At Petrin’s insistence they met for a final briefing session in the park again, although nearer the golf course this time. For once the Russian was prompt, arriving practically as soon as Krogh sat down.
‘You’re not looking any better,’ accused Petrin at once.
So today there wasn’t going to be any legsspread relaxation and patronizing crap about the Californian weather. Krogh said: ‘I’m all right.’ For weeks, long before the sleeplessness, he’d tried to imagine a way out, and the previous night, puddled in perspiration, he’d realized that suicide would be an escape: he’d had to get up earlier than usual to be sick.
‘You break down and everything goes,’ warned Petrin.
‘I’m not going to break down. I said I’m OK.’
‘I’m going to London ahead of you,’ announced Petrin. ‘Everything will be ready for you when you arrive.’
‘How do we contact each other?’ asked Krogh dully.
‘Where’s your hotel reservation?’
‘The Connaught.’
‘Just check in and wait. I’ll already be there.’
‘After making sure it’s safe?’ said Krogh, in an attempt at a sneer that failed.
‘Of course after making sure it’s safe: you should be grateful,’ said Petrin. ‘That’s why the way you look concerns me: the only thing you’ve got to be frightened of is yourself.’
‘I keep telling you I’m all right.’ Dear God how he wished that were true: increasingly he felt suspended from reality, like he’d felt sometimes when he was very drunk or when he’d smoked one of the special joints that Cindy rolled. He hadn’t bothered to contact her, not even a telephone call, for nearly three weeks now. He decided not to, before he went to England. Maybe he never would again, just walk away and leave her, forget about the condo and the car. That’s what he wanted to do, walk away and forget about everything and everyone.
‘What do the British say?’
‘That they’re looking forward to meeting me,’ said Krogh reluctantly. That had been another straw he’d attempted to clutch, the hope that the British would refuse to cooperate with him. But the Russian had anticipated his trying to hide that way and warned he would want to see any rejection letter. Which there hadn’t been anyway so Krogh hadn’t tried to lie.
‘What about here?’
Krogh shrugged. ‘Here I make the rules,’ he said. It sounded conceited but wasn’t. He’d announced his intention at the last directors’ meeting and his father-in-law had seized upon it at once and launched into a speech about devotion to work and to the company and he’d gone along with it, thinking: If only they knew, if only they knew.
‘So!’ said Petrin, forcefully. ‘If I’m going to get everything ready I’ve got to know what you want.’
Krogh gave another listless shrug. ‘I don’t really know, until I get there.’
Petrin sighed. ‘The basics,’ he insisted. ‘Tell me what you’re bound to need.’
‘A drawing office, I suppose,’ said Krogh simply. ‘A board. All instruments…’ He turned to the Russian, on the bench beside him. ‘I don’t see how this is going to work!’ he said in weak protest. ‘I could need to make dozens of drawings: I’m not going to be able to absorb and memorize everything in one visit. Not enough to re-create it all!’
Petrin turned too, to stare back at him. ‘You’re going to have to, Emil. And if you can’t memorize it in one visit you’re going to have to go again. And keep going until you do get it all. There’s no choice about this: no choice at all.’
Krogh felt sick again, the familiar sensation, and swallowed against it. He said: ‘That’s all I can think of needing, at the moment. Anything else will have to wait until I get there and see the sort of work involved.’
‘You keep a grip on yourself, you hear?’
It was the tone of voice he’d used towards Joey and Peter when they’d played up as kids, Krogh recognized. But he didn’t feel any resentment: he didn’t feel anything at all. All those sorts of attitude towards the other man – resentment and hatred and contempt – were past now. There was only an emptiness, like a vacuum. There were ways to kill yourself, without pain. Sleeping pills. A length of hose from an exhaust pipe. The idea this time didn’t bring the stomach jump like it had during the night. He said: ‘I’ll see you in London.’
Petrin drove straight from McLaren Park to the airport. He was one of those lucky travellers who found it easy to sleep on aircraft and he did so, soundly. It was a polar flight that landed in England by mid-morning and he arrived feeling completely rested. Any visit to the Soviet embassy was precluded by the known permanent, twenty-four-hour watch maintained upon it by British counter-intelligence. Petrin went instead to the hotel where Krogh was booked, remaining only long enough to register in and unpack. Professionally cautious, Petrin rejected the idea of a taxi. Instead he indulged himself by circling the block to go through Grosvenor Square and past the US embassy to reach Hyde Park, walking its full width to the bisecting park road before cutting up towards the restaurant overlooking the Serpentine lake. He made several checks as he did so, ensuring there were no followers.
In the restaurant he did not take a seat, although confirming there was a table reservation. Instead he stood at the bar until Losev entered, staying expressionless until the man reached him. Petrin thought he detected a reserve in the other man’s greeting, but conceded at once it could have been a misconception.
‘The beer’s warm,’ Petrin cautioned.
‘It frequently is in England,’ said Losev. ‘You get used to it. There wasn’t any need for the precautions you took getting here: you were protected.’
Petrin was curious at the other man’s need to boast of the guarding observation: annoyed, too, that he hadn’t detected it, which he should have done. He said: ‘That’s comforting to know.’
‘How’s your man?’
‘Shaky,’ admitted Petrin. ‘Showing signs of the strain, which is pretty considerable.’
‘He’s not going to collapse, is he?’
‘I don’t think so: he knows what would happen if he did. There’s a lot to be done before he arrives.’
A support role, thought Losev at once, bitterly: the other man’s attitude was very much superior to subordinate. He said: ‘Like what?’
‘I want the equivalent of a complete drawing office: all conceivable equipment and instruments and a place where he can work without interruption. Can you manage that?’
I want, isolated Losev. And can you manage that, like it was some junior initiative test. He said, with some exaggeration: ‘Of course. We have a completely secure house unknown to the British authorities quite near here, in Kensington.’
‘What about equipping it?’
‘Do you know precisely what he’ll need?’
Instead of replying Petrin handed over the list he had composed at the beginning of the overnight flight, before sleeping.
Losev glanced at it, hot with irritation. He thought: Run, little messenger boy, run. He said: ‘I’ll organize it today.’