Goodbye to an Old Friend (15 page)

And I should know about unnatural feelings, he thought. I'd probably be considered an expert.

Binns sighed, shaking his head. ‘I told you it was stupid,' he said.

The Permanent Secretary toyed with a paper-knife for several moments. Then he said, ‘You know Pavel has asked to see you again?'

Adrian nodded. The meeting at which Pavel had said he wanted to return to Russia had been three days before and immediately Ebbetts had learned of the request, he had suspended Adrian from the debriefing of the older Russian.

‘How have the other meetings gone?' asked Adrian.

Binns smiled. ‘Disastrously,' he said. ‘The Prime Minister has tried everything. He sent down two separate men to take up where you'd left off and then when they failed, he allowed two men from the American embassy to go down.'

‘He let the Americans go in?' asked Adrian, surprised.

‘He was desperate,' said Binns. ‘And so were they. I've never heard so many offers made in a shorter period. If Pavel had accepted, only the President would have been more important than he was.'

Adrian smiled at the sarcasm. ‘But he didn't accept?'

‘Of course not,' said Binns. ‘He treated them all with complete contempt. He'd been well briefed by his own embassy man. He merely parried all the questions, as if he were playing with them almost, and then repeated his request for consular access to his embassy, telling us it was illegal to hold him. The only positive thing he's said is to ask for another meeting with you. He refers to you as the only intelligent Englishman he's met since he came here.'

Adrian grimaced at the flattery. ‘How does the Prime Minister react to
that
when he hears it on tape?'

‘With whitefaced silence,' replied Binns. ‘I would have thought he owes you an apology.'

‘But I doubt that I'm going to get it.'

‘So do I,' said Binns. ‘He wants to see you too.'

Adrian was surprised. ‘What for?'

‘I don't know. It's been arranged for Pavel to be handed over to the Russians this afternoon. I thought you could see him, travel part of the way back to London with him and then we'd go over to Downing Street at about four. That's the time the P.M. has suggested.'

Adrian remained frowning. ‘Is there any chance of a change of mind about my staying in the department?'

The question seemed to embarrass the Permanent Secretary. ‘I don't know,' he said. ‘Nobody has said anything.'

Adrian leaned back comfortably in his chair.

‘Do you know what I think?' he said.

‘What?'

‘I think that the Prime Minister, who might owe me an apology, has an altogether different role selected for me. Somebody has got to be blamed for this. And I think I'm going to be the one.'

Binns shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

‘I think so, too,' he said.

Pavel was waiting for him in the room where they had had all their meetings, like a tourist expecting a holiday coach, his raincoat over the chair, a small cardboard suitcase at his feet.

He saw Adrian look at the case.

‘I did have a leather one,' said the Russian, proudly. ‘It was very good. I'd had it for a long time. But I had to leave it behind in Paris.'

Adrian nodded. ‘Of course,' he said.

‘I could only bring the photograph,' Pavel went on. He reached into his raincoat and pulled out the silver frame and opened it.

‘Soon,' he said, as if he were making himself a promise. ‘Very soon now.'

He looked back to Adrian.

‘I've seen a lot of people since our last meeting.'

‘Really?'

‘There were two Englishmen and then some Americans. All the Americans could talk about was how much money I could earn in the United States. They said they would award me three hundred thousand dollars a year. Is that a high salary for the United States?'

‘Very,' said Adrian. Christ, he thought, they weren't just desperate. They were frantic.

‘And they also said I could have some stock options in a company. What is that?'

Adrian smiled. ‘It's like owning part of a company,' he said. ‘Everyone has a share and you get paid a dividend on your share holdings.'

‘Owning part of the company?' queried Pavel. ‘Like communism?'

Adrian laughed outright. ‘Not quite,' he said. He wondered if they were still recording the conversations. He hoped so.

‘Were you surprised I wanted to see you?'

‘A little.'

‘I was worried.'

‘About what?'

‘Alexandre. Have you seen him?'

Adrian nodded.

‘How has he taken it?'

