Godov said, “It is built in the sea, where the first borehole was sunk. It has been there for some years. This tower stands up from the water, an enormously wide shaft, to the north of Moltsk, almost due east of here. It is surrounded by other towers, much smaller, which are linked with a kind of steel mesh, a boom you would say perhaps, to keep shipping away. Now, yesterday the friend of whom I spoke came to see me… she has a cousin, an officer of the Red Army, a major recently posted to the area, who works on that tower. She tells me that it is being used as a store for nuclear devices, a deep store in case we are attacked, so that we can continue our retaliation even after heavy saturation by the inter-continental ballistic missiles. I have heard that there are indeed deep nuclear stores all over Russia, genuine ones — but in this particular case I do not believe the story.”
“Why not?”
Godov shrugged. “Because if it were true, they would never have allowed the story to leak out so openly. My friend’s cousin would not speak of it for one, he would have more regard for his life. No — they use that story merely as a smoke-screen, Mr Alison. Therefore I say, look for what you seek in that great tower. And I trust you will use every endeavour of which you are capable to stop the plans of these people.” The old man’s voice shook now. “Mr Alison, I am loyal to Russia and I love her. That is why I wish you well. These men who would put pressure on her leaders do Russia no good service and in the long run nothing but evil can come of their designs. Unfortunately I am old, and can give you no practical help, but” — he shrugged again — “my hopes and prayers will be with you.”
“Thank you, Professor. I appreciate that.” Shaw added hesitantly, “By the way… I suppose you wouldn’t give me the address of your friend? I — er — think it’d be helpful to have a word with her.”
“Yes, I will do so,” Godov said at once. “Indeed, I was going to suggest that myself. She will wish to help if I send you to her, that I know. She has been cruelly used by the communists, and she shares my views. She can be completely trusted. Go and see her, Mr Alison. Her name is Triska Somalin, and she is a doctor… she lives at 1736 Arkhangelsk Street, which is not far from your hotel. You will tell her that I have sent you.” He paused. “Better — I shall give you a letter. But remember, Mr Alison, that her cousin, Major Igor Bronsky, is a zealous communist and a dangerous man, which is why I am certain he would not have talked even to Triska except to help in laying that smoke-screen. Nevertheless, if you are clever and patient — if there is time for that now — then you may find ways of eliciting some of the truth from him, perhaps through Triska.” He lifted himself slowly from his chair. Shaw got up and went over to help him and the old man added, as they went slowly towards a desk, “Be of good heart, Mr Alison. Your cover is good and it will hold — to all except me! You need not fear.”
Driving back into Moltsk with the Professor’s reiterated assurances of any help he could give him, and the letter for Triska Somalin in his pocket, Shaw reflected that what Godov had told him was mere conjecture; but it sounded good sense all the same. A little way after Emets, he stopped thinking about Godov when he noticed a road leading off in a north-easterly direction just opposite what looked like an old wartime pill-box. He leaned forward to speak to his driver. He asked, “Is there another way into Moltsk?”
“There is.”
“Can we go that way? I’d like to see all I can while I’m here.”
The man said shortly, “It cannot be used. The road runs through the closed military area.” His voice was surly and unhelpful and it finished the brief conversation. Shaw wasn’t going to risk being shopped to the MVD as the Englishman who had shown too much curiosity about the military area. And that military area, he suspected, included the tower and the oil-drillings.
Eleven
“Dr Triska Somalin?”
“Yes, that is my name.”
The girl was attractive and had a nice figure — that was Shaw’s first impression.
Tall and dark, with black hair curling over her ears, and direct brown eyes, she was far from being one of the crowd of drab, depressed women that Shaw had seen in the streets, though her clothes, certainly, were as dowdy and utilitarian as the rest. There was a look of strength and self-reliance in her face and her bearing, though just at this moment she was looking at him with a guarded reserve which he found perfectly natural. A peal at a doorbell in Moltsk no doubt had many possible interpretations — and even more so had the sudden appearance of a stranger on the threshold; yet there was no perceptible trace of fear, indeed she gave the impression that all fear had been purged out of her, that she had already been through the worst that Man could offer.
This was a young woman who wouldn’t be rattled, who could be trusted in an emergency.
