Chapter Twenty-Five.

Life for Charlie became an existence in separate, settled compartments and the most settled of all developed with Natalia. He was allocated another apartment, smaller but better than the first, and nearer the centre of the city and they alternated between the two, sometimes at her place, sometimes his. At the weekends they stayed together all the time, sometimes going on river trips or journeys into the hills outside Moscow in her Lada car and sometimes not bothering to do anything at all, remaining in whichever apartment they had chosen, to read or listen to music, just enjoying each other. On a weekend when Eduard was released from school they went to the circus again and slept apart, which seemed unnatural, so accustomed to each other had they become and Charlie tried to make friends with the boy but Eduard remained distant and reserved, instinctively sensing compet.i.tion for his mother's affections.

Charlie didn't mean it to develop like it did. It wasn't how he conducted affairs, not even when Edith had been alive and he'd been cheating. He'd always been a slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am operator, fun on both sides and fully recognised to be just that and no tears or regrets when the time came to say goodbye. He'd actually tried to keep it light, at the very beginning, but the awkward artificiality had been obvious and so he'd let everything grow, knowing it was pointless and knowing it was stupid but not wanting it to stop. Which was selfish as well as pointless and stupid and worst of all, dangerous.

It was because of his growing awareness of the danger to her that he changed his mind about asking her to accompany him when the next invitation came from Berenkov, quite apart from the difficulty she might have felt in the presence of someone so high in the service. Charlie dutifully congratulated Georgi on his examination results and was amused at Berenkov's boastful pride, joining in the toasts upon which Berenkov insisted, careless of the boy's blushing discomfort. It was the first opportunity to thank the Russian since his appointment to the spy school and Charlie said how much he was enjoying it and Berenkov said he was impressed by what Charlie was doing and Charlie wondered if it were Natalia's report to which he was referring. He didn't think any praise would have come from Krysin.

His existence at the spy school was another compartment. The barrier still existed between Charlie and the other instructors but gradually, with their increasing and difficult-to-avoid acknowledgement of his expertise, some of them strayed beyond it and Charlie cultivated the approaches, draining everything he could from them.

He staged another pursuit exercise on the next contact Thursday and evaded them all again and won his bet with Natalia, because she lost him this time. By then he didn't feel any compet.i.tion between them, so it didn't seem much of a victory. More important was the time he spent lingering in the department store, waiting for an approach which never came. Charlie's feeling about that was ambivalent. Professionally he wanted the meeting. He wanted to identify the informant and make the crossing arrangements and to go back to England in complete and well deserved triumph. But if that happened it would mean leaving Natalia and increasingly the thought of leaving Natalia was becoming a burden. So as well as disappointment there was also relief when nothing happened in the GUM store that day and the relief was greater when he went there again, on the next appointed time and nothing happened then, either. By the time of that visit, he'd been given fresh operatives to work through their final training. It meant that the initial batch disappeared and he a.s.sumed might have been immediately infiltrated into Britain or America, which slightly unsettled Charlie, because he'd never actually intended them the opportunity to practise what he had taught them. He'd wanted to be back, in advance, able to issue the warnings and complete the photofits and get them swept up or turned. It also meant that Natalia left the cla.s.s, which Charlie welcomed because by the end, when they were together every night and every weekend, having to adopt the role of lecturer to pupil during the day became practically a farce. Charlie's dismay at suspecting some of those he had trained were already working, undetected, was tempered by the awareness that the second batch, six again, meant there were more agents whom he would subsequently be able to identify: and those that had gone ahead wouldn't be able to do much damage, anyway. An essential part of his training had been that the primary requirement for their being successful was first of all completely to install themselves in their country of placing, to obtain bona fide jobs and bona fide accommodation and as far as possible apparently bona fide respectability. He tried to rea.s.sure himself by the thought that even if they had been put into place, it would be six months, maybe as long as a year, before they began properly to operate.

And he'd be out in a year, thought Charlie. Which naturally brought him back to thinking about Natalia and having avoided and sidestepped and looked the other way for so long Charlie forced himself properly to think about it. Was he using her: enjoying the comfort and the security and the normality of an affair in an uncomfortable, insecure, abnormal situation? Or was it more than opportunism: love? Charlie confronted the word, one he'd avoided most of all. Charlie was frightened of love. Of admitting it. He'd always thought of being in love as exposing part of himself he didn't want anyone else to see, like sitting on a crowded bus with a trouser zip undone. Apart from the brief and soon-pa.s.sed excitement of variation, a lot of the affairs when Edith had been alive had been Charlie wanting to feel that he wasn't dependent upon one woman. Which he had been and which too late he'd accepted. Charlie, who always derided rules and formulae, wished to Christ there was a listed chart he could consult, a mathematically unarguable square root of love.

