“The Section 16/a?”
“No, heart attack. Everything else’s normal. You really had a good time?” The other laughed. “There’s an Intourist secretary who’s very accommodating.” He scratched his scrotum at the thought. “Who is this poor sod anyway?”
“His name wasn’t listed,” the driver said.
“Never is. So who was he?”
“Agent called Yazernov, Dimitri Yazernov.”
“Means nothing to me. To you?”
“He was an agent from Disinformation on the university detail; I worked with him for a short time, a year back. Smartass, university type, full of ideological bullshit. It seems he was caught by Inner Intelligence and interrogated seriously.”
“Bastards! They killed him, eh?”
“No.” The taller man stopped shoveling a moment and looked around. No chance of them being overheard and while he did not believe in ghosts or God or anything but the Party and the KGB - the spearhead of the Party - he did not like this place. He lowered his voice. “When he was sprung, almost a week ago, he was in bad shape, unconscious, should never’ve been moved, not in his state. SAVAMA got him away from Inner Intelligence - the director thinks SAVAMA worked him over too before handing him back.” He leaned on the shovel a moment. “SAVAMA gave him to us with the report that they thought he’d been cleared out through the third level. The director said to find out who he was fast, if he had other secret clearances, or was an internal spy or a plant from higher up, and what the hell he’d told them - who the hell he was. He’s not carried on our files as anything other than an agent on the university detail.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead and began shoveling again. “I heard the team waited and waited for him to regain consciousness, then today gave up waiting and tried to wake him up.”
“A mistake? Someone gave him too much?” “Who knows - the poor sod’s dead.” “That’s the one thing that scares me,” the other said with a shiver. “Getting fed too much. Nothing you can do about it. He never woke up? Never said anything?”
“No. Not a damned thing. The shit’s that he was caught at all. It was his own fault - the mother was working on his own.” The other cursed. “How’d he get away with that?” “Buggered if I know! I remember him as one of those who think they know it all and sneer at the Book. Smart? Bullshit! These bastards cause more trouble than they’re worth.” The taller man worked strongly and steadily. When he was tired the other took a turn. Soon the grave was filled. The man patted the earth flat, his breathing heavy. “If this mother got himself caught, why’re we taking all this trouble, then?”
“If the body can’t be repatriated, a comrade’s entitled to be buried properly, that’s in the Book. This’s a Russian cemetery, isn’t it?” “Sure, of course it is, but damned if I’d like to be buried here.” The man wiped the dirt off his hands then turned and relieved himself on the nearest gravestone.
The taller man was working a gravestone loose. “Give me a hand.” Together they lifted the stone and replanted it at the head of the grave they had just filled.
Damn the young bastard for dying, he thought, cursing him. Not my fault he died. He should’ve withstood the dose. Sodding doctors! They’re supposed to know! We had no option, the bastard was sinking anyway and there were too many questions to be answered, like what was so important about him that that arch-bastard Hashemi Fazir did the interrogation himself, along with that sonofabitch Armstrong? Those two high-flying professionals don’t waste their time on small fry. And why did Yazernov say “Fedor…” just before he croaked? What’s the significance of that?
“Let’s go home,” the other man said. “This place’s foul and it stinks, it stinks worse than normal.” He took the shovel and trudged off into the night.
Just then the writing on the stone caught the driver’s eye but it was too dark to read. He switched on the light momentarily. The writing said, “Count Alexi Pokenov, Plenipotentiary to Shah Nasiru’dDin, 1830-1862.” Yazernov’d like that, he thought, his smile twisted.
AT THE BAKRAVAN HOUSE, NEAR THE BAZAAR: 7:15 P.M. The outer door in the wall swung open. “Salaam, Highness.” The servant watched Sharazad as she swept past happily, followed by Jari, into the forecourt and pulled the chador off and was now shaking her hair and puffing it with her fingertips more comfortably. “The… your husband’s back, Highness; he came back just after sunset.”
For a moment Sharazad was frozen in the light of the oil lamps that flickered in the snow-covered courtyard leading to the front door. Then it’s over, she was thinking. Over before it began. It almost began today, I was ready and yet not… and now, now I’m saved from… from my lust - was it lust or love, was that what I was trying to decide? I don’t know, I don’t know but… but tomorrow I’ll see him a last time, I have to see him once more, have to, just… just once more … just to say good-bye….
Tears filled her eyes and she ran into the house and into the rooms and salons and up the stairs and into their suite and into his arms. “Oh, Tommyyyyyy, you’ve been away such a long time!”
“Oh, I’ve missed you, where have you… Don’t cry, my darling, there’s no need to cry….”
His arms were around her and she caught the faint, familiar oil-gasoline smell that came from his flight clothes hanging on a peg. She saw his gravity. HBC flared into her head but she put it all away and, not giving him a second, she stood on tiptoe, kissed him, and said in a rush, “I’ve such wonderful news, I’m with child, oh, yes, it’s true and I’ve seen a doctor and tomorrow I’ll get the result of the test but I know!” Her smile was vast and true. “Oh, Tommy,” she continued in the same rush, feeling his arms tighten even more, “will you marry me, please please please?” “But we are mar - ”
“Say it, oh, please, please say it!” She looked up and saw he was still pale and smiling only a very little but that was enough for the moment, and she heard him say, Of course I’ll marry you. “No, say it properly, I marry you, Sharazad Bakravan. I marry you I marry you I marry you,” then hearing him say it and that made everything perfect. “Perfect,” she burst out and hugged him back, then pushed away and ran over to the mirror to repair her makeup. She caught sight of Lochart in the mirror, his face so severe, unsettled. “What is it?”
“You’re sure, sure about the child?”
She laughed. “Oh, I’m sure, but the doctor needs proof, husbands need proof. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Yes … yes, it is.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I love you!” In her head she heard the other I love you that had been said with such passion and longing, and she thought how strange that though her husband’s love was sure and proven, Ibrahim’s was not - yet Ibrahim’s was without reservation whereas, even after her wonderful news, her husband frowned at her.
“The year and a day have gone, Tommy, the year and a day you wanted,” she said gently and got up from the dressing table, put her hands around his neck, smiling up at him, knowing that it was up to her to help him: “Foreigners aren’t like us, Princess,” Jari had said, “their reactions are different, training different, but don’t worry, just be your own delightful self and he will be clay in your hands….” Tommy‘11 be the best father ever, she promised herself, irrepressibly happy that she had not melted this afternoon, that she had made her announcement, and now they would live happily ever after. “We will, Tommy, won’t we?”