‘Badly.'

Adrian confined himself to an easy answer. Badly: that's putting it mildly, he thought. Bennovitch had retreated completely, barely communicating with the security men guarding him, refusing food, almost having to be forced to wash and shave himself.

The tiny Russian was bowed under an enormous guilt complex, made aware by Pavel's decision to return that the persecution of those still in Russia and of the older scientist stemmed from his initial defection. It was a burden that Adrian doubted Bennovitch was mentally able to support. The breakdown wasn't months away now. It couldn't be more than a few weeks.

‘Alexandre is not well,' said Pavel, suddenly.

‘Not well?'

The Russian tapped his head. ‘His work is a strain,' he said, expressing himself badly. ‘He has a brilliant mind, but he can't accept it. He seems to think that he should not possess the gifts he has and so, for no reason, he feels guilty. He will produce some outstanding work and then apologize when he's presenting it. Do you know sometimes I suspect he purposely made mistakes in calculations, knowing I would spot them, so that he would be shown to be fallible.'

So the depression was registering, even in Russia, thought Adrian. He wondered if anybody else had noticed it from the transcription of the tapes.

‘I have a favour to ask,' said Pavel.

‘What?'

‘I have written Alexandre a letter. Would you see that he gets it?'

Adrian hesitated. ‘I will have to read it,' he said, doubtfully. ‘And then, the decision will not be wholly mine.'

‘Of course.'

The Russian held out the unsealed envelope and Adrian took it.

‘I'd like to read it now,' said Adrian.

‘Please.'

It was a short note, without any introduction, barely covering half a sheet of paper:

Forgive me for what I have done. But my family mean more to me than life itself. I shall care for Valentina. I promise you that. Goodbye, dear Friend.

‘Will he be allowed to have it?' asked Pavel.

Adrian looked up. ‘I don't see why not.'

‘Today?'

‘That might not be possible,' replied Adrian, cautiously.

‘As soon as you can?'

‘I promise.'

‘Thank you.'

A security man entered and Pavel got up eagerly. He seemed surprised when Adrian got into the car with him.

‘You're not coming to the embassy?' he said.

‘No. I'm just travelling part of the way.'

The enclosed vehicle edged out into the traffic and began the northward journey. Pavel sat quite relaxed, the case between his legs, the raincoat across his lap. He kept looking at his watch, as if eager for the journey to be completed.

Going home to die, thought Adrian. Going home to die and he was impatient about it. Still the uncertainty nagged at Adrian's mind.

‘Viktor,' he said, abruptly.

The Russian looked at him.

‘Do you know, I doubted you from the very beginning.'

Pavel just stared.

‘I never believed you had any intention of permanently defecting,' continued Adrian. ‘I said so, in my first report.'

‘Were you believed?' asked Pavel, guardedly.

‘No,' Adrian shook his head. ‘No. I was overruled.'

‘And now you're vindicated?'

‘I wish it were as simple as that,' said Adrian, smiling. ‘No, I've not been vindicated.'

Pavel frowned. ‘I don't understand.'

‘I'm not sure that I do, completely,' said the Englishman. They drove for several miles without speaking. Then Adrian said, ‘Was it genuine, Viktor? Did you intend to defect?'

Pavel took a long time to answer and when he did so, he looked directly at Adrian.

‘Believe me,' he said, ‘if I could get my family out of the Soviet Union, I would choose to work here.'

‘That wasn't the question.'

‘But that is my answer.'

The car slowed and Adrian saw they had reached the spot where he was to leave.

‘I'm getting out here,' he said.

‘You'll see Alexandre gets the letter?'

‘I'll do my utmost.'

‘It's important.'

Adrian nodded. He hesitated, half out of the car, then turned back, aware of the impatience of the security cars in front and behind.

‘I'm right, aren't I, Viktor? You never intended to stay?'

The Russian stared at him, expressionless.

‘Goodbye,' he said.

‘Goodbye.' said Adrian.

