‘I meant what I said in the letter,’ he told her, then added eagerly, ‘Did you like the flowers?’
‘Yes.’ She allowed herself a brief smile. ‘They were lovely.’
‘They were to say sorry for deceiving you.’
‘You admit you’re a spy. That’s an advance; you were still denying it a week ago,’ she answered tartly.
‘What did you expect? But it’s different now. You must listen to me, my darling.’
He edged closer to her, but without touching.
‘When we first met it was for one reason only. Not because I’m a spy and your husband… I didn’t know anything about that when we met,’ he protested. ‘Believe me. There was nothing in what you told me that was any use to Moscow.’
Sincerity blazed from his eyes.
‘The reason…, the reason we met was that we both wanted the same thing. Love. Why does a woman go to a restaurant alone? Because she wants a man. Why was I there alone? Because I needed a woman. We were looking for each other. And then you came back to my hotel, and we weren’t just any man and any woman; we were magic!’
His face lit up and the grin spread from ear to ear. Sara laughed. It moved her when he looked like that; he was like a big child.
He took hold of her and this time she didn’t resist. He kissed her mouth. Guiltily she sensed the arousal of her body.
‘You are such a woman! So loving, so generous! What we have together is too good to lose!’
She pulled back and shook her head.
‘No.’
This was dangerous. There was a purpose in meeting him again. A deadly purpose.
‘I told you what I’m going to do,’ he pressed. ‘I hate my work. I want to stay in England, to prove to you that you can trust me.’
Sara shook her head again.
‘Why did you come here if you don’t believe me?’ he snapped.
‘Maybe I do believe you. I don’t know. But the reason I had to see you is that I’m frightened.’
His eyes softened as if on cue.
‘Not of you. Frightened of what’s about to happen,’ she blurted out.
Viktor slipped his arm round her shoulder. She accepted it.
‘Philip — he knows what you are.’
‘I know. You told me last week.’
‘Yes. But I didn’t tell you the way he reacted. He hates you — he hates all Russians. For all sorts of reasons, good and bad. He wants revenge. He’s on an exercise in the Norwegian Sea — I’m sure you know.’
‘Of course.’ He began to frown.
‘Well, he’s not doing what he should be doing. He’s ignoring his orders. The Navy’s got no control over him. His submarine’s loaded with mines. They think he’s going to blow up the Russian fleet!’
Viktor froze. His eyes turned cold; his jaw set like stone.
‘How do you know this?’
‘Philip said something before he sailed,’ she blustered. ‘He was so angry he just blurted it out about the mines. Then, I heard from someone else he’s ignoring his orders.’
‘How many mines?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Where do they think he’s going exactly?’
‘Philip said a name. Poly something, could it be?’
‘Poly something?’ He frowned. ‘You came here today to tell me this? Why?’
‘Because I’m so afraid of what might happen. Our Navy may not be able to stop him. Someone should be warned. Someone on your side. I don’t want a war to start! If it did, it’d be partly because of you and me! Do you realize that?’
Viktor stared straight ahead through the windscreen. Instead of laying an inert mine for the Soviet Navy to recover, was Hitchens now going to use them in anger? He must signal Moscow urgently. But first he needed the rest of the information he’d come for.
‘I’ll make a deal. I’ll warn Moscow. You must promise me something in return. To speak to your security people, on my behalf, so that I can defect.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Who d’you think could help? Who’ve you spoken to?’ he asked innocently.
‘There’s a Mr Black…’
‘Ah, M15, I think.’
‘And Mr Hillier. He’s Foreign Office…’
Sara instantly knew she’d said too much. Viktor had gone very still.
‘What have they said about me?’ he asked softly.
‘Well, nothing at all, not to me. They just ask questions all the time,’ she stammered.
‘Mr Hillier, too?’
‘Yes.’
He could tell she was lying. What was this all about? Hillier was Secret Intelligence Service, not counter-espionage. Why should he be involved? This message about the mines. Was the SIS behind it? A false story? For what reason?
‘Please find out more for me. Your Mr Hillier and Mr Black — I need to discover if they know who I am, and how valuable I could be to them. I need to know if they’ll be sympathetic.’
‘I’m not sure they’ll tell…’
‘Just try,’ he insisted. ‘We can meet again here tomorrow, or the day after. Listen carefully. I’ll phone you each morning. I’ll pretend to be arranging an appointment to mend your TV set. If I need to see you, I’ll suggest a time; if you have news for me, you propose it.’
He smiled his broad smile at her. For the first time Sara realized he could do it to order. He leaned across to kiss her. Suddenly she felt frightened again.
‘I want to go home now,’ she told him.
‘Yes, my darling. Return this car to the hotel car park and leave the keys.’
‘How will you…?’
He pointed to where a motorcycle was parked three spaces away. He reached to the back seat, pulled his rucksack onto his knee and extracted a crash helmet.
‘I’ll ring you in the morning. And remember — trust me.’
He pushed open the door and got out. Sara started the engine. A green Vauxhall parked near the toilets looked vaguely familiar, but she gave it no further thought.
Viktor Kovalenko pulled the chinstrap tight and swung his leg over the Kawasaki 750cc twin. He flicked the starter button and the twin cylinders burst into life.
Out on the road he headed back to the main route for Exeter and the north. He worried about the van that followed him to the junction, but relaxed when it turned right for Plymouth.
He turned left and settled down for the three hour ride to Bristol, checking constantly in his mirror to ensure he was not being shadowed.
He was oblivious of the helicopter flying two thousand feet above him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The briefing room at the White House simmered with suppressed excitement. The previous evening’s TV news reports from Moscow had stung President John McGuire into calling an extraordinary press conference.
Over sixty reporters crowded the room; the walls were lined with TV cameras, their operators elbow to elbow. It was hot; already those in the front rows had begun to perspire under the lights.
President McGuire was a reluctant briefer of the press; he thought it better to say nothing than to risk saying too much. But the sight of the Soviet Bear pretending to be threatened by US F14s, followed by the injured innocence of Admiral Grekov had been too much for him. If America’s own TV networks couldn’t see when they were being manipulated, then it was time someone told them.
The press spokesman stepped up to the podium.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.’
There was a scraping of chairs as the reporters stood up; their chatter subsided expectantly.
‘Please sit down. And thank you for coming here at such short notice. I have a statement to make, and then I shall be glad to take your questions.’
The podium in the briefing room had been lowered in height when McGuire took office. He stood just 5 feet 9 inches tall.