Debut for a Spy (6 page)

I was wondering what to do for the afternoon – I had my tux with me, and it seemed pointless to drive home, sit around for a couple of hours, and then drive back for the concert.

Archie settled it for me, appearing at my elbow as I was thanking the commandant for his hospitality. Marijke was with him.

“David, if you've got nothing pressing this afternoon, I wonder if you could run Miss Templaars back to her embassy and return her here for the concert? There are some papers which I'm going to need sooner than we had anticipated. We've had to move the date of our Moscow visit up considerably. I'd do it myself, but I've got a meeting with the examiners which I can't put off.”

I looked at Marijke, receiving a smile of reassurance, and that was enough for me.
“Sure, Archie, I'd be happy to.”

I smiled at Marijke, and she returned it with warmth.

“I can use your phone, Colonel Mowatt? I make sure these papers are ready so we don't must wait. David, you are sure it doesn't give trouble for you?”

I assured her it did not, and she touched my arm as Archie led her to the phone. I strolled into the museum to look at some of the wonderful collection of ancient instruments while I waited, and, in a short while, Marijke found me there.

“David, I telephone to Vladimir Nalishkin that you drive me to the embassy, and he say he likes to see you for a few minutes when we are there. Is it permissible with you?”

I loved her turn of phrase.

“Of course it is. Are you ready to go?”

“
Yes, only for one thing.”

With that she leaned over and kissed me – not wanton, but not chaste – It lingered for a mo
ment. She drew back and smiled.

“
There,” she breathed, “now I claim my rain check.”

“
Yes, you have,” I quipped with a grin, “and now I'm sorry I didn't give you two rain checks to claim.”

“
But you didn't, David Baird,” she said softly. “Yes, I think I like you very much.” She paused, and the mischievous smile returned. “I am fair. Now I know what are rain checks, I give you one of these. You must choose when and where you claim it.”

“
Are there any limitations?”

“
I don't make any,” she replied softly. “You have an interesting idea, perhaps?”

“
As they say in the music business, let's play it by ear.”

“
I don't know this 'play it by ear.' What does it mean?”

“
It means, let's improvise – make it up as we go along.”

It was her turn to laugh.
“I think I am good at that, yes?”

“
I think you are very good at that, yes.”

Marijke took my arm, and we headed out into the sunlight.

The beautiful day had just become a wonderful day.

CHAPTER FIVE

Near
Richmond
,
England
–
the
same
day

“Do you know where is the embassy, David?”

“
Kensington Palace Gardens off Kensington High Street. But I've never been on the street itself, so I don't know exactly.”

“
When we come to the security post I get us in. This doesn't become a problem. I thank you for driving me. I hope I don't take you away from something you prefer to do.”

I smiled broadly.
“Are you kidding?”

Then we lapsed into an expectant silence. It was almost as though we were strangers. Of course, that was the problem – we were strangers, and being alone without the security of social formality put us on our guard with each other. The ice didn't start to break until we were crossing the Thames close to Mortlake and began heading toward Hammersmith. I thought I'd better start it off.

“How come someone from the Netherlands is working for the Soviets? I thought they would employ only their own people in a foreign posting like this.”

“
You are right, David, and the answer is simple. I am not born in the Netherlands – I am born in the Soviet Union, and I am a Soviet citizen.”

“
Oh!” I blurted, sounding more startled than I wanted to. I hadn't anticipated her reply.

“
This bothers you, David?”

“
No, not at all, but it wasn't the answer I expected. Is your father from Holland?”

“
Yes, but he is in Russia since 1937. He meets my mother in Moscow, and they are married in 1939. I am born a year later.”

“
But your accent isn't completely Russian – I can hear traces of Dutch in there. Did you attend special classes to learn to speak it, or was it just from listening to your father?”

“
Neither. When the war is over we live in Holland from 1947 until 1957. Then we go back to Moscow, and I attend university there. Have I such a strange accent when I speak English? Is it so terrible to hear?”

I laughed.
“No, of course not. It's just that some words have a Russian sound and some a Dutch sound. You have a lovely blend of both accents. I hope you didn't think I was making fun of you.”

“
No – I don't think that.”

She smiled at me, and briefly rested her hand on my arm.

I navigated around Hammersmith, and shortly we were in Kensington High Street, passing the nearly-completed Commonwealth Institute, with its huge tent-like copper roof.

