‘I thought at first it was a standard container, the sort we get all the time?’ said Lyudin, enquiringly.
‘It isn’t,’ said Zenin.
‘Something unusual then?’
‘Get out, Yuri Ivanovich!’ dismissed Zenin.
Zenin locked the door behind the departing Russian and turned back to the container, savouring its very appearance like a child knowing its most asked-for Christmas toy was beneath the wrapping. But there was no excitement shake in his hand as Zenin reached out for the combination, which moved without any perceptible click as the memorized numbers were engaged and discarded: he paused when the final one was released and then snapped open the catch. The container fell apart, either side opening like a giant mouth from its bottom hinges. It was a superbly packed Christmas toy.
The inside had been machined and socketed perfectly to receive and hold every part of the dissembled rifle and each variety of its ammunition. It occupied one entire side of the container, laid out for inspection. Which was what Zenin did, counting off from another memorized list the components which made up the 7.62 mm American M21 sniper’s rifle upon which he had been so diligently trained at Balashikha. It had been reconstructed especially for him by the KGB’s Technical Division, measured to the millimetre to his arm length and shoulder dip, and modified further beyond the standard hand-constructed US model. The walnut and epoxy resin stock had been replaced by a skeleton metal rest to balance the weight of the other adjustments. The most important of these was a series of attachment clasps for the elaborate harness which went far beyond the usually fitted elbow-twist strap. The harness was again made-to-measure and of the best graded leather, once more identifiably American. It was a complete vest, the main part encompassing his body from waist to shoulders, across which went the thickest of the straps. There were four others which attached to special clasps, effectually welding the rifle to his body. The magnified sight maintained the standard design of two stadia on a horizontal graticule but because the range was beyond the designed three hundred metres there was a heavy power ring to increase the sighting distance and this had been allowed for by strengthening the mounting. There had also been another weighting allowance for the final modification. At the bottom of the rifle side of the container was a rectractable three-legged tripod upon which the weapon was to be locked by a grooved screw-nut device, which, together with the harness, made the assembly absolutely rigid. When completely tightened to fix the rifle on to the tripod the screw-nut became parallel with two-minute spring-repressing lines which compensated for the minuscule recoil. That, too, was a modification, even though the trigger pull had been taken up from its 2.15 kg to 1.15.
Zenin felt out, running his fingers at random over the sound suppressor and the primed gas cylinder and the piston, a craftsman encountering the favourite tool of his trade.
The Browning parabellum automatic was on the opposite wall of the case and assembled, except for the empty butt clip, which was fastened alongside. Again there were two varieties of bullets, the Israeli hollow-nosed in a separate holder from the solid test bullets. In this section, too, was the bradawl and screws to fasten the tripod to the floor, adjoining the sockets in which were held hard metalled screws and a screwdriver.
There was a metal bar upright in the centre of the container and from it, in separate plastic bags, were suspended the suit and shoes for Zenin to change into to alter his appearance for his departure from the embassy. At the very bottom was the duplicate bag.
Zenin stripped off the overalls, this time folding them neatly on the table beside the container, and placed the work boots next to them. The suit was intentionally light coloured, beige, to be as opposite as possible from what he had worn when he entered the embassy. When he finished dressing Zenin transferred the rifle parts and the pistol to the bag, hefting it in his hands as a reminder of the weight which he had also rehearsed carrying at Kuchino, and then put the work clothes back into the container, which he closed and resealed against its specialized interior being seen by Lyudin.
The rezident was waiting expectantly in an opposing office when Zenin opened the door. He said: ‘Was everything satisfactory?’
Zenin considered the question ridiculous and the man further incompetent for not making the demand he should have done. He said: ‘What else could it have been?’
‘That drink now?’
It was still almost an hour before the lunch-hour when more people than usual were arranged to make the exodus in which Zenin planned to be concealed. He said: ‘Why not?’
Lyudin led the way to a more spacious office further along the corridor furnished with chairs and a couch. The bottles were set out upon a tray on top of a wall-bordering cupboard. The man splashed neat vodka into two tumblers, offered one to Zenin and made an arm-outstretched toast. ‘Russia!’ he declared and sank the drink Soviet fashion, in one gulp.
Zenin did not bother to respond and only sipped at his drink. He said: ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’
‘I need a formal receipt,’ remembered Lyudin. He produced the form from his pocket and Zenin completed the bureaucratic necessity. As he did so Lyudin refilled his glass and made to top up that of Zenin, who covered the rim with his hand.
‘And something else?’ prompted Zenin.
From another pocket Lyudin withdrew the key to the corner apartment overlooking the Palais des Nations and said: ‘I hope you will be comfortable there.’
Zenin wondered what the fool imagined he would be using the place for. He said: ‘How long have you been on station?’
‘Here in Bern for two years,’ said Lyudin. ‘I am hopeful of getting Washington, upon reassignment.’
Hope in vain, thought Zenin. He said: ‘I wish you luck.’
‘There have been no other instructions from Moscow,’ said Lyudin, ‘but if there is any sort of assistance you require, I am, of course, at your disposal.’
The man spoke like an official report, thought Zenin. He said: ‘Nothing. Thank you.’
‘What is Moscow like under the new regime?’ asked Lyudin.
‘It has not affected us,’ said Zenin. ‘We are beyond government whims.’
‘Of course,’ accepted Lyudin, hurriedly. ‘I meant among the general public.’
‘I have no idea what happens among the general public,’ said Zenin. He was bored, wishing the time would pass. Lyudin proffered the bottle again and this time Zenin accepted.
‘Is there any communication you wish transmitted to Dzerzhinsky Square?’
‘You’ve been instructed to advise them of my being here?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s all.’
‘Nothing more?’
‘I would have told you if there were.’
‘Do you wish me to go with you from the building?’
‘Don’t be foolish,’ rejected Zenin, at once. ‘If Swiss counter-intelligence have identified you and we were observed leaving the embassy I would be linked by association, wouldn’t I? I want no KGB officer among the group at all.’