A tyranny isn't enough — He wanted to laugh, except that, even now, he could not find himself an object of levity.
Khamovkhin had changed his clothing — shaved and washed, then a clean shirt, a tie, another suit; for a moment, in the bedroom still darkened by shutters and curtains, he had thought of changing his long underwear. But he could not bear the thought of so literal a nakedness, or the sight of the shivering old body in the long mirror. As he came into the high room, and saw the two intelligence agents waiting for him, near the huge fireplace, their faces lit more by the log fire than the lamps or the light from the distant window, he quailed as if he were an emperor without clothes.
Aubrey received the impression of a warlord in a grey suit; albeit one prey to doubts, and apparently unsure of himself. There was an impression, a patina, of confidence overlying a tangible lack of assurance. Buckholz saw a much simpler figure — the representatives of an alien system now to be habilitated; and a man to whom his President had given ultimata, and whose representative he was.
'Mr Aubrey — Mr Buckholz,' Khamovkhin said, waving them back to their seats beneath some unidentifiable armorial crest over the fireplace. There was no one else in the great room; Khamovkhin spoke better English than most of his predecessors, and he would not have admitted lack of confidence by having a security man inside the door.
'Mr First Secretary, good of you to see us so promptly,' Aubrey murmured deferentially as Khamovkhin stood with his back to the fireplace, wanning himself. The crest above him — no, Aubrey reflected, there is nothing chivalric about his face, or his posture. A warlord, Buckholz, next to Aubrey, stirred at the diplomacy of tone.
'Of course. You are now accredited representatives of your governments. You have been — legitimised, mm?' Khamovkhin laughed.
Aubrey dipped his head. 'Quite so, sir.'
'I have this morning for— my affairs. Please to proceed with your counsel, gentlemen.' To complete the spell of confidence, he waved his hands and sat down opposite them, on the other side of the fireplace. The firelight strengthened his square features with shadows and highlights, and Aubrey realised that the effect had been calculated, stage-managed.
'Mr Secretary—' Buckholz began, bridling at the delicacy of exchange. 'This visit is in the nature of a follow-up, if you take my meaning. The President wishes me to discuss — in more detail — matters of importance to both our countries—' He tailed off, as if caught himself in some diplomatic web. Then he added: 'You know why we're here, sir.'
'Indeed I do.' Aubrey caught the hesitation, sensed the man shying from the subject.
'OK, sir. Then we understand each other. I have to make it clear to you, sir, that my country will go to war, if that's what it takes. The President, and his allies in NATO, are deeply worried by developments inside the Soviet Union, especially by troop concentrations in the theatre of northern Europe, so close to the date for the signing of the Treaty—' Buckholz blundered on, as if reciting his speech in reverse, throwing away the ultimatum as an opening remark.
Aubrey interjected: 'Mr First Secretary, our combined intelligence services are in possession of information which strongly indicates that the Soviet High Command intend to move troops into Finland and Norway — and perhaps to threaten yourself and the legitimate, elected government of the USSR, at the moment when you and President Wainwright would be signing the Helsinki Arms Control Treaty — in two days' time.' He paused, and Buckholz, jaw jutting, prow of a nose in profile to him as he leaned in his chair, seemed to have resigned the task to him. Khamovkhin remained silent, but Aubrey was aware of the sense of strain, of the way in which the words, though familiar, inflicted themselves on the Russian.
He pressed on: 'What Mr Buckholz, in his position as representative of his government, and myself, wish from you — is an assurance that these matters are not unknown to you, and that they are being, and will continue to be dealt with successfully.'
Aubrey waited. He had given the man a means of admission that would not appear damaging, or impotent. Khamovkhin stirred in his chair, then said, 'Very well, Mr Aubrey. You have been candid with me, I shall be similarly so.' He stood up again, and placed his back towards the fire, hands clasped behind him. Irreverently, Aubrey expected a comic policeman's crouch.
'The discontent of the Army towards our mutually beneficial Treaty is well known to you, as it is to us. I will not disguise from you the fact that we have long suspected that elements in the Red Army might attempt some kind of— non-diplomatic, non-democratic action against the time when the Treaty was signed, and ratified. The security service of the Soviet Union has been assiduous, dedicated, in its investigations — in all parts of the Soviet Union and the territories of our Warsaw Pact allies — into possible centres of discontent and subversion—' He looked at each man in turn. Aubrey saw a quick image of a man hanging wallpaper, and wondered quizzically at the way in which irreverence was creeping into his attitude to his work; even at such a crucial tune as this.
'We have had to tread very carefully, as you will appreciate, gentlemen. We had no wish to trigger, prematurely, the very thing we wished to prevent.' He smiled — an exercise of the facial muscles. 'But, we are now — and I have confirmed this with Chairman Andropov by radio-transmitter only this morning — in a position where the leaders of this conspiracy against peace are clearly identified, their plans known to us — and their arrests imminent!' He finished with an actor's nourish, one hand raised a little in the air. Then he dosed it into a fist, to emphasise his meaning.
'Your assurances are most welcome, sir,' Aubrey remarked smoothly. 'We understand that you cannot order the withdrawal of troops — which you so evidently wish to do — until these dissident elements have been placed under arrest. I am sure that my colleague — and his government — will be reassured, as I know Her Britannic Majesty's Government will be.' He nodded in a little theatrical bow. Khamovkhin watched Buckholz carefully.
'Thank you, Mr First Secretary,' the American began, 'for your frank admissions. I will convey your remarks to the President. However, I am sure that he would wish you to know that his sympathies and support are with you — and that he will commit troops to the northern sector at dawn on the twenty-fourth! Unless you can put your own house in order.'
Khamovkhin shivered, very slightly, but Aubrey considered it was with suppressed rage.
'I take your President's meaning to heart, I can assure you, Mr Buckholz. However, the situation you seem to consider with such — calm — will not arise. I have told you, the leaders of the conspiracy will be arrested within the next twenty-four hours!' The voice was slightly out of control, and not simply for effect. Khamovkhin had reached the limits of diplomacy, Aubrey considered — and Aubrey understood that it was hopeless; that Khamovkhin's cupboard was bare, his hand empty of high cards. He was simply wishing for the moon.
Aubrey covered the void of the moment, and his own inward quailing, and said, 'There is one other matter, Mr First Secretary. In the interests of your personal security, sir, we propose, that a new security team, from our intelligence services, be drafted to Lahtilinna.'
Khamovkhin was visibly disconcerted. 'Why is this, gentlemen? My security officers here have been verted by the Chairman himself.' An edge of fear — rank, personal fear. Surprise, anger too.