Comrade Charlie (15 page)

Blackstone found a public kiosk about three miles outside Newport and as Losev had promised the telephone was answered quickly, on the second ring, although not by the Russian he knew. Blackstone identified himself and said: ‘I've got something.'

‘We'll come to collect,' said the voice.

16

It was better now. He didn't feel good about it – he knew the enormity of what he was doing and the horrifying danger he faced in doing it – but as the days and then the weeks passed Emil Krogh lost the hollow-stomached terror of that first exchange encounter with Petrin on the San Francisco wharf. He was becoming accustomed to it, Krogh guessed. Or maybe it was because he could see an end to it: another month and it would be over. Christ, wouldn't that be a wonderful moment! Everything over. Finished. He'd be safe again. The Russian had been pretty reassuring about that: talked about their watching and monitoring the meeting places, checking it all out before making a move, every time. There'd been a lot of meeting places. The wharf, a couple of more times. Hotels, in the city and a motel, across in Berkeley. A roadside rest area, over the Golden Gate Bridge. Always the same, protective routine: he getting there first and waiting for Petrin's approach which wouldn't come until they were sure. Like today.

It was the wharf again, the pier-end restaurant with the view of the bay and the tourist helicopter fluttering over Alcatraz. Krogh got there right on time and said he'd wait at the table for his guest and ordered a martini with a lemon twist, very dry with no ice. It was good and he tasted the burn of the gin and felt the tension ease off slightly. Two helicopters passed each other, going to and from the island penitentiary no longer in use. Was it there that they'd sent people who did what he was doing, when it had been a prison? Krogh didn't think so but he wasn't sure. Maybe there was a special place, all spies together. That's what he was, Krogh accepted. A spy against his own country, the sort of crime they'd executed people for, not so long ago. All because of the damned girls. Whores, both of them. Something else that had to end. Not yet, not until this business was well and truly over. One thing at a time. But certainly kiss them off. He hadn't seen either Barbara or Cindy much, since it had started: Cindy a couple of times, because he'd been in Los Angeles anyway, Barbara on two or three afternoons when she wasn't at art school. He thought Barbara was already getting the message, acting extra nice to him, eager to please. Barbara first, he decided. Then Cindy. No hassle, no hard feelings. Give them a few bucks, plenty of time to look around and find themselves somewhere else to live. He guessed there'd be crying scenes because that was the way it went, but that was all. They both knew the score: knew it had to happen some time. Krogh felt an odd relief at the decision to get rid of them. He didn't think he'd look around for anyone to replace them, either: pointless to get out of one blackmail situation and create another. Might as well go on as he was. Which he wouldn't, Krogh determined, positively. Time he straightened himself out, stopped acting like a jerk.

Petrin advanced easily through the restaurant, smiling slightly, very self-assured, and sat down in the facing chair.

‘You've been lost in thought,' said the Russian, confirming at once the protective observation.

‘I'd say I had a lot to think about, wouldn't you?' said Krogh.

‘But not to worry about,' said Petrin.

‘So you keep telling me,' said the American.

‘I want you to believe it,' said Petrin sincerely. He'd heard from Moscow three days before of the official commendation going on his KGB record and considered Krogh very important to his career. ‘What is it today?'

‘Gyro housings: the system is equipped with two sets, with a third for emergency. This is the first.'

‘That's very good,' said Petrin.

Krogh believed he was being patronized and it irritated him. He said: ‘It'll only take about another month: that was one of the things I was thinking about.'

‘And it's gone as smoothly as I promised it would, hasn't it?'

‘I want it to be over,' said Krogh.