Just after Kensington Church Street, with the medieval-looking St. Mary Abbots Church on the corner, Marijke squeezed my arm.

“You must turn left very soon, David. You will see iron gates at the end of the street, and I must show my identification to the security guard.”

I turned left into Palace Green, which became Kensington Palace Gardens as it proceeded north, and stopped at the barrier. A Royal Borough of Kensington security guard, clad in gray top hat and green frock coat, came out of a kiosk, and Marijke leaned across me to show her embassy identification.

“That's alright, miss, thank you,” he said, stepping back to raise the barrier, and I drove on through.

Kensington Palace Gardens is often referred to as 'Embassy Row' because most of the Victorian mansions on it have been purchased by various governments for diplomatic use. This has ensured their survival. Very few families would have been able to maintain the houses, leading to decay and eventual demolition. Without the foreign purchases these properties would probably have been sold to developers, with the usual disastrous results.

“It's number 13, David, on the right. Drive to the gate and I get us past the attendant.”

I pulled in to the entrance, stopping as a man in civilian clothes came to my side of the car. He seemed to recognize Marijke, but was very brusque in his manner.

“
Odostoverenia
pozalsta
,” he said to Marijke, and she showed her pass. He continued, “
E
muzchyna
?”

“
U
nivau
vstrycha
su
Palkaunik
Nalishkin
.”

I noticed the stress on Nalishkin's name as Marijke said it, and it had the decided effect.

“
Prukudit
,” he said, stepping back smartly, and we drove in to park the car.

The house itself was very large, but not very pretty to look at. The buff-coloured bricks needed a good cleaning, and this contributed to a forbidding appearance. There were two full stories with a partial story above, the latter probably for the servants when the house had been a residence. A portico with hanging lamps sheltered the heavy, studded oak doors. A flag-staff jutted out from above the portico, but it was not graced by a flag. As we ascended the double entrance stairway I had an uneasy feeling, but I couldn't explain it.

“I take you to Mr. Nalishkin's office, David, and I go to my office and see if papers are ready. Then I come back. Is this agreeable with you?”

“
Yes, that's fine. Which floor do you work on, Marijke?”

“
I am not so important to work in this building,” laughed Marika. “My office is across the street in number 18, which is for administration. This is where I go after I take you inside.”

We entered through the heavy doors, stopping by a glass-enclosed security booth on the right-hand side. There was a uniformed guard, but I didn't recognize the uniform. Marijke took a pen and wrote in a large book which lay open on the desk.

“I sign you in,” she said, replacing the pen. “Now come. I take you to Mr. Nalishkin.”

From the entrance black marble columns, she led me into an extremely large two-storied room which reminded me of a banqueting hall in a baronial castle. It was paneled in dark, solid oak, with a huge oak double staircase on our left. As it was in the center of the house there were no windows, but light poured in through a large, raised, leaded and stained-glass skylight which took up most of the area of the ceiling.

Over a landing on the staircase hung a portrait of Lenin, and, above us, a balcony surrounded the whole room. With the deep maroon carpet, marbled fireplace, leather-upholstered furniture, original paintings, ornate tables with carefully place urns and vases, it was a room worthy of the Czar himself.

“
This is magnificent, Marijke. No wonder the Soviet wanted it for their embassy.”

“
The house is built in 1852 and 1853. When our government buys it in 1930 it is for the Soviet ambassador to live.”

“
He must have lived in style, even in the 'dirty thirties.' It would take a lot of servants just to keep it tidy.”

“
Now our ambassadors don't live this way, but most of formal entertaining is here. I hope I hear you sing here soon, David.”

She started to walk toward a doorway at the back.

“Come this way,” she beckoned.

We walked through into what must have been a formal dining room, with a huge, solid table surrounded by gold brocaded chairs. The brocade was carried into the window drapes, and the chandelier was replicated by heavy, gold lamp standards throughout the room.

“Mr. Nalishkin's office is to the right. The Ambassador and the Minister Counselor are at the front of the building, but this is nicer here to see the gardens.”

Marijke indicated one of the chairs near the white-painted double doors.
“If you sit here, I go tell Mr. Nalishkin.”