He kept the fifth date at the GUM store, as unsuccessful as all the others, and as he made his way back across Dzerzhinsky Square and past the headquarters of the KGB Charlie realised that according to the arrangements he'd made with Wilson, seemingly years before in the prison governor's office, he only had a month left. At once Charlie found an alternative argument. Six months had been an arbitrary period, plucked from nowhere and agreed anyway because by then he'd expected things to be difficult. Charlie carried the reflection on. He'd been concentrating upon the risk of his own detection. What if the informant had been found, weeks or months before? There'd been the highly publicised affair with the British first secretary: that was unusual. The detection of the would-be defector would be an explanation the obvious one for there not having been any contact. Logical, as well as obvious. Except that one logic extended to another. If the Russians had got their man they'd have broken him and if they'd broken him then Charlie would not have been allowed to hang around Moscow stores unarrested.

So where was he?

Charlie recognised he was incredibly well-placed gaining intelligence of an incalculable value, increasingly trusted and in no danger. He'd actually considered, within the first few days of being in Moscow, that he might have to remain longer than the period he'd agreed with the British Director. So he'd stay on, Charlie determined. Just for a while longer, if no approach were made. He was, after all, a complete professional; and to stay would be the professional thing to do. And meant he didn't have to consider the thought of losing Natalia. s.h.i.t, he thought; why was nothing ever easy?

The absence of any further messages did nothing to relieve the pressure from the Politburo upon Kalenin and therefore his demands upon those answerable to him. Rather, they increased. The Politburo insisted on explanations the KGB chairman didn't have and his insistences permeated through his immediate deputies to division directors and their subordinates and spread the uncertainty not just throughout Dzerzhinsky Square but to the other divisional buildings in the capital. Even Charlie was aware of a change of att.i.tude from Krysin but was unable to discover the reason, so he wrongly a.s.sumed it was just a further indication of alienation between them.

Because of the indications that the leaks were coming from the operational or planning divisions, the concentration evolved particularly on to Berenkov. Edwin Sampson made a further examination, as unsuccessful as those before, and separate competing committees were set up independent of each other and the Briton's efforts to carry out their own enquiries. And were unsuccessful, too. The surveillance upon the British emba.s.sy became positive hara.s.sment. A car carrying an archivist and a secretary on a perfectly innocent outing to the Tchaikovsky Concert Hall on Sadovaya street was actually involved in a crash with a KGB observation group and the Britons were held for three hours in police custody before diplomatic pressure released them.

It is one of the anomalies of diplomacy that while no Soviet emba.s.sy in any Western capital will accept foreign nationals in any support capacity, in Moscow Western emba.s.sies employ Russian general help. The attempt was clumsily blatant and was realised almost at once by the internal security staff, who discovered two maids and a male cleaner within a week trying to install listening devices. The Foreign Office in London extended the protests beyond the natural complaint in Moscow itself by summoning the Russian amba.s.sador personally to Whitehall. In addition they released the details to the media and there was extensive newspaper coverage, to which the Kremlin responded with their cliched rejection that it was anti-Soviet propaganda.

Berenkov recognised the intrusion but knew he had no alternative, because his official position required him to inform Kalenin. He chose the end of their now customary, daily-inconclusive-conference after Kalenin had cast aside the equally inconclusive reports and suggested the vodka, the chairman's intake of which was noticeably increasing while the crisis continued unresolved.

Kalenin frowned when Berenkov began to talk of his son's qualification successes, not immediately understanding, so that Berenkov had to repeat himself and Kalenin said, 'Overseas?'

'There's a place for him, in Boston,' said Berenkov. Remembering there were towns in both countries and conscious of the chairman's apparent distraction, Berenkov hurriedly added 'Boston, America, not Boston, England.'

There was no immediate reaction from Kalenin. He finished pouring and handed Berenkov his gla.s.s and said, 'Going to the West?'

'I think he would benefit,' said Berenkov.

'Are you sure that's wise?'

'Which is why I felt I should officially raise it with you,' said Berenkov.

'What do you imagine would happen if the Western intelligence agencies were to discover who his father was?' said Kalenin.

'I did not think that was a serious risk,' said Berenkov.