There was a break while they ordered and it enabled Petrin time to reflect. Poor fool, thought the Russian, although without the slightest genuine sympathy. Krogh was theirs – more precisely
his
– to do with what they liked when they liked and how they liked. From now on Moscow had permanent access to every US classified document or defence contract with which Krogh and his company ever became associated, a forever-bubbling spring of secret information that Petrin was going to do his best to see never dried up. Because Petrin had already recognized the personal benefit that went way beyond the most recent commendation. That, he'd decided, was just the first of many that was going to come from each new disclosure he was going to get from this man, long after all Star Wars material. Which was not the end of that personal benefit. To remain Krogh's case officer would naturally entail his staying on in Los Angeles long after his expected tour of duty would normally have finished. Which Petrin, who liked America and the Californian climate and most of all the Californian girls, was more than happy to do. He said: ‘I liked the cover article, in
Newsweek
.'

So had Krogh, despite what was happening to him. The photograph had been very good, making him look younger than he was, and the focus of the main article was of his epitomizing the American dream, the thrusting shopfloor worker rising to become the millionaire boss. With forced modesty Krogh shrugged and said: ‘It was OK.'

‘Help me with something beyond the drawings,' said Petrin. ‘How's the actual construction work going?'

Krogh had wondered how long this sort of questioning would take: the bastard could go to hell. He said: ‘Well enough.'

‘That's not a direct answer, Emil.' The Russian had discarded the supposed politeness of surnames after the first meeting.

‘That's the best there is,' insisted Krogh.

‘No major snags or hold-ups?' persisted Petrin.

‘No.'

‘Not at all?'

‘Not so far.'

Petrin stopped the impatience becoming obvious: he didn't want, this soon in their relationship, to have to let Krogh know he didn't have any independence any more. For the moment Krogh had to be allowed to retain some slight degree of self-respect. Petrin said: ‘So what's the scheduled launch date?'

‘It's too soon to be firm on that,' Krogh continued to evade. ‘There still could too easily be hold-ups we can't anticipate. There's a lot of shopfloor testing to go through yet.'

‘Provisionally then?' pressed Petrin.

‘Maybe a year.'

‘The Pentagon wouldn't go along with something as vague as that, Emil, would they?' said Petrin, finally deciding there had to be some correction after all. ‘I know and you know that on a document or in a letter I haven't seen yet there's a suggested date when this thing is going to be put into space. So what is it?'

The man
was
a bastard, slapping him down like some junior clerk. Miserably he said: ‘September, next year.'

‘How's Barbara?' said Petrin. ‘And Cindy?'

‘I don't want to talk about them,' refused Krogh.

‘Well then I think it's important that you talk to me properly about other things when I ask,' said Petrin. ‘I don't want to have to prise things out like that in future. You understand?'

Krogh flushed with anger but their food arrived, delaying the response. Krogh had only ordered Cobb salad and he pushed it aside almost at once. Lying, he said: ‘I wasn't trying to be difficult.'

‘It wouldn't benefit anyone for you to be, would it?' said Petrin. ‘There's nothing to be gained by us falling out, is there?'

Patronizing again, thought Krogh. He said: ‘What the hell do you expect! For us to be friends?'

‘Why not?' said Petrin, open-faced. ‘We've got to work together, haven't we?'

‘Only for about another month, like I said.'

Now was as convenient a moment as any, thought the Russian. He said: ‘We'll still have to meet regularly, won't we?'

‘What do you mean!' demanded Krogh, fresh alarm flaring through him.

‘I'll want to keep in touch,' said Petrin. ‘Some of your testings might show the need for redesign, for instance. I'd need those redesign drawings, wouldn't I? I'm going to want the results of all the testings, too.'

‘Nothing will go wrong,' insisted Krogh. ‘Everything ends with the last drawing.'

Let the poor fool dream, thought Petrin, recalling his earlier thoughts.

He said: ‘Just as long as it takes, that's all. That's why I don't want any antagonistic nonsense beween us. It doesn't achieve anything: gets in the way.'

Christ, how he'd like to teach this son-of-a-bitch a lesson, Krogh thought: physically beat the shit out of him, get the satisfaction of hurting him. He said: ‘Suits me, I guess.'

Petrin smiled brightly, finishing his lobster. He said: ‘Shouldn't I have the gyro drawing then?'

