Vladimirov shrugged. 'Begin — again,' he said.
'… not burned-water…' Gant said immediately, then there was nothing but the noises of rustling clothes, hesitant footsteps. Vladimirov remembered, then. Gant had slumped back on the bed at that point. A little later, he was to sit up once more, and scream out listen and explain!
But he had never explained, though they had listened. In his frenzy, his legs had become entangled in the bedclothes and he had toppled out of bed, striking his head and knocking himself unconscious. End of the affair -
Footsteps on the tape — or was it Andropov's drumming fingers? Breathing, murmurs that were indistinct, someone cursing, fumbling with something. Everyone waiting for the moment that never arrived.
Not burned… Gant was not burned. He knew that. Vladimirov looked down at his pad. Almost unnoticed, he had torn off the sheet of doodles and had virtually carved words onto the sheet beneath.
He counted. Gant refuted his having been burned five times. He mentioned fire, though — just once. Vladimirov realised he had scribbled each of the words separately, each time they were spoken. Taking Ganfs fevered dictation. He had written water, too. Gant had said that, apparently, three times. And, drowning — twice…
Burning, drowning, water, fire, landed…
Vladimirov realised how much depended upon the tapes, the solution, the moment. He had to find the answer — !
Water three times, drowning twice, landed once… His ballpoint pen almost surreptitiously linked the three circled words by trailing lines. Drowning and water were like balloons floating yet anchored above the word landed…
He remembered Andropov asking about the aircraft being landed on a frozen lake -
And then he knew
Landed — water — drowning.
He had broken the code. He knew what Gant had done. He had landed the MiG-31 on a frozen lake, and the ice had given way and he had almost drowned. And there was no trace of the aircraft because the water had frozen over it.
He had discounted the lakes in the designated area because there was no shelter for that black aircraft standing on white snow and ice. But, under the ice-!
His hand was shaking. He looked up, to find Andropov watching him intently. Vladimirov hardly heard Gant shouting for attention in the moment before he tumbled to the floor. Andropov gestured for the tape to be switched off, and Vladimirov announced in a quiet.hoarse voice:
'The MiG-31 is at present under the ice of a frozen lake, Comrade Chairman. I am certain of it.'
'Explain.' Vladimirov did so. Andropov stared at him, his face expressionless. Then, in the ensuing silence, which seemed endless, his features became intently reflective. Andropov was evidently weighing the consequences of his acceptance of the general's theory. Eventually, the Chairman spoke. 'I think we should consult the map. Perhaps you would lead on, General Vladimirov.' Then he turned to the senior interrogator. 'That will be all, Comrade Deputy Director. Thank you.' It was evident that the senior interrogator derived little comfort from the flat, non-committal tones.
Vladimirov reached the door. Andropov followed him into the huge underground room. Heads turned to them, then returned to appointed tasks, as they crossed the floor together and climbed the ladder onto the gallery. Expectant faces looked up as they entered the control room of the command centre. Yet no one joined them at the fibre-optic map. Finnish Lapland remained as they had left it, except for a dotted red line that had inched south-east during their absence.
'Well?' Andropov asked, surrendering the consequences to Vladimirov.
The general traced the dotted red line with his finger. The reconnaissance party had made good time, moving on a very narrow front, retracing Gant's journey… from a lake, he reminded himself. Where? His finger continued southeastward, moving swiftly over the roads and tracks he had at first nominated. How could he have been so stupid — ?
Two lakes, almost in a direct line with the route of the reconnaissance party; certainly within the tolerances which allowed for slight changes of direction by the American. One of the lakes was rounded, the other longer and narrower. He recalled the scale. Either might have done…
And there was a third lake to the north of that pair, and a fourth to the east. Four lakes. The red dotted line was closest to the pair of lakes. His finger tapped the surface of the map.
'There,' he said, 'First priority — a reconnaissance of those two lakes.' He stared at Androppv.until the chairman silently nodded his head. Then he said, more loudly, 'Major, please check these co-ordinates, then transmit them to our reconnaissance party. At once!
A young major in the GRU hurried forward to join them at the map.
ELEVEN:
Crossing The Border
Harris stopped the hired car, switched off the engine, and turned in his seat. For a moment he appeared to study Gant and Anna with a cool objectivity, then he said, 'I'll just call in and check with my people in Leningrad. The border is ten miles up the road…' He pointed through a windscreen that was already smeared with snow now that the wipers had been switched off. 'I don't want us to get caught out by any alarm or increased security. The Finns are waiting for us. They'll have signalled Leningrad in case of trouble. We passed a telephone box on the edge of the village.' He smiled. 'Best not to park near it — if any one sees me now, they'll assume I'm a local. Just sit tight. I won't be long.'
Harris opened the door. Snow gusted in. He climbed out and slammed the door behind him. Gant turned his head and watched him trudge away, back towards the few scattered lights of the tiny hamlet through which they had passed a minute earlier. Harris had pulled the car off the main road, into a lay-by which was masked by tall bushes heavy with snow.
Harris disappeared from view. Gant turned to Anna.
'Check your papers again,' he instructed. He pulled his own documents from his breast pocket, unbuttoning his overcoat to do so. As he opened the travel documents and visas, he wondered once more about Anna. She had accepted the papers Harris had supplied, and the cover story. She had examined the documents periodically during their three-hour car journey from Kolpino, via the outskirts of Leningrad and the industrial city of Vyborg. Yet he sensed that she still in no way associated herself with them. They were like a novel she had picked out for the journey and in which she had little interest.
Harris, a British businessman with a Helsinki base and frequent opportunity for business travel inside the Soviet Union, was to pose as a Finn when they reached the border. He possessed a Finnish passport and his visas had been stamped to indicate that he had travelled from Helsinki to Leningrad a few days before. Gant and Anna were to remain as Russians, and as members of the Secretariat. They were accompanying Harris from Leningrad to inspect his facilities on behalf of the Leningrad Party. Harris was in the metallurgical business, and factories and businesses in the area covered by the Leningrad Oblast required his products.
The covers were impressive, even unnerving to a border guard. The only suspicious circumstance was the time of arrival at the border and the manner of travel. Yet, Gant knew it would work. He no longer noticed the hairpiece and the half-glasses, and in the same fashion he no longer considered the flaws in Harris's plan.