Marijke knocked, gave me a quick smile, and went on in. I sat quietly for a moment, allowing the silence to settle, and then the full realization of my circumstance hit me. If Colonel Hammond could see me now, I thought, and nearly laughed out loud as I considered where I was, and alone to boot. I debated doing something daring, like sneaking into an office and looking through the papers on a desk, but I realized that I wouldn't know what I was looking at and the gesture seemed foolish. It was just as well, for Marijke came out almost immediately.

“He is with you in a few minutes, David. He calls on the long distance. I am back for you soon, yes? I must go and get papers for Colonel Mowatt.”

“
I'll be fine Marijke. Take your time.”

She smiled and was gone. I sat quietly for a moment, then my ears became accustomed to the sound of a voice. It was coming from the direction of Nalishkin's office, and on closer inspection I realized that Marijke had not closed his door tightly
– it was open just a crack.

There was another chair right beside the door, so I walked softly to it and sat down as nonchalantly as I could. My heart was pounding, which was stupid, for even if I could hear Nalishkin I couldn't understand Russian. But I decided to tune in and try.

At first I could hardly separate the words, which were indeed in Russian, but after a few moments of adjusting to the cadence and timbre of Nalishkin's voice, I began to discern first the syllables and then the words. Unfortunately, it made no sense – the sound of the language was as obscure to me as their alphabet.

Several times Nalishkin had to stop and repeat a word louder and slower, but the only thing I caught was a word that sounded like 'drama', and I presumed he might have been acting in his cultural role concerning theatre. Then he seemed to lose his temper.

“
Nyet
,
nyet
,
nyet
!
Pe
odinadtsat
dvadtsat'
sem'
!” He paused, then continued louder. “
Pe
,
odin
,
odin
,
dva
,
sem'
!
Vy
ponimayetye
?
Dobry
!”

The connection must have improved, for his voice dropped to normal, and it was a strain to hear it again. But there had been something vaguely familiar about some of the words I had heard. I took my pen and my engagement book out and wrote down what I could remember phonetically: pay, adeen, adeen, diva, siem.

I must have stared at them for a few minutes, trying to recall the connection, for when I looked up, Vladimir Nalishkin was watching me. I started, nearly panicking, but managed to control the slow closing of my engagement book as I fought to keep my fingers from shaking. I noticed him hesitate as he glanced at the door to his office, and with a look of concern on his face he threw a phrase at me, catching me unawares.

“
Dabry
d'ehn
, David.”

“
I beg your pardon?” I stammered.

“
Oh, forgive me, of course you don't speak Russian. I just said 'good afternoon' to you.”

Then he was all smiles, coming over to shake my hand. He was a small, elegant man
– slender, with thinning dark hair combed back from his forehead. A fastidious dresser, he wore a beautifully cut dark blue serge suit, starched white shirt, and a navy bow tie with very fine white polka dots. The black shoes were polished to a high gloss, but what set it off was the red carnation boutonniere. I had noticed one when I met him at the Latin Quarter, and now I guessed it was his trade mark.

“
I would like to welcome you to Soviet territory in the name of the Ambassador. Please come in to my office, and let us celebrate your visit with a drink of vodka.”

He held the door for me, and I was not prepared for the elegance of his office, even though it was in a mansion full of Victorian decadence. Everything was a work of art – the rugs were Persian, deep pile with exquisite floral patterns, the sofa and matching chairs were aquamarine brocade, the color picking out and enhancing the exact hue from a subtle trace in the rugs. The coffee table, inlaid with leather, the desk – a masterpiece of carving and inlaid wood, the paneled walls, and the original paintings that were hanging there. Beyond this room were double French doors opening into a glassed conservatory. If all Soviet citizens are equal and this is an example of that equality, I thought, I wonder who milks the cows?

Nalishkin poured our vodkas from an elegant crystal decanter, and, handing one to me, raised his glass.

“
Za
vash'eh
zdorov'eh
!” he toasted.

“
Cheers!” I responded, and we drank.

“
David, I am so glad that you have met Marijke Templaars. It was kind of you to drive her to the embassy. What do you think of her? Do you get along well?”

“
Yes, we do. She's a charming lady.”

“
That is indeed good. I am thinking of making her your liaison for your concert here. You would make all arrangements and details with her, if this is agreeable with you?”

I smiled.
“You won't hear any objections from me, Mr. Nalishkin. It'll be a pleasure to work with Marijke.”