'Then I don't think you've considered it sufficiently,' said Kalenin. 'The American Central Intelligence Agency actively recruits from universities: apparatus exists, for talent spotting. And if they're that well organised they'd naturally focus upon visiting Russian students. I'd consider there would be a serious risk of Georgi becoming compromised.'

'Are you telling me officially that he can't take up the place?' asked Berenkov, miserably.

'I'm saying that I want to think further about it,' said Kalenin. 'That maybe we both should.'

'He's worked extremely hard,' said Berenkov, emptily.

'We're currently experiencing enough difficulty,' said Kalenin. 'You're a deputy within the Committee for State Security, at the very highest echelon. And someone known in the West. I think we should seriously consider the risk of any embarra.s.sment beyond that which we are already suffering.'

That suffering and that embarra.s.sment worsened.

The messages to London resumed in a sudden flurry, three intercepted by the KGB monitoring services on succeeding nights. Each formed part of a sensational whole, the complete ident.i.ties and their cover designation of virtually the entire Soviet espionage system within Britain, from the emba.s.sy-based Resident under diplomatic t.i.tle down through every other diplomatic listing and extending to the Soviet trade mission at Highgate.

The last of the three messages promised further ident.i.ties of agents in the United States and France. And concluded, 'Shortly intend making promised personal contact.'

In London Wilson said, 'Well. Here we go.'

'We hope,' said the cautious Harkness.

Moscow intercepted London's radioed reply. It was 'People don't notice whether it's winter or summer when they're happy.'

Chapter Twenty-Six.

All his life Charlie felt he had been running; often literally. He had run in the department, always to stay ahead of the supercilious sods with their nose-lifted accents. He had run, to survive, when those same sods set him up. And run again, to survive again, after he set them up, instead. He'd run in prison, like a trapped animal runs, blindly, from one corner to another corner. And was aware he should have the impression of running here, involved in the most difficult and dangerous operation he'd encountered. But he didn't. He felt unhurried. Relaxed even. As if there were time all the time in the world to rest, with no danger of anyone catching up. It was Natalia, he knew. Just as he knew without having the rules to guide him, because there were no rules that he loved her. He loved her completely and absolutely and he wanted never to spend a moment of his no-longer running life apart from her. Which meant staying. Which he couldn't. Any more than he could consider leaving.

The conflicts of feelings and loyalty and att.i.tudes and professionalism crowded in upon him and every time he got halfway towards solving one he tripped over another. Keeping Natalia from the consideration which would have been a clash of love against professionalism Charlie became increasingly convinced, after two more failed rendezvous, that there never would be any contact. What had appeared in the Soviet newspapers about the British first secretary was inadequate and inconclusive, like accounts always were in Soviet newspapers, but Charlie guessed whatever had happened involved the person he was supposed to meet at the GUM store. The unanswerable was why, if they'd swept the defector up, he'd remained unaffected. But Charlie recognised there could be explanations, like the man dying rather than face arrest. Or dying under questioning. Or going mad under that same questioning, before he'd been able to disclose and therefore endanger the meeting spot. If that conjecture were correct, then there was no further purpose in remaining in Moscow another conflict teaching intended Soviet spies to be better than they were, which was a further conflict. Professionally, he should get out. Professionally he should stop b.u.g.g.e.ring about and start running again. Would she run with him? The idea had been a long time coming too long but why not? She hadn't said so which he hadn't, nervous of actually saying it but Charlie was absolutely sure that Natalia loved him. Why the h.e.l.l couldn't it have been her, that day in GUM, who wanted to defect? Or Berenkov, to whom all the signs pointed but who hadn't committed himself? If it had been Berenkov then Charlie would have been gone months ago, before getting so hopelessly entangled. He shook his head, a physical movement of irritation. What sort of thinking was that, wishing things had or hadn't happened, like some child! It hadn't been Natalia and it hadn't been Berenkov and he had fallen in love and he had to sort it out by logical, sensible thinking, not flights of fancy. It wasn't just Natalia, of course. There was Eduard. She wouldn't consider leaving the boy why the h.e.l.l should she? so he'd have to get both of them out, at the same time. Difficult but not insurmountable. Charlie consciously braked the flow of thought. How difficult? Officially he was still British. But Natalia and Eduard weren't. They were Russian and Charlie doubted the British emba.s.sy would consider flying them out if they simply walked into the emba.s.sy with him. There would have to be diplomatic this and diplomatic that and a d.a.m.ned good chance that they'd hand them back if the Russian pressure became too heavy. Which it unquestionably would. Practically insurmountable then. What if he lied? What if he took Natalia and Eduard into the emba.s.sy and conned London that she was the source for which they were so anxious? They'd bend the rules then and smuggle her out eagerly enough. But what would happen when they got back to London? The Russians would chase, because Natalia was high ranking and because they always chased anyway. And when he realised he had been cheated, Wilson and the department wouldn't provide any sort of protection. So it would be like it had been before, with Edith, hara.s.sed and terrified, from place to place and country to country. Charlie knew he couldn't stand that. He couldn't stand it and he couldn't ask Natalia to endure it: certainly not with a young kid.

