Ignoring the scientist Losev said: ‘I am the rezident in this country. Mine is the ultimate authority.’
‘Which I am refusing to recognize,’ said Petrin. ‘Moscow can decide.’
Losev regretted the dispute now, suspecting Dzerzhinsky Square would favour Petrin in the choice. Retreating, he said: ‘OK. Let him finish for the night.’
‘There was never a question of his not doing so,’ persisted Petrin. ‘I’ll want to see the cable exchanges with Moscow.’ That was an encroachment upon the local KGB chief and Petrin knew it but he decided to make the challenge anyway: he wasn’t frightened of what Moscow might decide and he was curious how far Losev would take the dispute.
‘You’ll see what’s appropriate,’ said Losev.
Not a capitulation, judged Petrin: but not the outright rejection it should have been, either. So the other man wasn’t sure of himself. Wanting the exchange to end on his terms Petrin said disparagingly: ‘Be here the same time tomorrow night,’ and hurried Krogh from the room with his hand cupped to the American’s elbow.
‘What went on back there?’ asked Krogh when they were out in the street.
‘Nothing important,’ said Petrin dismissively. ‘A stupid difference of opinion.’
Berenkov was irritated by the message when it reached him from London. Passingly he had thought of the possibility of friction between the two equally ranked men but put it from his mind. Now he looked upon it as an unnecessarily distracting squabble between two prima donnas who should have known better. Berenkov’s immediate reaction was to give Petrin overall command but he held back. Losev was the British station chief. For the man to have Petrin appointed over him would be a blatant demotion and exacerbate the ill feeling which clearly already existed between them. The counter-balance was that the control of Emil Krogh had to remain with Petrin, who had succeeded – and was continuing to succeed – brilliantly in suborning and manipulating the American industrialist. So there could be no question of his surrendering that role to someone else.
Berenkov attempted to resolve the clash of vanities by neither giving nor taking from either, which was no resolve at all. He replied that Vitali Losev was head of the KGB rezidentura in London and should be accorded that authority. But that in the unusual circumstances of the assignment Alexandr Petrin retained unchallengeable control of the American and that nothing would be permitted to affect that. In an effort at long-distance head-banging Berenkov reminded both of the importance of what they were doing and said he did not wish to referee any further demarcation disputes.
The effect was for Petrin to consider his attitude vindicated and for Losev to believe his authority had been diminished.
‘Satisfied?’ demanded Losev when the reply came.
‘Very,’ said Petrin. That day Krogh completed the remaining drawings he considered easy and got more than halfway through the first of those he considered more difficult.
Natalia was allocated a window seat and Gennadi Redin, whom she had already decided to be one of the KGB escorts, sat next to her – which she regretted because his nervousness became even more apparent on an aeroplane. He fidgeted and sweated excessively and drank a lot of vodka, which appeared to do nothing to allay his fears. It didn’t make him drunk, either.
‘Have you been to London before?’ he asked her.
Natalia shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Looking forward to it?’
More than she had anticipated anything for a very long time, reflected Natalia, even though she was trying to keep her hopes tightly controlled. ‘It will be an interesting experience,’ she said guardedly. She was anxious to identify the other KGB personneclass="underline" she did not consider she had a lot to fear from this man.
‘Tweed and woollen wear,’ announced the man. ‘That’s what my wife has told me to bring her back.’
Natalia wondered again if she would be able to get out to buy more clothes at the beginning of the trip. ‘I’ll take her advice.’
There was a pilot’s announcement that they had crossed the English coast and Natalia stared down at the pocket handkerchieves of fields set out far below.
‘It’s a very small country,’ volunteered Redin. ‘It’s always difficult to imagine how important it once was.’
‘Isn’t it important any more?’ asked Natalia mildly.
‘Oh no,’ said Redin, convinced. ‘It’s just one of the states of Europe now.’
‘I suppose it depends upon what you hope to find there,’ said Natalia, more to herself than to him.
32
Charlie considered carefully how to stage the recognition with Natalia, knowing how vital the timing and the circumstances were. He knew the scheduled arrival of the Moscow flight, and his initial idea was simply to be in the seating area of frayed brocade when she entered with the rest of the party. And then he decided against it. He had no way of knowing if she wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see her but it was logical she would have thought of the possibility. But for him to be openly in the foyer, practically making it a confrontation, was too abrupt. He had to guard against any startled reaction to his presence because she would be with the rest of the delegation on arrival, and among that delegation would be KGB watchers alert for any unusual response, to anything. It was better that he be nowhere around for whatever registration formalities were to be completed: that she had time to settle in and adjust, however slightly, to her surroundings.
Charlie debated with himself, waiting unobtrusively outside the hotel, just to see her, and actually repeated the reconnoitre of the previous days, seeking out vantage points. There were some – the doorway of a towering Regency house converted into offices and a tiny, centre-of-the-road coppice of trees preserved by a parks department – but Charlie was uncomfortable being outside the hotel after the Russians had entered. One or maybe more of those KGB watchers would inevitably establish a surveillance position in the foyer, noting who followed the party in. And over long years of experience Charlie had found it was human nature – certainly the human nature of supposedly trained intelligence officers, which it shouldn’t have been – to be more interested in people following behind than in people already established ahead. So he abandoned that intention as well.
Instead, for the Russian arrival, Charlie kept completely out of the way. He sat in his room and tried to read newspapers, which didn’t work because his concentration wouldn’t hold, and he tried to become interested in his flickering television, but that didn’t work either although he managed an hour watching horse racing from Goodwood and was glad he wasn’t there in person because every horse upon which he placed a mental bet got lost in the field. He considered dialling one of the in-house movies but abandoned that, too. At last, more than thirty minutes before the delegation should have got to the hotel, Charlie went to his window, which was at the side of the hotel with only the narrowest view of the main Bayswater road along which they would travel. He had to press very closely against it to see anything at all and there was a constant traffic stream of cars and coaches and buses from which it was impossible to distinguish one from another and Charlie quickly gave that up, like everything else.
He was downstairs in the bar within five minutes of its opening for the evening, the first in and able to get the previously chosen seat, the stool at the corner of the bar and the abutting wall. Unasked the barman poured the scotch and said: ‘They’ve arrived.’
‘Did it all go smoothly?’