Krogh passed the package across the table and Petrin put it quickly into his briefcase. Krogh said: ‘I'll have the drawings of the other two sets in a week.'

‘You know that little park where the cable cars terminate on the other side of the hill, near Saks?' demanded Petrin.

‘Yes.'

‘That's where we'll meet, next Friday. You be there by noon.'

Just
like a junior clerk, every time a finger-snapping command. He said: ‘All right.'

‘I'm glad we've had this little talk,' said Petrin. ‘Cleared the air between us. I think that's a good thing, don't you?'

Krogh lifted and dropped his shoulders, wanting to get away from the other man. He said: ‘I suppose so. I've got to get back to the plant.'

Petrin smiled again, signalling for the waiter. ‘Let me settle the bill this time,' he said. ‘After all, I'm the satisfied customer, aren't I?'

It was just the sort of luck that Henry Blackstone was seeking and he seized it at once, actually feeling more excited than guilty when it happened. There was scarcely guilt at all.

He never found out the reason but late one Thursday the request came from the secret project section to the general drawing office for some specimen and no-longer-classified blueprints of a fin design for which the firm had unsuccessfully tendered during the European Ariane space programme. And Blackstone, who'd taken part in the European development, was deputed to be the intermediary. Which gave him temporary security accreditation to get inside the fenced-off area.

Blackstone carried more drawings than were necessary, all enclosed in cardboard storage tubes. Inside the secure building he intentionally took the wrong route along the wrong corridor, trawling for anything he could find. There were a number of small offices equipped with drawing boards, built around a larger, communal design and tracing area. He stopped at two on the pretext of getting directions for where he wanted to go, and saw the chance at once. Blackstone had timed his entry to be very close to clocking-off time, when everyone was packing up for the day, and at both small offices Blackstone identified the procedure being followed to protect what was being created. Each draughtsman and tracer was taking whatever was on his board into the larger, communal room to be logged and stored in a drawing locker sealed by a combination device. But
only
the top sheet design, leaving the impressedupon backing paper still upon the board. Blackstone lingered in the corridor near the second office, supposedly checking the tubes he was carrying to decide which he had to hand over, until the occupant of the second office left to secure his day's work. It took Blackstone less than a minute to re-enter the room, roll up the undipped backing paper and fit it into one of the superfluous tubes and regain the corridor again.

Heart hammering, Blackstone completed what he was officially there to do, apologized for bringing the unnecessary extra drawings and was back in his own office within the half hour. Done it! he thought euphorically: he'd done it and got away with it!

By working lightly over the paper with a softleaded pencil Blackstone was able to trace the outline of the blueprint that had been created on top of it – of a support arm and connecting rods – although some of the specification lettering was too indistinct for him to decipher. It was not important, he decided. He had sufficient to re-create the blueprint. And not just one. He'd divide it into two and deliver them separately, to get two payments. And the temporary security access lasted until he had to collect the Ariane designs! So he could go inside again, before he was summoned to make that collection!

17

When the summons came for Berenkov to meet directly with scientific officials utilizing the American Star Wars information, without having everything filtered through Kalenin, the circumstances emerged to be not at all what he wanted, in any respect. There was initially, however, no hint of what was to come. The demand that he be prepared within two hours to leave Moscow, for the space centre at Baikonur, was perhaps peremptory but there had been such short-notice requests in the past, on other things, so he felt no particular concern driving out to Vnukovo airport. Rather, there was a satisfied anticipation: the first blueprint from England had arrived three days before so they were receiving material from the two sources at last. The likeliest explanation could only be personal congratulation, although another commendation so soon was probably too much to expect. His rank and position placed Berenkov beyond the airport formalities required even for internal travelling in the Soviet Union. That he expected. He did not expect it to be a special military flight: it was the first indication of an emergency suggested by the two-hour departure limit. Kalenin was already in a VIP lounge reserved for government officials, serious-faced but calm, one of the Havana cigars he so much enjoyed filling the room with its aroma.