And he'd be left alone with a computer terminal — screen, keyboard, printer, recorder, all the equipment — and Teardrop—
Four minutes twenty…
He checked the coil, the transistor, the wiring, the battery, then closed the door and taped it shut. Four minutes forty—
He shone the pale light of the torch over the junction box. At a glance — yes? Yes — at a glance it appeared closed and locked—
Lock, where was the lock?
He flicked the torch over the track but could not locate the lock that had bounced on the live rail. Satisfied it was not visible to any workmen or repair team who might walk through this section of tunnel before midnight — when his work would be finished or he would be finished—
Stop that—
Four minutes fifty-eight, nine — five minutes…
He hurried along the track, torchlight pools at his feet, his hearing alert for the noise of the next train.
In this country, they almost queue up to pass you information, he heard Godwin saying, The trouble is, hardly anyone bothers to listen. He reached the inspection shelter and pressed his body into it. The track had begun to tremble once more beneath his shoes. He waited, switching off the torch. At once, the darkness was icy, thick-frozen around him. He heard the metro train approaching.
Collect the drill and the haversack on your way back, he reminded himself. And shivered. The metal storm of the train rushed past him.
"You're not eating your Châteaubriand, Voronin."
"I prefer my meat to be more cooked, thank you."
"Wilkes, give our friend more claret — it might help his palate to accept rare beef. It can't be the suggestion of blood, can it?"
"You seem in a very comfortable frame of mind, Sir Andrew Babbington."
"I am. Tell him, Wilkes, how industrious you have been this morning."
"It's all arranged. Parrish, Head of Station, takes official custody of our friends this evening. Eight on the dot. They'll be taken to the safe house — and the rest is up to you. Only five or six men on duty. I'll be around. You'll get updates during the course of the evening and a disposition of forces just before you go in — OK? I'll leave by the back door…"
"I would prefer that you did not."
"What? Not on your—"
"Please listen. The safe house has monitors and surveillance cameras both inside and out?"
"Yes, but—"
"And a security room?"
"Yes—"
"Then, Sir Andrew Babbington, I propose that Wilkes remains in the safe house — in the security room itself — and he can observe our progress… you speak some Russian, Wilkes?"
"He does."
"Then over the R/T, he can inform us of the movements of his unfortunate colleagues."
"Wait a minute, chum—"
"A good idea, Voronin. That's settled, Wilkes… drink your wine and don't sulk."
"Vienna Station was not curious as to how and where you captured these desperate criminals?"
"Of course. Wilkes bluffed it out with them, in my name. Because of Aubrey's treachery, no one can be trusted. I have had to use local unofficial and people I've drafted in — and a top-secret location. Parrish swallowed it more or less whole, didn't he, Wilkes?"
"Like a greedy trout — silly old fart."
"And — for your part, my dear Voronin?"
"Everything is arranged. We will go in at eleven-thirty. A strong force of men. Aubrey and the others will be transferred to the embassy, then to the airport. An Aeroflot diplomatic flight will take them to Moscow — leaving at… but that is not your concern. They will be safely in Moscow and no longer a threat to you before daylight tomorrow."
"Good. I'm glad that Kapustin has had the sense to accept my scenario."
"Now, I would like to see a scale-drawing of the safe house, please."
"You still haven't finished your Châteaubriand."
"I still prefer my meat to be more cooked — what do you say? Well done?"
"Yes. Quite correct. Well done it is."
"Well, there it is — Castle Dracula. You all right?"
"Stakes and garlic — check."
"Just walk straight in through the gates, past the guards. Just like that bus-load of schoolkids."
"Bit late, isn't it — getting dark?"
"Never too late for a bit of Party history."
"Christ — they're forming up in a crocodile, and I can't hear any noise! Something to be said for the Party after all."
"Make sure you buy the official guide book to the Hradcany. From the Cedok office in the First Courtyard. Then you can wander through the Second and Third Courtyards to the cathedral. Across the courtyard from the cathedral is the President's Chancellery. Down below the building and the courtyard are, among other things, the computer rooms. Wander over for a closer look at the architecture — you'll be looked for and spotted."
"The supervising cleaner?"
"That's him. He'll use your name — no, he knows nothing else about you, only the name. Then he'll conceal you until tonight."
"You're certain he'll know—?"
"When the post office engineer arrives — yes. When an hour has passed, he'll come and tip you off. Then you're on — the big finale, all singing, all dancing."
"Why is he doing it?"
"Oh, he wants to be bit better off financially… well, he's bitter as well. He used to be an electrical engineer until he signed the Charter one night when he was pissed out of his mind. Now, he supervises the Mrs Mops in the Hradcany. Someone's idea of a joke. But, he wouldn't do it without the money — it's also true you can trust him…"
"And I get out this way?"
"Your Soviet ID's OK — I double-checked. And the guards will change at about ten. When you come out, they won't expect to have checked you in — they'll be new."
"OK — I'm off."
"Good luck, Hyde. I mean it."
"Don't go cold on your brilliant planning now, Godwin — that's all I need!"
"I'm not cold on it — it'll work, if you keep your head."
"I intend to."
"And remember — Moscow Centre will expect to hear from you before you start testing — and maybe during. If they ring you — at any time — you've got to be able to bluff it out. You have to convince them that you're doing nothing wrong, that you need to access the information you've requested to check the system thoroughly. If you don't, they could isolate your terminal at any time they choose, just like that—! Your screen will go blank, the terminal will shut down, and you'll never get hold of Teardrop."
"Sure. Here's another bus-load of kids for the funfair. I'm off."
"I'll be here, waiting for you. You'll be finished before midnight and on your way to Bratislava, with any luck. You could be back across the border before daylight."
"Let's hope it's soon enough."
"Good luck."
"Sure."
Babbington's bruise-dyed knuckles as he thrust his right hand into the black glove; Margaret Massinger's swollen lips and crooked, reluctant smile; Massinger's limp and his own weariness; all confirmed his growing realisation of the complete, successful power of an implacable opponent. Margaret's hurt mouth and jaw were like badges of ownership placed on them all by Babbington.