“He use my name? Or was it by inference?”
Miriam considered the question. “By inference, I guess. But you were the only person he could have been referring to.”
“That what you meant about watching my back?”
Miriam looked steadily at Charlie for several moments. “I think Packer was a hit man.”
“I’m sure Packer was a hit man.”
“Who?”
“It wouldn’t have been you,” Charlie said.
“Which only leaves you.”
Charlie decided he didn’t want to go any further. “I still think it was a separate Agency thing. It’s past.”
“I hope. What do you think I should do now?”
“You sleeping with Cartright and Lestov?”
“Yes,” said Miriam at once, totally without embarrassment.
“Tell Lestov you’ve been cut out. And that you don’t know why.” And if Natalia relayed that to him, from Lestov, he might be better able to decide if Natalia was being truthful or troubled by integrity again, decided Charlie.
“What’ll that achieve?”
“There’ll have to be some reaction. Let’s see what it is.”
“What about Cartright?”
Charlie thought about it. “Maybe we should satisfy his curiosity. A name, even. You mind being the messenger in your own special way?”
She sniggered. “It was my decision to begin with, wasn’t it? I guess now it makes you my unpaid pimp.”
Charlie smiled back. “I’ve always accepted that was what people like you and I are, whores and pimps. The professional ones just get treated better.”
Charlie went through all the required motions with Vadim Leonidovich Lestov, talking of assessments and reevaluations and complaining there appeared to be very little progress and even conveyed some irritation at Lestov’s refusal (“There are still facts to be checked before any disclosures can be made”) to hint at the intended Russian announcement. Charlie actually went as far as asking if there was any official Russian impatience, which Lestov countered by asking about London’s attitude after insisting that as far as he was aware Moscow was prepared for the investigation to continue indefinitely. Charlie said he hadn’t detected any London restlessness.
He was back at the embassy an hour before the scheduled meeting with McDowell, Cartright, and Gallaway. He considered passing on to London what he’d learned about the German POWs but decided against it until after the encounter with Vitali Novikov the following day. He limited himself to cabling that the Russians were still refusingto disclose their intended media release and occupied the remainder of the time deep in paper-plane-building reflection. He ended it even more instinctively sure that only one or two doors remained closed against his understanding virtually everything.
Charlie put on a very positive performance in the head of chancellery’s office, guessing at progress in Washington as well as that the impending Russian announcement would be startling but admitting that London had been an entirely unproductive, embarrassing expedition. He was, further conceded Charlie, anxious for whatever input any of them might have.
“Jackson called, from Berlin: some crossed wires with London about your going there,” said the military attache. “He thought you learned a lot?”
“That someone else had been murdered to fill Norrington’s grave,” said Charlie. “We’ll never know who it was.”
“But the Russians did it?” said Cartright.
“They returned a body,” lured Charlie. “I’m not sure they can be blamed for the murder.”
“Who else could have done it?” demanded McDowell.
“There wasn’t any law, order or anything else in Berlin at the time,” said Charlie. “It was a perfect place for a perfect murder. Don’t forget the second officer at Yakutsk. I’m keeping an open mind.”
“Did you tell London that?” asked Cartright.
Charlie shrugged. “No reason to fill their heads with theories I couldn’t substantiate.”
The three other men looked uncomfortably between themselves.
Cartright said, “You’re telling us. Why didn’t you tell them?”
“Because they’ve got to act upon what I tell them, so they need facts, not impressions. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t tell working colleagues something about which they’re not going to act, is there? I’ve got quite a few others I’m keeping to myself, too.”
“Like what?” pressed Cartright.
“It doesn’t matter,” refused Charlie. He only wanted to see how far one red herring would swim.
“What’s the general feeling in London?” asked McDowell.
“I don’t know about a general feeling. I don’t think my own department imagine I’ve got a clue which is why I’m going to surprisethem.” No reason why one red herring shouldn’t be channeled in the right direction.
Vitali Maksimovich Novikov stood slightly apart from his family, as if wishing to disassociate himself from them, his eyes moving toward anyone in uniform. His wife fidgeted tightly with their two sons, string-tied packs of belongings between them. The larger cases had already been loaded. No one talked. The elder boy, Georgi, looked constantly and unblinkingly at the arthritic indicator board. Everyone jumped at the sharp, metallic departure announcement.
Novikov joined his family at last. “Ready?”
Marina nodded, saying nothing. The boys began collecting the packages. Novikov had not put down a bulging briefcase since their arrival at the airport.
As they walked toward the departure ramp, Marina said, “We’re never coming back, are we?”
“Never,” promised Novikov.
“You haven’t forgotten anything?” the woman said, looking at the briefcase.
“Nothing.”
Natalia stared at Charlie, letting the shock show. “Why?” she demanded.
“All I want is a name. They’ll all be on file, won’t they?
“Why?” repeated Natalia, insistently.
“I am not going to trade currency,” said Charlie, equally insistent. “I just want the name of one of the biggest dealers, that’s all. Might be necessary to mislead someone who’s taking an irritating interest in me.”
33
Vitali Maksimovich Novikov kept the door on its security chain, easing it open just sufficiently to see it was Charlie. The man hesitated before opening it. As Charlie entered, the doctor said, “You are very quick.”
“So was your residency permission.”
“I meant we’re glad to see you,” said Novikov, instantly apologetic. “We never-”
“I know,” stopped Charlie. “But it has happened. You’re here.”
It was a wide but short entrance hall, leading directly into the one living room. Cases and tied bundles were piled in its center. Marina and the boys were grouped around their belongings, as if awaiting permission to unpack, still wearing the quilted outer coats that were normal for Yakutsk. It was another Napoleon day outside.
Charlie said, “Welcome to Moscow.”
“We didn’t expect it to be so big,” said Marina. Hurriedly, correcting an oversight, she said, “Thank you. We all want to thank you.” The boys on either side of her nodded.
A tiny kitchen was to the left, already furnished with a cooker and cupboards and a table, although only with two chairs. There was also a glass-fronted cabinet and a fabric-faded, wooden-armed settee in the living room. There was a door to the right that Charlie assumed to be to the one bedroom and wondered where the boys would sleep. The entrance hall was big enough, he supposed.
Aware of Charlie’s examination, Novikov said, “It’s a wonderful apartment. I’ve already met the concierge. He wants to sell me some allotment space in the garden at the back.”