A further cla.s.s came and went, at the spy school, and Charlie knew he couldn't delay much longer. His confusion and distraction increasingly came between the two of them, like a barrier, marring the earlier tranquility and there were arguments not serious rows but quarrels of irritability just the same and it put Charlie under fresh pressure because he didn't want her to misunderstand and imagine the reverse of his feelings and that he was tired of the relationship.

He tried to plan the occasion. He took her to the Rossiya, where they had had their first meal and from which, on the subsequent occasion, they'd left to go back to her apartment and make love. Everything about Natalia had affected Charlie but a tangible part of their being together had been the reduction in the extent of Charlie's drinking. That night, however, he drank more than usual with her, needing the support but stayed far short of getting drunk. Completely confident with Russian now, Charlie ordered for them and it was a good choice and seeking omens he decided it was a good augury for later.

She was conscious of his effort and Natalia tried, too, so that the tenseness that had developed between them in the recent days and weeks eased away. Charlie was relieved that Natalia was relaxed again and relieved too that after all the unconcluded agonising the moment had come to be open with her.

'I've something to tell you,' he said, when the meal was over and they had started their coffee.

'What?'

'I love you.'

Natalia winced, which wasn't the response Charlie expected.

'I said I love you,' he repeated.

'Yes.'

'Is that all, just yes?'

Natalia looked away, refusing his look. Surely he hadn't got it wrong! Not this. He was convinced how she felt. The silence lasted for a long time and eventually Charlie said, 'I see.'

'No,' she blurted, hurriedly now. 'No, you mustn't misunderstand.'

'You haven't said or done anything that allows me to understand or misunderstand,' said Charlie.

'I love you,' said Natalia, looking fully at him at last. 'I love you completely: more than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone. I thought I loved my first husband but now I realise it was nothing like love ...'

The relief came back to Charlie, so strong that he was glad they were sitting because it was an impression of physical weakness. 'Then ...' he started but she shook her head, refusing him the interruption.

'I didn't, at first,' she said. 'I thought you were c.o.c.ky and conceited ...' She hesitated, seeking the word. 'Awful,' she said at last, inadequately. 'But not for very long. You made me laugh, although you didn't know it. I always intended to go out with you that night, when you first asked me. I just didn't want you to know how much I wanted to say yes. And I always knew that eventually we'd become lovers. I wanted that, too, but I equally didn't want you to think it was casual. Something that didn't matter. Because it mattered very much to me ...' There was another pause. 'You matter very much to me.'

'Everything is going to be all right,' promised Charlie. 'It's going to be wonderful. I know it is.' He reached across for her hand and although she let him take it there was no answering pressure. He frowned down at her lifeless hand and said, 'What is it?'

'I'm Russian, Charlie,' she said. 'Do you know what that means?'

'Of course you're Russian,' said Charlie, laughing uncertainly.

'What it means,' she insisted. 'The actual feeling it engenders, in its people.'

'Maybe not,' conceded Charlie.

'It's stronger, than in any other nationality. The loyalty: that's what I'm talking about.'

'I see,' said Charlie, who thought he did but didn't want to.

'I'd never betray that loyalty,' said Natalia. 'Not even for anyone I loved to the exclusion of everything else. Not even for Eduard whom I love differently but just as much could I make that choice.'

Charlie sat gazing down into his emptying wine gla.s.s. Appearing aware of it, he poured more from the bottle, not knowing what to say.

'You lost the bet, Charlie,' said Natalia, quietly.

He frowned up. 'What bet?'

'The second pursuit,' said the woman. 'You did lose me, once. But I picked you up again, quite by chance, at the Marksa metro. You didn't seem to be making many checks, by then ...'

Because by then I'd lost everyone, thought Charlie. And was actually going towards the store. He felt a numbness of uncertainty.

