'I didn't expect a woman.'
His brusqueness shocked her.
'Well, that's what I am,' she replied defensively.
'Billie's a man's name.'
'Never heard of Billie Holliday?'
He shook his head. 'Only Billy Graham. But he was a fella. Nobody said I'd be working with a woman.'
'What's the difference?'
'There isn't one. As long as you're good at your job.'
'My car's outside,' she answered, furious with his whole macho approach. Bloody English. They thought they still owned the world. She turned and walked out into the car park. He followed at a short distance behind, the cigarette now dangling from his lips.
The car, Billie's brightly coloured Renegade, was parked by the pay booths.
'Could you…?' she indicated the cigarette.
'Are we meant to be undercover on this thing?' Adam asked, tossing the cigarette onto the pavement and stepping on it.
'Yeah. Why?'
'I wouldn't exactly call this jam jar low profile.'
'Jam jar?'
'Car.'
'Then we'll change it. Okay?' She turned and unlocked the car. He was getting worse, this was not at all what she had expected.
He walked round to the passenger side and put his Louis Vitton suit carrier on the back seat. He climbed in the front and waited for her to start the engine.
'Where am I staying?' he asked.
'With me. It's okay. My fella thinks you're over here on a business visit from our British associate company. Anything else?'
'How old are you?'
The harsh directness of his question flummoxed her. The flush grew deeper in colour, her discomfort obvious. She stared at him in defensive silence, said nothing. Then she turned and slipped the car into Drive. She kept her chin up, with him for his youthful, male arrogance, even more furious with herself for keeping her chin up so as to hide the age wrinkles that formed round her neck. She silently cursed her own vanity.
'Nothing personal,' he went on. 'I want to know if you can handle it.'
'I can handle it.'
'Look. I'm told this is a dangerous assignment. I don't know much more. I'm used to working on my own. If I'm part of a team, under someone else's orders, then I have to know my back's covered. So how old are you?'
'Forty one.' There was little point in her lying. She knew he would eventually look up a file on her.
'Have you ever been in the field before?'
'No.'
'Shit.'
'Can we go now?'
'Why not? It can't get any worse, can it?'
'What charm school did you go to?' she snapped, almost adding the expletive 'shithead' to the sentence. She released the brake and stamped on the accelerator. The Renegade squeeled and jerked out of the parking slot.
They drove all the way to La Jolla, a forty minute drive along Route 5, in absolute and stony silence.
Welcome to sunny California.
Ch. 19
'The Americans are either lying or telling the truth. The trick is to determine which,' said the Director as he poured himself another cup of tea from the samovar.
'We could always toss a coin,' suggested Rostov.
'I accept your religion, but I didn't appreciate how deep down the road to capitalism you had gone. Gambling? What next?'
The two men laughed, a joke shared at a time of crisis.
'There were two other, quite small things. Quite unimportant on their own, but possibly worthwhile, especially when you consider we have very little to go on,' went on Rostov.
'You're right. At this stage everything is important, however tenuous the link.'
'I was going through the travel lists a few weeks ago.' Rostov referred to the weekly reports that were screened through the KGB as to which people of note and special interest were requesting visas for foreign trips. It was a legacy from the old days, but one which still was useful to the spymasters. 'I recalled that there was a group of scientists due to visit America. For a space convention. One dealing specifically with rockets. A very high powered convention. Our best people as well as theirs. It was the name Trimmler I remembered. He is leading the American delegation.'
'The same one?'
'The same.'
'Interesting.'
'That's all there was. Just a coincidence.'
'But still a link.'
'And the other?'
'Mitzer. The industrialist who was in Cannes. He's very big in electronics. Built a vast empire in West Germany. He worked with the rocket scientists at Peenumünde during the War.'
'So why didn't he come here, or to the Americans?
'He was only an administrator. We only wanted scientists.'
'And he used his knowledge to build his business?'
'Yes.'
'He would've needed money. To become that big.' Then he posed the question, 'The Lucy Ghosts?'.
Rostov shrugged. 'I don't know.'.
The two men sat in silence for a long moment.
'We need the names of the other delegates, I wonder if any of the other people at the funeral are going to the convention. It was a good decision to put a full surveillance crew on the funeral.' said the Director.
'It’s being prepared.'
'Both sides.'
'That's what I've asked for.'
'Maybe we should tell the Americans. This is not a time to turn against each other.'
'I disagree. Not until we know they're not up to their old tricks.'.
'The Kremlin want us to open our files to the Yanks. To show them our list of sleepers in return for theirs.'
'That would be very foolish at this stage.'
'I agree. Let's keep this to ourselves for now.'
'I'll bring you the list as soon as I get it.'
'Keep in touch with Dimitri Sorge. He is our only contact out there. He might just stumble on to something.'
'I'll follow that up.' Rostov had already done that, but it wasn't his intention to appear more enterprising than the Director.
The old man smiled. He knew Rostov had already contacted Sorge. He appreciated his tact and consideration.
Russia needed people like him. He would get to the top, even if he was a Christian.
Ch. 20
The Muscle gripped Adam's hand tight and squeezed it in a show of strength.
Adam had known what was coming and winced accordingly; there was little to be gained by retaliating.
'This is Gary,' said Billie, her mood still black.
'Nice to meet you. I'm Adam,' he replied, the wince turning to a smile as the Muscle pumped his arm up and down.
'Nice to meetch'ya, too,' Gary replied, a satisfied grin across his face. He relaxed his grip and let go. This weak little wimp was no threat to him. He grabbed Billie and gave her a big kiss, held her pinned with his mouth. When he'd finished claiming his property for Adam's benefit, he said, 'Hi babe. That guy Tucker's here.'
Adam saw that the girl was slightly embarrassed by this obvious show of emotion. 'I'd like to go to my room and freshen up, please?' he asked.
'This way.' She led him past the Muscle to a spare room. She opened the door and he slipped past her into the spare bedroom. 'I'd prefer it if you didn't smoke in the house.'
'Certainly,' he said, but the door was already closing behind him. He shrugged and threw the case on the bed. He zipped it open and took out a brown suit and some shirts.
It was a chintzy dressing room, very Californian chic and obviously designed for women friends. He decided to leave the rest of his unpacking till later and took out his matching Vitton toilet bag. He walked into the en suite bathroom, once again very feminine in its fashion, and plugged in his Braun electric razor. He far preferred to shave with lather and brush, but the Braun was always on standby when he was in a rush.