Still in the bookshop, Irena Kozlov watched the American take off, shaking her head at the obviousness of it. That hurried entry into Yuri’s car of the man she assumed to be the Englishman had been too abrupt, as well. Useful, though. He’d hidden himself well and until he’d moved she’d had difficulty in isolating him. Which had, after, all been an additional — actually the main — reason for her monitoring the meeting place tonight. She hoped Yuri’s encounter would be as successful.
Filiatov looked across his desk at Olga Balan, the apprehension obvious.
‘You can’t be serious!’ he said.
‘There is a pattern,’ insisted the woman. She nodded to the documentation she had assembled. ‘Everything is there. As a matter of courtesy I felt I should show you, before communicating directly with Moscow.’
Filiatov swallowed, the sweat bubbled on his forehead. ‘It’s a courtesy I appreciate. Very much indeed,’ he said. Maybe the rumours about Olga Balan’s single-minded pursuit of personal success were misplaced.
Chapter Nine
An odd — almost embarrassed — silence developed inside the car, each man awaiting the lead from someone else. It was the Russian who spoke. With barely a movement of his head towards Charlie in the rear, Kozlov said: ‘I appreciate your coming.’
‘Hardly likely we wouldn’t,’ said Charlie. The man’s English was very good, as Fredericks had said.
There was a small lift of the shoulders. ‘One can never be sure.’
Charlie was conscious of Kozlov’s eyes upon him, in the rear view mirror, and also of the Russian’s alertness to the traffic following and around him. Charlie said: ‘Always important, being sure.’
Kozlov’s mirrored attention was briefly concentrated and for a moment their gaze met and held. Although the impression was distorted by the lights of passing vehicles and street illuminations, Charlie saw clear, untroubled eyes — maybe blue, as Fredericks had reported — and an open, unlined face. Being a killer didn’t seem a strain.
‘Everything has been explained?’ questioned the Russian.
Charlie saw Kozlov had abandoned the circular route and was driving away from the centre of the city. He said: ‘Yes. Which is why I am surprised.’
‘Surprised?’ Kozlov’s full attention was on Charlie.
‘Why are we all together?’ demanded Charlie. He saw Kozlov’s half smile as Fredericks turned in the seat in front and began ‘What the …?’ but Charlie talked on: ‘I understood your wife was coming separately, to the British?’
‘Now wait a minute …’ tried the American again, realizing what was happening. ‘We arranged …’
‘Nothing beyond this introduction,’ stopped Charlie, maintaining the pressure. ‘From here on, British involvement is a matter between the two of us. America has no part.’
A filter road came up on the right and Kozlov drove off Hongodori Avenue and abruptly took two more quick turns, until the traffic quietened about them. He pulled into the side of the road and said to Fredericks: ‘He’s right. You must leave now.’
‘I think we should talk about it …’ Fredericks tried to persist but Charlie overrode him yet again. He said: ‘OK! Fine! You going to involve me in all the discussions and planning on your side?’
Although it was semi-dark inside the car, the American’s look was obvious and Charlie thought I don’t like your guts either. The hesitation continued for a few moments and then Fredericks felt behind him, releasing the door catch.
‘I’d like you in the front,’ Kozlov said to Charlie.
The effect of the transfer was to have Fredericks holding the door open for Charlie. Fredericks said: ‘Remember it’s your ass.’
As Kozlov drove off, leaving the American at the kerbside, the Russian said: ‘I was worried, briefly.’
‘Worried?’
‘I wasn’t sure you were going to protest: that it might have been some sort of complicated double cross, your pretending to be British but in reality working with them, so that they’d get myself and Irena together, with a trick.’
Kozlov was good, thought Charlie. ‘It still could be,’ he said.
There was another brief smile from the man. Kozlov said: ‘I don’t think so. I don’t believe Fredericks is a good enough actor to feign the dislike he just showed.’
Having proved himself once, Charlie continued: ‘I have nothing to do with the surveillances the Americans are imposing.’
‘I accept that,’ said Kozlov. They’re really quite silly …’ He looked fleetingly at Charlie. ‘Fredericks has already been picked up,’ he said. ‘Their car is about three vehicles behind.’
‘Why do you want to come across?’ said Charlie, abruptly.
The intention was to off-balance the man into a flustered reply. It failed. Kozlov rejoined Hongodori but in the reverse direction, going back towards the heart of the city, and instead of reply, said: ‘You can get Irena out safely?’
‘If I’m satisfied about everything,’ said Charlie, making his own refusal. ‘I want to know a lot more.’
‘Why?’
‘My safety,’ said Charlie, honestly. ‘So why defect?’
‘You are aware of my department?’
‘Yes.’
‘I do not wish to continue any longer,’ said Kozlov, shortly.
Charlie thought back to the first night’s meeting with Art Fredericks and the American’s assessment that Kozlov was frightened; Charlie’s initial impression wasn’t of fear. He said: ‘Why not?’ It was an interrogator’s trick to keep the questions as short as possible, making the other person do all the talking.
Kozlov hesitated, as if unsure how to say it. ‘I have carried out too many operations. Soon I will get caught. I know I couldn’t stand any sort of incarceration, for a long time.’
Charlie, who had endured imprisonment and at one time thought it would send him mad, recognized the fear at once and reversed just as quickly his earlier doubts. He found that explanation absolutely understandable. It also made other things understandable. The reference to Kozlov’s strange calmness, for example: the man was calm — and superbly professional — because his trained nerve had not broken, which was the erroneous inference Charlie had reached. He said: ‘Your people will come after you.’
There was another quick exchange of looks. ‘I know,’ said Kozlov. ‘I’ve pursued others myself. That’s why everything has got to be right, from the beginning.’
Charlie made a note to have Wilson check unexplained or unusual defector deaths beyond Valeri Solomatin, the exiled Ukrainian writer. He said: ‘Are you sure you can trust the Americans?’
‘No,’ said Kozlov. ‘That’s why you are involved.’
‘I did not mean immediately, here,’ expanded Charlie. ‘I meant later when …’
‘I know exactly what you mean,’ interrupted Kozlov. ‘Just as I know you’ve got to make the effort and why I am not annoyed; indeed, it would have been something else that would have worried me if you hadn’t attempted to cheat the Americans. Fredericks has tried to keep Irena and I together, at every meeting I’ve had with him. Says I can’t trust you.’
You can’t, thought Charlie. He saw they were on the park-encircling highway again and decided the car was as secure a place as any, once the checks for surveillance had been carried out. Reminded, and not yet completely abandoning the persuasion, Charlie said: ‘They have monitored every meeting, despite your insisting they shouldn’t.’
‘I told you I knew that,’ said the Russian.
‘So why didn’t you withdraw?’ demanded Charlie, coming to another of his worries.
‘Because it didn’t please me to,’ said Kozlov. ‘Every meeting has been like that tonight, a series of places where they’ve no idea when or how I’ll make the contact. Every time we’ve seen what they are doing and how they are doing it. If there had at any time been a concentration of people, indicating a kidnap attempt, then everything would have been off.’