He stood in the side-road that had been selected as a safe disembarkation point. There were motorcycle policemen at either end and he would be overlooked from several windows, he knew. The Rover pulled away, rejoined the traffic stream and disappeared from view after a few moments. I'll never know, thought Adrian. Now, I'll never know.

Chapter Twelve

They sat in the small room again, off the Cabinet chamber, and met as before, Ebbetts and the Foreign Secretary on one side of the table, Binns and Adrian on the other.

Between them lay the transcripts of every conversation that had been held with the two defectors, an unnecessary reminder of failure. But this time there was an anonymous secretary sitting at the far end of the table, notebook and pen before him.

History will have its records, thought Adrian. When the archives are opened in thirty years' time the blunder of failing to keep two of the most important defectors ever to leave Russia working together as a team would be shown to be that of Adrian Dodds, thirty-five, a senior debriefing officer at the Home Office.

He wondered if that were the sole reason for this afternoon's summons, the need to get the blame established for later reference. Was he getting too cynical? Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not.

Ebbetts sat hunched in his chair, tapping the papers before him with a thin gold pencil, like a conductor trying to get a choir to sing in tune. His tune, thought Adrian. Ebbetts would have to be the composer, ensuring everyone got the words right.

The Foreign Secretary kept darting glances sideways, awaiting cues. Adrian suddenly thought how much better Sir William would be as premier than Ebbetts.

Ebbetts began speaking slowly, almost as if he were mouthing carefully rehearsed lines.

‘In all my years as a politician,' he said, ‘including those as Foreign Secretary when we previously held office, I do not think I have ever encountered a worse example of ineffectual, stupid blundering than it's been my misfortune to witness over the last two weeks. I've made this clear at the previous meeting, Dodds, and I'm going to say it again, just to get the record straight …'

He paused, glancing sideways almost imperceptibly at the secretary, ‘… that I hold you completely and utterly responsible for the failure to get Pavel to stay in this country.'

‘… utterly responsible …' echoed Fornham.

Ebbetts extended his hand, palm upwards, theatrically. ‘We held in our hands the greatest opportunity for a decade, perhaps longer. If we could have successfully debriefed Pavel and Bennovitch together, there is nothing we could not have known about the space plans of the Warsaw Pact countries for years to come.'

He slapped the extended hand down on the papers.

‘It's all been thrown away,' he said.

‘… thrown away,' intoned the Foreign Secretary.

Adrian was breathing evenly, feeling quite composed.

He was surprised that there was no nervousness. Seven, maybe eight days ago there would have been. His hands would have been wet with anxiety and the words would have jumbled incoherently in his mind, like leaves in a wind. But not any more. He didn't need a lavatory, either. If Ebbetts wanted the record straight, then let it be.

‘When we met in this room, a few days ago,' he started out, ‘I warned you that I did not think Pavel's defection was genuine …'

‘… a stupid impression,' Sir William cut in.

‘… a stupid impression that proved to be one hundred per cent accurate. As we are getting records straight, let another thing be noted. I said then that there was an ulterior motive in Viktor Pavel's defection and I repeat it again …'

‘What ulterior motive?'

Ebbetts, the practised politician, saw the weak spot and struck at it.

Adrian swallowed. ‘I don't know,' he said, ignoring Ebbetts's expression of disgust. ‘But I would have known. I would have known if I had been allowed to conduct the debriefing properly and under my own terms of reference instead of being forced to rush the two men together, grab what we could from them and then offer them like bait to America, all for political expediency.'

‘That's impertinence,' snapped Ebbetts, looking again at the secretary.

‘Dodds, really …' began Sir Jocelyn, from his right.

‘Impertinent, maybe,' admitted Adrian. ‘But true. Completely and utterly true. Pavel wasn't a stupid man. He was, I think, one of the most intelligent men I have ever met. It was ridiculous, laughable even, to expect that we could get anything from him in two or three days, like a country policeman questioning a child stealing apples. I should have had a month with the man, at least, a month with just the two of us together, before we even considered linking him with Bennovitch.'