Shaw had just come up to the tenth floor in the skyscraper-like block of utilitarian flats and pressed the bell, and she had come to the door and looked him up and down, waiting for him to speak first.
He said, still speaking in Russian, “It’s quite all right, Dr Somalin. Professor Godov asked me to call and give you his good wishes.”
“Professor Godov?” She looked at him sharply then; her tone was sharp too, though the voice was as attractive as the girl herself. “He sent you to me?”
He smiled, seeing her instinctive disbelief, her feeling that this was a trap of some kind. He said reassuringly, “I came down from Moscow to see him. I’m in WIOCA, by the way. He gave me this.”
He passed Godov’s envelope over and she opened it. Pulling the letter out she read it quickly and then, catching her breath in sudden relief, she said, “Yes, it is all right, Mr Alison. Please come in.”
“Just a moment.” He put a hand on her arm as she turned away into a tiny square hall. “You’re alone?”
“I am alone, Mr Alison.”
He nodded, and followed her in. They went across the hall into the sitting-room. This was a small, bare apartment with few signs of the kind of comfort that Godov enjoyed out in the wilds. The floor was covered with a dullish composition like cheap linoleum, the one window looked out over the concrete jungle behind the block of flats; there was a single bulb cheaply shaded and hanging from the centre of the ceiling, and an electric fire set in one wall gave out only a feeble heat. Triska Somalin asked him to sit on a plush-covered chair and, drawing up another to face him, offered him cigarettes. She watched him as he lit one, still not at ease with him, still with an air of reserve and bewilderment, waiting for him to make things clear to her. Her face was a little flushed now and she sat with her arms folded in her lap, leaning towards him so that he caught her faint, elusive scent.
He said quietly, “I had a long talk with Professor Godov this afternoon.”
“There is nothing wrong?” There was sudden fear in her face.
“Wrong? Not with Godov. He's perfectly well.” Shaw blew a long trail of smoke. “But he’s worried.”
She seemed to disregard that. “He says little in the letter except that he would like me to help you, Mr Alison. You yourself have told me you are a member of WIOCA… and this he confirms.” She hesitated, pushing a strand of hair back from her forehead. “Do you wish help in that connexion — you have some questions, perhaps, about our medical research centre?”
“That’s where you work, Dr Somalin?”
“Yes.”
“I see. It’s not that, though.”
“No? Tell me, Mr Alison — what did Professor Godov say about me?”
He smiled at her. “Just as little as he seems to have said about me. Except that you were a good friend of his.”
“A good friend… yes, that is true.” There was a curious look in her eyes and she, too, smiled faintly, inwardly. “We have talked much together. I am very, very fond of him, and l respect him greatly.”
“And you share his views?”
She answered cautiously, “I did not say that.”
“I know you didn’t, but—”
“But he did?”
He nodded, looking at her hard. “Yes, Dr Somalin, he did.”
“I see.” She hesitated, biting at her lower lip uncertainly. She looked away from Shaw into the glowing bars of the electric fire. Then she said in a low voice, “I accept you as a friend, Mr Alison. If Godov sent you, then I can talk to you. Yes, I will admit that I share his views. But I am just a woman, Mr Alison. I do not know what I can do to help you — or indeed what kind of help you want.”
“Perhaps you could give me some information,” he said.
She looked him straight in the eyes then. “Please tell me the truth,” she said. “Tell me why Godov sent you here.”
Shaw inhaled smoke deeply into his lungs. Godov had said this girl was absolutely all right and Godov himself had already guessed why he was in Russia anyway. Nothing could be lost now that was not already in jeopardy if things went wrong with Godov, and if the girl was to help him, then she must know the full score and no holding back. So he said, “Godov told me of some great tragedy that he believes to be building up, here in Moltsk, something that affects my country, Dr Somalin. Can you tell me anything about this?”
She had gone very white and he noticed the shake in the fingers that held her cigarette. She said, “This is dangerous. I think you must tell me a little more. Is that not fair, Mr Alison?”
“Quite fair.” He took a deep breath. He had to take a big chance now and had to force the issue with this girl; time was desperately short and there was no knowing when he might be connected with the shooting back at Khamchevko railway-station. He said, “I am a British agent, and I’m here to stop this thing taking place. Godov already knows this and I’m in his hands — and yours now, Dr Somalin.”