Sir James, and the office – undoubtedly you and I come in for a fair bit – I can just imagine Davy going back and saying how extravagant I am. I don't think she's after that job, darling. I don't disagree that she's probably working on something; she's very devious, always has been, but I don't think she's a serious rival to you. She's too full of grievance to be credible.'

Kidson didn't answer for a moment. ‘She is, isn't she,' he said. ‘Grievance with a capital G. She goes to the office on a forged pass; she denies having been near the place to you. She's gunning for somebody, and somebody has put her up to it. I've made up my mind, Charlie. I'm going to take the damned bull by the horns. I'm going to see the Chief and tell him what I've found out. If he's using her to undercut me, I'm going to let him know I know it. If he isn't, and it's Humphrey – well, that puts me in a strong position. Either way I'm going to call his bluff. And Davina's!'

Charlie didn't say anything for a while; she watched her husband. He was agitated, moving restlessly in the chair as if he couldn't sit still for long. It was unlike him to lose his equanimity; he was naturally calm, even placid when he was at home. She had seen him through several crises, including the desperate days in Mexico. He was far more on edge since they saw her sister coming out of the cul-de-sac leading to the office.

‘She's gunning for somebody.' Charlie got up and poured a glass of white wine for herself. Almost casually she said over her shoulder, ‘Do you think she's after you, John?'

He jerked, as if she had slapped him. He said, ‘What the hell do you mean by that?'

‘I mean, is she investigating you?' Charlie said quietly. ‘I know you, you're not just worried about the job. I told you, she isn't interested. She wouldn't take it if it was offered. So what are you afraid of?'

He stood up. ‘Charlie,' he said, ‘just stop this, will you? You don't know what you're talking about, so just stop it!'

‘All right,' she shrugged. ‘But I know a lot more than you think, John. If you are in trouble, I want to help if I can, that's all.'

‘Well, it's very sweet of you, darling,' he said angrily. ‘If I'm working for the Russians, you don't mind – is that what you're saying?'

‘If you are,' his wife said, ‘I'd mind very much but it'd be better to tell me.'

‘For Christ's sake,' he shouted at her and then stopped. She faced him calmly. He had never in his life laid a hand in anger on a woman. He came close to doing it then.

‘I think we'll drop the subject,' he said. ‘I'm going out for a bit. Just don't bring it up again when I come back, will you?'

‘Not if it upsets you like this,' Charlie remarked. ‘Don't be late for dinner; I've got something rather nice.' She went back to the sofa and sat down.

He slammed the door as he went out. Charlie sipped her wine. They had never had a serious quarrel before. She had never seen him so angry, and under the anger she sensed something else. Was it fear? Was it disappointment that she should doubt him and say so? Was he shocked at her lack of moral principle? She didn't know the answer, but she was convinced of one thing as she sat alone, waiting for him to come back. She was happy and in love, with a child and a good marriage. Davina was posing a threat to it. That had to be stopped. By the time John Kidson came back from a long walk and a stop at a pub, she was so sweet and conciliatory that he found himself apologizing.

Colin Lomax booked into a motel twelve miles outside Shropwith. He spent the first two days studying the layout of the town itself and the main roads leading to the motorway. He frequented the pubs and got into conversation with the barmaid in one and a convivial married couple in another. He was thinking of setting up in a small business in the area, he said. He'd been looking at empty shop properties. Antiques, bric-à-brac, not too expensive, a quick, cheap turnover. His listeners were fascinated. He praised the town and the district; he invented a wife and two small children, and then said that his only concern was the open prison being so near. The married couple, Jim and Wendy, as they insisted he call them, went out of their way to allay his fears for his family's safety. It was a very good place; there hadn't been one instance of an escapee breaking into a house or doing anything to frighten anyone. The last prisoner to walk out had wandered round for two days and then gone back and given himself up. It wasn't a centre where sex offenders or violent criminals were ever sent. How tight was the security? Lomax wondered, not convinced. They had to admit that it was almost nonexistent. The barmaid was more explicit. ‘No, luv,' she said. ‘They come in here once a week on the bus, do their bit of shopping, and go back again. You wouldn't know they weren't the same as us if you saw one of them wandering about. They've got their warders with them, but it's all very friendly like, and they wear their own clothes.'