Doctor Gavrilov (21 page)

Katie was waiting for Dmitry at the airport.

She had promised to take Anna as well instead of getting a baby-sitter, a mistake perhaps, because it was late, and she was very tired. The arrivals board announced the flight from Moscow had landed, but the baggage wasn't in the hall; she knew there would be over half an hour to wait. Sasha cried, and Anna, despite being told not to a dozen times, still insisted on running round in circles and rolling on the floor.

When Dmitry appeared Anna ran for him, reached up her arms. He lifted her so easily, swung her around, then came to Katie. They kissed; he held on to her tightly, pressing her against him; his smell, the strength of his body, the intense look in his eyes, was the same. All Katie's anxieties vanished in an instant; he was obviously delighted to see her.

Anna was tugging at his arm. ‘Did you bring me a present… let me see…'

‘Yes, just a minute, give me a chance… you can open it in the car.'

Dmitry looked tired but insisted on driving. Anna was occupied with her Russian doll, opening layer after layer with delight; Sasha complained in his car seat. Dmitry reversed the car out of its space in the car park and had to slam on the brakes to avoid colliding with a passing car; Katie put her hand on his arm, said, ‘I can drive if you like…'

‘I'm fine.'

It was raining; Dmitry switched on the wipers. Katie turned to look at Dmitry; he looked healthy, almost tanned. She asked, ‘Was it sunny in Moscow?'

‘Hmmm?' Dmitry was miles away; he hadn't heard her. She repeated, ‘In Moscow? Was it sunny?'

‘I didn't spend much time in Moscow… the weather wasn't bad… actually I spent most of the time in Novosibirsk.'

‘Why?'

‘That's where this meeting happened.'

Katie didn't know what to say. She asked, ‘Was it sunny there?'

Dmitry turned and looked at her. She couldn't read the expression on his face at all. ‘What is all this sudden interest in the Russian climate?

‘I just thought you looked a bit tanned, that's all.'

‘Well, yes, it was quite sunny…' They halted at the traffic lights and he turned to Anna in the back. ‘How is school?'

Anna didn't answer. She was looking out of the window, very sleepy. Katie asked, ‘Did you see your sister?'

‘What?' He was startled, crunched the gears as he accelerated forwards. ‘No…no, I didn't. I didn't have time… I was hardly in Moscow, and she was in the country…'

‘Tim was in Moscow last week. I gave him your sister's number.'

Dmitry looked distracted and the car swerved fractionally in the fast lane. ‘You did what? What did you do that for? Did he call her?'

‘Yes, he met her, actually. I just thought it might be helpful for him, to know somebody there, that's all… did I do the wrong thing?'

‘What was Tim doing there?'

‘Some stolen uranium story.'

‘Did he turn up anything?'

‘I don't know. I don't think so.'

Dmitry said, ‘I shall have to phone Olya… she will have been very upset to hear that I had been in Russia and not contacted her.'

They were silent; Anna had fallen asleep. The rain was falling harder; Dmitry had to slow down. Katie said, ‘So what was all the secrecy? I didn't understand what you said on the phone… you frightened me.'

‘I'm sorry, it's hard to explain… The situation there is very strange, it's difficult to know what you can and can't say…'

‘Tim said –'

‘What did Tim say?' He didn't try to conceal the irritation in his voice. Katie suddenly thought better of saying anything. What could she tell him; that Tim had gone round Moscow asking questions about him? He would be furious, probably rightly so. Anyway, what did Tim know about anything? Probably he had spoken to the wrong people, he'd only been there a week, he didn't even speak much Russian. She had to trust Dmitry, if she was going to go on living with him; she didn't believe he would lie to her directly. She let it go; she simply said, ‘Tim said things were very difficult there.'

‘You need him to tell you that? Anyway, don't worry, there's no need… I probably won't be going back.'

Katie looked at him. She felt sorry for him; she sensed that he shared in his country's humiliation and that he must have been quite shocked by what he had found. She said, ‘You don't have to talk about it.' He looked at her, put out his hand and put it on her thigh; she put her hand on his. She said, almost mischievously, teasingly, ‘I thought there might be another woman.'

He was startled, and then he smiled. He looked almost happy for a moment. ‘Is that what you thought? You are very silly… there could never be anyone but you.'

Tim's Russian report was broadcast the week Dmitry got back but, as far as Tim knew, neither he nor Katie saw it. Later Tim heard at work another uranium smuggling story which he thought might be connected to Grebeshev's activities. Two men had been arrested in Vienna with uranium contained in fuel pellets from a Soviet designed WWR 1,000 nuclear reactor. Their correspondent in Vienna said it was all a great joke. The material had been smuggled in through the Czech Republic and the smugglers had been looking for an Arab buyer but, having failed to locate one, had finally succeeded in selling it to an undercover policeman in the Prater amusement park.

R
OZANOV looked at Dmitry coldly across the table.

He had told them everything he could. Every detail of the layout of the buildings, the computer systems, the names of the staff, any casual remarks he had picked up, especially those made by Suzarbayev, that could be of any interest. He had memorised everything he could, but Rozanov did not seem impressed, and Dmitry could not blame him; there could be little there he didn't know already.

