Firefox Down (36 page)

'You mean the aircraft is immediately damaged by immersion in water?'

'Sure, the damage starts at once.'

'But the damage is not irreparable?' Aubrey's voice hectored, bullied. Curtin felt interrogated, and resented the small, arrogant Englishman who was too clever for his own good and too self-satisfied ever to admit defeat.

That depends on how it went in, whether it was all shut down, sealed… Hell - !'

'What is the matter?'

'I don't know the answers, for Christ's sake! You're crazy, Mr. Aubrey, sir, crazy.' He climbed off the table and stretched luxuriously, as if about to retire. The gesture was intended to infuriate Aubrey and it succeeded.

'Damn you, Curtin - stay where you are and answer my questions!' He pressed close to the American, undeterred by his greater height and bulk. Curtin thought, quite irreverently, that Aubrey was squaring up to him ready to fight.

'OK, OK - if it passes the time,' he murmured, regaining his perch on the table. -

'Just answer me this - could the Firefox fly?'

Curtin shrugged, hesitated, and then said, 'I don't know - and that's the truth.'

'Then who would know?'

'Why don't you ask the Senior Engineering Officer - what's his name, Moresby? The guy from Abingdon. He's standing right next to the airplane, he knows the state it's in - ask him!'

The radio operator was sitting erect in his seat. 'Get me Squadron-Leader Moresby, at once.' Then he looked at Curtin and held up his hand, displaying his fingers in sequence as he spoke. 'We have the pilot, almost safe… We have the runway - the lake… We have twenty-four hours… the aircraft needs to fly fifty or a hundred miles, no more, to be safe from recapture. Is that asking too much?'

'Much too much - but you don't want that answer, I guess,' Curtin murmured.

'Squadron-Leader Moresby, sir - '

'I'm coming, I'm coming - ' Aubrey's eyes gleamed, almost fanatically. 'I
won't
let it go!' he said. 'Not yet, anyway. I
won't
.'

'Don't kill him, Dmitri! Dmitri,
think -
!'

Gant's hand had stopped reaching for his breast pocket. He remembered that he had not transferred the Makarov from his suitcase. Priabin's pistol was pointed directly at him, even though the man was staring into Anna's face. His head had flicked towards her the moment she shouted. Gant remained motionless, an observer of the scene. There was no way in which he could move quickly enough across the compartment, before Priabin had time to shoot him. He forced himself to remain still.

'Anna-?' Priabin exclaimed in the tone of a child that does not understand a parental order. He was being prevented from doing something he very much wanted to accomplish.

'Don't kill him, Dmitri,' Anna repeated, her hand moving slowly towards his gun. He kept it trained on Gant and out of range of her grasp. 'How can I escape from this if you kill him?'

Priabin appeared deeply confused. 'You? But, you come with me. You'll be safe, then - '

'Do you think they'll allow that? Don't you think they'll know I
allowed
him to be killed? It's a trap, Dmitri - I have to do what they want!'

He held out his left hand, and she caught it with the fierce, clamping grip of a vice. She clung to him, he to her. Then he shook her hand, gently.

'It won't be like that,' he said soothingly. Gant saw that he was sweating, and not simply because of the heating in the compartment. He was almost feverish with purpose. And now he was witnessing his schemes begin to dissolve. 'It won't
be
like that, Anna!' he reiterated more firmly, attempting to persuade himself.

'It will,' she said, 'I know it will - you don't know them.'

'Believe her,' Gant added, and they both looked at him with utter hatred. He quailed. Priabin was a man still in shock and panic, revolving harebrained schemes to save his mistress. The situation eluded Gant. He did not understand how to use it to his advantage. He was certain that the wrong word would act like a spark on the Russian.

'Shut up!' Priabin snapped unnecessarily.

Gant squeezed into the corner of his seat, his eyes flicking upwards for an instant to his suitcase. But there was no chance, no hope.

As if room had been made for him, Priabin sat down at the other end of the seat, the gun still aimed at Gant. Gant felt the cold of the window against which his back was pressed seeping through his jacket, between his shoulder-blades.

Priabin spoke to Anna without looking at her. He still held her hand. Anna's fingers were white and bloodless, twisted in his.

