Charlie digested what the man said, filtering the important points. ‘“We”,’ he quoted. ‘You said every time we’ve seen what they are doing it. Has your wife been involved, in the checks?’
‘Fredericks needs protectors: so do I,’ said Kozlov.
‘Tonight?’
‘Particularly tonight. I wanted her to see what you looked like.’
Charlie stirred, discomfited: yet further surveillance he hadn’t identified. It was happening too bloody often. He forced his mind on, to the more important points. Kozlov clearly expected a snatch: a further reason for not attempting one, here in Japan. Another impression came to him and he said: ‘If you’ve watched, like you say you have, for the four meetings, you must have a pretty good file on the CIA staff here?’
‘Every one,’ confirmed Kozlov. ‘That’s my cover, if there are any questions from my own people.’
So Kozlov’s hadn’t been an empty boast, to Fredericks. Charlie’s mind stayed on the American. The man had been right about one thing: the Russian was professional in everything he seemed to say or do. Charlie glanced outside, realizing they had done one complete circle of the park.
Kozlov saw the look and said: ‘Yes, it’s time to alter the route. I wasn’t becoming careless.’
‘I didn’t think you were,’ said Charlie, honestly.
Kozlov took the car off the circular road, going in the direction of the docks, and said: ‘You haven’t told me officially how your people feel?’
‘Of course we will accept you,’ said Charlie, at once.
‘Irena,’ qualified Kozlov. ‘It’s Irena you’re taking.’
‘I still don’t completely understand how you intend making this work,’ said Charlie.
‘I am valuable, yes?’ demanded Kozlov.
‘Yes,’ agreed Charlie. If there were to be a slip — a mistake to show him things weren’t right — it was most likely to come now.
‘Irena, too?’
‘Yes,’ said Charlie again. Stick to one word responses, let the other man talk, he thought.
‘And you — and the Americans — plan to try to grab us for yourselves once we’re safely out of Japan?’ completed Kozlov. He looked across the car once more, smiling triumphantly.
Charlie realized that a lot — perhaps everything — hinged upon his answer. He hoped to Christ he was going to get it right. He said: ‘Yes, that is exactly what we’ll try to do.’
‘Thank you,’ said Kozlov. ‘I’m glad you didn’t lie: most people would have done. You’re proving yourself to me as much as I am to you, don’t forget.’
There was a jump of satisfaction, but Charlie curbed it at once: another interrogation technique was trying to confuse a questioner with praise. Charlie thought, I’m not forgetting anything, my son. ‘I still don’t understand,’ he persisted.
Kozlov nodded, and Charlie didn’t know whether the gesture was one of approval or something else. ‘So the Americans will guard and protect me, absolutely. And your people will guard and protect Irena absolutely.’
Time to attempt some deflection of his own, Charlie decided. ‘From what?’ he said.
‘Broken promises,’ said Kozlov. ‘At the moment you and the Americans will give any undertaking, just to get us. I want to be confident they will be kept.’
The rehearsed story, Charlie recognized. He said: The only way to guarantee that, then, will be for you and Irena to live permanently apart? Once you’re together, your guarantee goes.’
‘No,’ argued Kozlov. ‘Before we come together permanently we want the full arrangements made, for income and pensions and changes of identity. Houses, too, of course … and going public. Did Fredericks tell you of that insistence?’
‘Yes,’ said Charlie. He’d led the Russian along perfectly, he decided. Time to spring the trap. ‘It won’t work, though, will it?’ he challenged. ‘You gave me the reason yourself, a few moments ago.’
‘What do you mean?’ demanded Kozlov. He looked straight across the car, ignoring the road.
‘You know your people will chase you: one of the conditions is to have your appearance altered, isn’t it?’ pressed Charlie.
‘Yes,’ agreed Kozlov.
‘So from the moment of your first lecture, you’re an easy target,’ said Charlie. ‘Bad flaw there, isn’t there, Yuri?’
‘What lecture?’ said the Russian.
‘That’s going public,’ said Charlie. ‘Where you guys make all the money.’
‘No,’ said Kozlov. ‘There is no flaw, on my part. You’ve made assumptions and they’re wrong. The flaw is yours.’
‘How?’
‘I know completely my value as a defector,’ said Kozlov. ‘It’s in the embarrassing disclosures that I can make, of what I’ve done for the Soviet Union. Before Irena and I are re-united I want a contractual agreement, for my account to be published …’ Kozlov smiled again. ‘The money is to be additional to anything that is agreed to be paid to us by either yourselves or the Americans, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Charlie. Greedy bastard, he thought. The reaction was largely personal irritation, at his misconceptions. Thank Christ no one knew. Trying to press his point, he went on: ‘I wasn’t talking about publishing a book …’ but Kozlov refused him.
‘I was,’ said the Russian. ‘And that’s all I was talking about. I will not undertake any lecture tours; neither will Irena. No personal publicity, either. Any meetings with publishers or writers will be before I undergo any appearance change. The same with Irena.’
It was an explanation, decided Charlie. He felt uncomfortable with it. He said: ‘Separate book contracts, like separate defections?’
‘Listing all the promises that are broken,’ confirmed Kozlov.
Charlie supposed it had some kind of rationale. He said: ‘Your wife is prepared to cooperate fully? She knows what’s involved?’
‘We’ve both considered it very fully.’
‘You’re worried about getting caught,’ said Charlie. ‘What’s her fear?’
‘The same,’ said the other man at once. ‘If I’m seized, she loses me. She is as worried at the possibility of an arrest as I am.’
Time to move on, decided Charlie. ‘You used a word to describe yourself, to Fredericks. He couldn’t remember it,’ he prompted.
‘Cheka,’ responded Kozlov at once.
Kozlov certainly wasn’t an imposter. An imposter would not have known the abbreviation of Vecheka, the name of the first intelligence organizations formed after the Russian Revolution and still how genuine KGB officers referred to themselves, as a term of pride.
‘It must be fascinating in Dzerzhinsky Square, knowing you’re in the very place where your service began,’ persisted Charlie.
Kozlov laughed, openly. ‘You’re much more sceptical than the Americans,’ he said.
The praise ploy again, thought Charlie. He stayed silent.
Spacing his delivery, Kozlov said: ‘Gorokhovaia Street, in Petrograd, was actually the first headquarters. It didn’t move to Moscow until 1918. And even then not to where it is now: for two years it was at Bolshoi Lubyanka …’ He looked briefly at Charlie. ‘Right?’
‘No!’ said Charlie.
‘But that …!’ Kozlov began to protest and then stopped. ‘As a matter of fact it is, historically,’ he said. ‘But I see now. No part of my Chief Directorate is in Dzerzhinsky Square. We’re too big. Our building is on the Moscow ring road.’
‘What connects with Metrostroevskaya Street?’ said Charlie.
Kozlov did not speak for several moments. Then he said: ‘I didn’t know the British service was that well informed.’
As before, Charlie remained silent, refusing to be drawn, and Kozlov said, after a further pause: ‘Turnaninski Pereulok.’
‘And?’ urged Charlie.
‘Yes,’ said Kozlov. ‘I received initial training there: rifle and pistol shooting, unarmed combat … it’s the school.’
‘I want the other place,’ demanded Charlie.
‘Kuchino,’ said the Russian, at once.
‘What’s the specialization?’