Rozanov turned his cigarette lighter round and round in his fingers. ‘Is that all?'

‘I think so.'

‘When are you expected back?'

‘I am not going back. I can't do this. I will learn nothing of any use to you.'

Rozanov raised his eyebrows. ‘We shall see,' he said.

‘What do you mean, we shall see? You can't want me to develop this technology, can you? I've already done much more than my bargain with you. Anyway, I have decided.'

Rozanov only smiled at him enigmatically.

The meeting was clearly at an end; Rozanov stood up and opened the door for him. Dmitry turned and walked out into the hall and down the stairs, stepped out into the sunlight. The noises of the traffic, of the screeching of a bus's breaks in nearby Baker Street, the sudden strong scent of lilies from a flower stall, assaulted his senses. Everything was too sharp, too clear; then he saw the faint grey dots floating in front of his eyes.

Dmitry took a deep breath, felt in his pocket for his migraine pills, and found he had forgotten them. He made a gesture of acute irritation and went on walking, his head down, concentrating on the ground in front of him. Rozanov's attitude seemed strange to him. Perhaps he had finally realised that Dmitry's intelligence was not much use. It was possible that he had served his usefulness, and now met only with indifference. Rozanov's last words were not enough to frighten him; he felt released. Well, he thought, I too can be ruthless. He had thought of a strategy that might work; he would ring the Libyans now and end this business. Perhaps he need only face one unpleasant scene, and then he would be free.

He rang from a call-box at the station.

‘I have to meet you.'

‘Why?'

‘I have a problem.'

‘Very well… we can talk about it. Shall we meet where we met before? At, say, six o'clock?'

‘It's difficult. I think I'm being watched.'

There was a silence on the phone. The voice said, ‘Can you get rid of them?'

‘I can try.'

‘Do your best.'

They were waiting for him at the bar at the Metropole Hotel and offered him a drink. Dmitry asked for vodka, neat; he drank it hurriedly. His hands trembled on the empty glass.

‘We can go upstairs.'

‘I would rather stay here.'

‘We might be overheard.'

But Dmitry was afraid to go upstairs. They couldn't harm him here, surely, in a public place. He said, ‘It's all right. I think I lost them. How can I tell? They are professionals.'

‘Who are they?'

‘From Russian intelligence.'

‘How do you know?'

‘Believe me, I know.'

The Libyan looked at him, carefully, thoughtfully, with those hard, black eyes. ‘When did you notice?'

‘Look, they approached me. One of them…'

‘His name?'

‘What does his name matter? It is hardly his real one…' They poured him another vodka and he drank it down. ‘Rozanov.'

‘Where did they meet you?'

‘What does it matter, where? Don't you understand what I'm telling you? They
know
.'

‘If you come straight to Libya you will be quite safe.'

‘I can't come to Libya. My wife… my marriage is already in trouble. Already she thinks I have another woman in Moscow… anyway, I have two small children…'

‘But they are all welcome.'

Dmitry's head was beginning to throb now. ‘You don't understand. They won't come, my wife would never come… she would divorce me.'

‘Your position is very difficult… but you have signed a two-year contract.'

‘I want to be released from it.'

‘I am sure that this will not be possible.'

‘It has to be possible. I didn't foresee this… I am not expected to risk my life. After all, I'm not being paid that much.'

The Libyan's eyes narrowed. ‘If it is a question of money, I am sure…'

Dmitry suddenly regretted saying this. Perhaps they would think he had become greedy, had even invented this for the purposes of getting more money out of them… He said hastily, ‘No, its not the money. I don't want any more money.'

‘Look, don't worry. We can take care of everything.'

‘I have to think of my family…'

‘Yes, indeed, I think you should think about them very carefully, Dr Gavrilov. After all… you don't want anything unpleasant to happen to them, do you?'

His words hung in the air long after he had spoken them. It was as if a great chasm had suddenly opened up in front of Dmitry and he stared into it as if from a great height. In an instant, everything had changed. Although he knew the danger he was running intellectually, only now did Dmitry feel and understand the full enormity of the situation in which he had placed himself. He stared at the Libyan's face but saw nothing there to help him, nothing that would lead him to believe he didn't mean it. But still, they could be bluffing; it was easy to make such threats, harder to carry them out. He thought, they can't mean this, I must not give in, I must be absolutely clear. I can ask Rozanov for protection. He said, ‘I am not coming. As far as I am concerned, the contract is terminated.'

‘I am afraid that this will not be acceptable to my superiors.'

They stared at one another. Dmitry was sweating; he could think of nothing else to say. The Libyan said, ‘Your ticket is booked… The flight is SU581 to Moscow, on Thursday. Here are the details… You will be expected to pick up your ticket at Heathrow. Please don't disappoint us.' He handed Dmitry the envelope and turned and left the bar.

Dmitry sat there, fingering the envelope with growing horror. He found himself outside in the Marylebone Road without having noticed how he had got there. He felt hot, and then freezing cold. The traffic roared past and the fumes caught at his throat. His head hurt so much that he thought he might pass out.

He walked to Baker Street station and phoned Rozanov's message service. He stood by the phone, impatient. Someone else wanted to use it and he rebuffed them, rudely. After a few minutes the phone rang.