'Listen to me Anna,' he began. 'If he tells us where the aircraft is-you know, don't you?' Gant nodded carefully, his face expressionless. 'If he tells us, we can pass that information on. We - we could get out of it like that. All they want is to know where the plane is, nothing else - that's their only interest in him. I can say… can say that I followed a hunch, or he was reported to me as seen boarding the train,
alone -
we struggled, the gun went off, but he'd told me everything…!' He stared at her. 'It would work!'

'And they'd be sure as hell to turn you over, Anna,' Gant said quietly. He realised he could not remain silent. Ever since he had noticed the bloodless fingers gripping those of Priabin. He had understood that she was not a contestant, rather the prize for which he was fighting with Priabin. If she became persuaded of her lover's case, then she would allow Gant to die. She hated him as much as Priabin did. At his words, Priabin's gun jabbed forward in little threatening movements. The man's eyes were grey, and now as unyielding as slate. His face wore a sheen of perspiration, and his cheeks were flushed. He looked feverish. 'Believe me,' Gant added, forcing himself to continue, 'I know them. They've wasted people on this operation already - he knows that. Even Baranovitch.' The name was like a stinging blow across her face. 'They'll use anybody. He's right - the man's right. They're only taking care of me because I know too much. I mustn't fall into the wrong hands.' He attempted to smile at Priabin. 'That's why they used you. But, you have to see it through, Anna. I'm sorry, but you have to. If you get me away - then they'll maybe let you off the hook. I'll try to make them do that.'

'Don't believe him!' Priabin shouted.

'Dmitri, keep your voice down!' Anna snapped fearfully at him. Her eyes had glanced into the corridor.

'Pull down the blinds,' Gant said.

Priabin released Anna's hand. He tugged at the blind above his head, sliding it down behind him. Anna rubbed her white hand. Gant turned, watched Priabin for a moment in the window, looked out at the snow flying past the train, and heard Anna draw down her blind. He turned back to Priabin. He would not jump from the train, not yet. He might just win the game -

'OK,' Gant said in English, as before. Priabin's English was better than Anna's. 'That's better. I will try to help - but I can't help if I'm dead, can I?' He turned to Priabin. 'Look, sonny, I know you want to kill me, and I know why. But
I'm
no volunteer, either, just like her.
I
didn't pull her name out of a hat, so let's get blame out of the way, uh?'

'I'm not going to let you go,' Priabin replied immediately. He had wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was calmer now; he held rather than gripped Anna's hand. Yet Gant saw that he was now perhaps more dangerous.

'If you turn me in, I'll tell them where the airplane is - sure, I almost did a dozen times, I guess. But, I'd tell them about Anna, too… even if I didn't want to,' he hurried on as the pistol in Priabin's hand waggled threateningly. 'It would come out, under drugs. Man, you know that! I couldn't keep quiet even if I wanted to.'

'So, I kill you.'

'And the CIA tips off your bosses, and Anna goes into the bag and maybe you do, too. What in hell are you doing here, anyway? Where's your back-up, who else knows?' Priabin had begun to grip Anna's hand tightly once more. Gant saw her wince, but he did not know if her pain came from the grip or from his words. 'Face it, man, you've messed up!'

'No-!'

'Your hide's on the barn door along with hers!'

He wanted to look at his watch, he bent his head slowly, as if weighing his next words. Fifteen minutes before the train stopped at Kolpino, where Harris would be waiting with a rented car. He had fifteen minutes to persuade, or kill, Priabin. And he knew he had no chance of killing him.

'They don't expect her to go over with you to prove how loyal she's been, do they?' Priabin asked with contempt.

Gant shook his head. 'They gave her the option,' he said. 'She turned them down.'

Priabin looked at Anna. Her face was pale, frightened. Gant sensed her need to touch the KGB officer, reassure both of them by gentle, continuing physical contact. Priabin scrutinised her face.

'You weren't going?' he asked hoarsely. She shook her head.

'No.'

He appeared utterly relieved. The situation, Gant realised, was more complex than he had thought. Part of Priabin behaved like a jealous lover pursuing his mistress and the other man in the triangle he had invented. Probably, he did not realise it himself. But it formed another spark that might ignite him. Gant did not know the truth - did Anna intend to stay?

'Thank God,' he breathed. It was touching, and dangerous. 'I thought - I thought…' Then he seemed to recollect Gant's presence, and broke off, returning his gaze to the American. There was a sharp, quick cleverness in his face now. He was weighing the alternatives.

