‘Spy!’ Although it was now comparatively quiet, the man still shouted, in English.
‘I am attached to the British…’ Gower tried, but there was a sudden thrust in his back, winding him so that he couldn’t finish.
‘Spy!’ yelled the man once more.
Hands grabbed at Gower again, thrusting him forward. He staggered, wishing his attempt to recover his breath didn’t sound like a whine. His head was bent forward in the strained, gasping effort: he saw the signal flowers trampled underfoot. There was a windowless van blocking the street where it joined the larger road. A lot of people were anxious to push him inside. Gower fell at the last moment, pitching full-length on the metal floor, but scrabbling up before he could be kicked any more. He just managed to get on to one of the metal benches that ran along either side before the van lurched away with a jerk that would have thrown him off his feet again.
Gower remained doubled up, arms across his body, face hidden so they couldn’t see his eyes and mouth squeezed tightly closed with the determination with which he was fighting against his bladder collapsing. No, he prayed: please God, no!
It happened but it wasn’t much: not enough for the wet stain to show for them to know how frightened he was.
Panicked desperation drove Fyodor Tudin personally to go to Petrovka, although he didn’t at the moment of arrival properly know why the Militia enquiry had been made at Mytninskaya, only that it had something to do with the boy: knew even less how to explain his coming there at all. So initially he didn’t attempt an explanation, clawing for guidance from the reaction of the policeman. He judged himself lucky with Kapitsa: one of the old school, only knowing the old ways.
‘I expected her to come back: not somebody else.’ The room was thick with cigarette smoke.
‘Is that what she said?’ He had to feel out with every word, like someone walking across a frozen lake unsure of the thickness of the ice.
‘Something about needing time to work out what we were going to do.’
Good but not good enough: not quite. ‘That was all?’
Kapitsa frowned. ‘You haven’t discussed it with her?’
Tudin thought he knew the way, although the personal risk was appalling: but then all the risks he faced were appalling. ‘I’m here on behalf of the Agency as much as for General Fedova: we’ve got to work out the proper balance, to avoid embarrassment to the Agency as well as General Fedova. You see that, don’t you?’
The investigator remained doubtful. ‘I would have thought the two were virtually the same.’
Tudin nodded. ‘For the moment, until everything is sorted out, this meeting – this discussion – must remain strictly between ourselves.’ Still hardly good enough, he conceded.
The policeman’s uncertainty was still obvious. ‘But we’re talking of some arrangement, aren’t we: something acceptable to everyone? Everything settled to everyone’s satisfaction?’
It was like a signpost, lighted before him. ‘Is that what she said?’ he chanced, tailoring his reply from the investigator’s attitude.
‘Not precisely: it was definitely to that effect.’
Gold-dust, thought Tudin, ecstatically: sparkling, glittering, life-saving gold-dust. ‘That an arrangement could be found?’ he pressed.
‘Yes.’ There was another hopeful smile. ‘We want to cooperate as much as possible, of course. Within reason. We need a prosecution.’
We both do, thought Tudin. ‘Everything will be worked out.’ He smiled, leaning forward, man to man. ‘It’s important wires don’t get crossed: what arrangement was General Fedova considering?’
‘She didn’t say. It was actually the boy who first used the word arrangement. She agreed that one had to be found.’
Tudin guessed his already flushed face was an even deeper red, in his excitement. He couldn’t have expected it to be this good: not in a million years. Striving to keep his voice level, he said: ‘What did Eduard say?’
Kapitsa shrugged, as if disassociating himself from the remark. ‘Seems he’s boasted about his mother’s position, in the KGB and in the new security agency: let the Lubertsy Family know he’d be protected if ever there was any trouble.’
‘And she agreed that he would be?’ Oh God! Oh dear, wonderful, rewarding God! Careful. Calm down. Shouldn’t get too euphoric; too carried away. This was the chance, the incredible, unimaginable chance to destroy the bitch absolutely, and he had to drain every last drop that was available.
The shrug came again from the policeman. ‘She wanted time to think: to fix it. Eduard was very upset, later. Still is. He expected to be released at once.’
Dare he see the boy? Try to get him to repeat the claim, even in some sort of legal, devastating affidavit? Yes! he decided, positively. Already, at this stage, there was probably enough for an internal agency investigation into the propriety of what she was doing, but Tudin wanted more than that. Regulations existed for an officer to lay a formal accusation of abuse of power against another before the ultimate chairman, and at that moment this was the course upon which Tudin determined. He’d get his evidence and confront her face to face, be her prosecutor at their own mini-trial. Eduard could be forced to testify, lured by the promise of immunity. And this disgusting, smoke-stained man would quickly realize whose side he had to take. It would all have to be handled with infinite care but he knew he could do it. He could bury her, Tudin concluded, triumphantly: bury her alive. ‘You’ve helped a lot.’
‘What would you have us do?’ asked Kapitsa.
‘Just give us a little more time. And remember, no mention of this visit. It’s not important for her to know how concerned we are. How much we want to protect her.’
That night Fyodor Tudin got very drunk.
Thirty-two
Only two men travelled with him in the van. One was the thickset officer who had appeared to be in charge of the arrest. The other was a civilian, a thin, bony man in a black, Western-style suit who made frequent gestures as he talked. There was a lot of conversation between the two of them. Although he could not understand what was being said, Gower got the impression the civilian was in some way superior to the officer, whose attitude was deferential.
Gower guessed from the length of the journey that he was being taken outside the city. He was glad of the time, using it to recover. He remained hollowed out with fear but it was lessening: certainly he’d pulled back from the collapse that was still making it uncomfortable to sit on the cold metal bench. He hoped there wouldn’t be a visibly damp patch when he stood up.
Had to think! Had to work out what had happened – what was happening – and decide how to confront it. Remember all the interrogation resistance! Think! Always take, never give, he remembered. Say the minimum at this stage then. Make the protests necessary for an innocent diplomat but no more: wait to see what the accusations were. What could they be? Difficult to anticipate yet. He had to assume Jeremy Snow had been arrested: confessed about the Taoist temple and what they used it for. But Snow couldn’t have identified him, either by name or description, because the priest didn’t have either! So there was nothing personally incriminating against him. Couldn’t be. Deny anything and everything. Certainly any knowledge of a priest named Jeremy Snow. Which wasn’t cowardice. Or abandoning the man. It was common, practical sense. Snow had been told again and again to run. And arrogantly refused. He was the architect of his own destruction. Now it all came down to damage limitation. Interrogation resistance. Vital they weren’t able to link him with anything, to form a provable connection with the embassy. A good liar tells the fewest lies. Important to remember that. Important to remember everything. He was in a difficult situation but that’s all it was, difficult. Not disastrous. Possible, even, to extricate himself. Thank God for this journey, giving him the chance to think. Not frightened any more: properly apprehensive, properly alert, but not frightened. Ridiculous to have pissed himself. No one would ever know. Make the necessary protests of an innocent diplomat, he thought again. Now was the time: to wait might indicate an acceptance of guilt.