'That's it, sonny,' Gant said. 'Think about it. It's all one big trap - a maze. You have to find a way out, just like the rest of us.' He smiled carefully. 'There's just the three of us. What are we going to do about it?'

'What are the arrangements for this man?' Priabin asked.

'We were to leave the train at Kolpino - ' Priabin looked at his watch, and Gant quickly did the same. Twelve minutes. ' - the next station. Someone will be waiting for us, with a car.'

'Then you are not needed!' Priabin exclaimed. 'Don't you see, Anna, you're not needed! You don't have to provide cover for him by travelling all the way to the border - you don't!'

Gant controlled his features as she looked at him pleadingly.

Priabin had leapt upon the flaw, the escape route for Anna. Now, she would ally herself with him.

'They'd still hand you over,' he said.

'No! What are you - one of their Category-A Sources, Anna?' She looked at him, and nodded. 'Yes, that's what my Case Officer says.'

'Then you're important to them, don't believe you're not. If the American fails to get away, you wouldn't be blamed. If you hand him over to whoever is to meet him, then your part is finished. If he is killed trying to get out of the country, then you cannot be blamed…' He hurried on breathlessly, his hand shaking hers in time to the rhythm of his thoughts. Gant felt his stomach become watery. His eyes flicked to the rack and the closed, unattainable suitcase. There was nothing he could do now, but wait.

Ten minutes to Kolpino - but Priabin already knew about the waiting man and the waiting car. He would understand that Gant would be given exit papers for Finland, that he would be hurried out of the Soviet Union to safety. There was nothing Gant could do as Priabin continued talking, his face young and excited, as if he were engaged in nothing more dramatic than watching a football match or opening Christmas presents.

'Stay on the train - leave the American to whoever is meeting him. Understand? Just continue to Leningrad, and then fly straight back to Moscow. You can be there by morning, in work on time, everything

'And you?' she asked. 'What will you do?'

Priabin looked down at his pistol. A heavy Stechkin. 'It doesn't matter,' he murmured. 'I'll be back in Moscow tomorrow.'

'He's going to kill me, after waiting until you've averted your pretty eyes,' Gant said. 'He thinks it's the easy way out.'

'No-!'

'Isn't it?' Priabin grinned, but the expression was more akin to a sneer. He knew, now, that he possessed all the high cards in the game. Gant had lost his hostage, his secrecy - soon, his life.

'No. You'll have killed me. They won't like that.'

'The Americans.'

'No. Your bosses. Vladimirov, the First Secretary, your Chairman… the
really
big boys won't like it!'

'I can live with demotion, with a rotten posting - just like Kontarsky will have to,' Pfiabfri said sullenly.

'She'll still be working for the Americans - '

And Priabin's face unclouded, beamed at Gant. 'I've thought of that!' he said, laying down füs lalt and best card. He turned to Anna. Gant quailed. 'I've just thought of it - she can become an agent of mine! An agent of - a KGB officer who's just died, or retired, but I knew about her - he would have set you up, Anna, as a double-agent, and you were passed on to me. I went to bed with you as well as made use of you. They'd believe that easily- !'

Anna was horrified. 'I would have to go on, and on, and on - forever?' she asked.

'Safe!' he replied.

'But - I'd never be allowed to leave it, to get out?'

'Then why did you do it in the first place?' he snapped in a hard voice. '
Why
?'

Gant glanced at his watch. Six minutes. When the train slowed? Outside the station - ? Would he be able to get to Harris's car before Priabin did? He would be unarmed. But - jump?

'You ask me - ? Why are you a policeman?'

'It's my job.'

'I want to get out of it, Dmitri - I don't want to pretend to have been working for the Americans while really working for you!' Her voice was high, her eyes bright with tears. She had released his hand. Both her small hands were clenched into protective fists in front of her breasts. She was shaking her head. She looked much older, almost plain, as she pleaded with Priabin. 'I don't care what clever excuses you think up, I don't want to be
trapped forever -
!' She unclenched her right fist and dragged a lock of hair away from her eyes. Then she clenched her hand once more in front of her. She was staring at her lap, not at Priabin. 'I don't - I
can't
go on with it, Dmitri…' Then she looked up. 'If only I could go back - you don't know how much I'd give just to go back!'