'I didn't try to follow you, in case you spotted me,' continued Natalia. 'I took a chance on GUM. Saw you waiting there, in the same place as you waited before. It wasn't right, according to any tradecraft principles, for you to return to the same place as before. That's why I didn't challenge you. And then we went out and I enjoyed you, although I didn't realise then just what that enjoyment was going to develop into. I was in the GUM store again, Charlie: saw you, when you visited the next time and then I recognised there was a pattern so I followed it, too. And you conformed, every time. Every third Thursday of every month, between eleven and noon. Always with a copy of Pravda and a guidebook. Always in your left hand.'

'What are you going to do?' said Charlie, dry-voiced.

'If I were going to do something, don't you imagine I would have done it, by now?' said Natalia. 'I made the decision a long time ago. I decided to clutch on to what I had what we had for as long as I possibly could. Knowing that it couldn't last forever but not wanting it to stop. Just have every day and every night and try not to think of the one that followed, in case it didn't follow ...' She stopped momentarily and then said, 'I've dreaded this moment, Charlie. I've dreaded all the indications of a special occasion: the time when it would be obvious that you'd made a particular effort. And most of all I've dreaded you saying something like "I've got something to tell you." I've longed to hear you say you love me but I've always known there would be something else and I don't want to know what that something else could be.'

'It could be all right,' repeated Charlie, in hollow desperation. 'Everything could be all right. I promise.'

Natalia shook her head, quite positively. 'It wouldn't, Charlie. For all the reasons I've tried to explain and all the reasons you know. We had it we have it but we can't keep it.' She was crying now, unashamedly, without any sound but with the tears pathing down her face.

'I love you!' insisted Charlie.

'I love you, too,' said Natalia. 'But that isn't enough.'

Britain made the maximum capital out of the spy expulsion. The Prime Minister personally named forty in the House of Commons and when Moscow made the necessary protestations the Foreign Office the following day itemised another thirty who would be expelled as well. The Soviet amba.s.sador was summoned to the Foreign Office and warned personally by the British Foreign Secretary that if Russia attempted the predictable response ma.s.s expulsion of Britons from the Soviet capital then there were twenty-five further Soviet spies who could be declared persona non grata and that if that occurred, London would declare unacceptable fifty replacements, diminishing the stature of the emba.s.sy.

In Moscow Berenkov conducted the meeting with Edwin Sampson with the impression of Kalenin standing at his shoulder, guessing that the KGB chairman would be watching the television monitored meeting live from the control room at the end of the corridor, behind the security guarded doors.

Sampson gestured to the last of the intercepted messages, the British identification response to the promised contact with the Soviet spy. 'It's Chekhov,' identified Sampson. 'It comes from The Three Sisters.'

'I'm aware of that,' said Berenkov. 'I was once very familiar with the works of Chekhov.' The huge Russian paused and said, 'Are you familiar with another quotation, "When a lot of remedies are suggested for a disease that means it can't be cured"?'

'No,' said Sampson.

'It's from The Cherry Orchard,' said Berenkov. 'I always preferred The Cherry Orchard.'

The interview with Kalenin took place the same evening, a difficult encounter between friends.

'There will have to be a suspension, initially.'

'Of course.'

'I'd recognised it a long time ago, of course. Hoped that it wouldn't happen.'

'It's wrong, you know?' said Berenkov.

Kalenin raised his hand, halting the other man, not wanting to prolong the meeting any longer than was absolutely necessary. 'Please,' he said. "Let's leave it until the formal enquiry."

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

They both tried hard futilely to maintain some sort of form to their relationship but it was hollowed out inside and with every day, like something hollowed out inside, it collapsed further in upon itself. Charlie refused, at first, to believe he couldn't make her change her mind but as she had that night in the rooftop restaurant with its view of Moscow Natalia refused even to let him explain, demanding with increasing anger that he shouldn't make things any more difficult for her than they already were. Evenings and days which had been relaxed and easy became tense and then hostile. They made love like strangers, mechanically, and then they stopped doing that, more and more becoming strangers.

Charlie considered missing the Thursday meeting but it was only two days from the initial confrontation with Natalia and Charlie's professionalism didn't allow him. It was as pointless as every other one had been but this time he concentrated, looking to see if Natalia would check. He didn't detect her but then he hadn't on the other occasions. He didn't ask her and she didn't volunteer the information.

It finally convinced Charlie that there was no further purpose in him going again. And as the difficulties grew with Natalia he realised, too, that it meant he had to leave. With belated honesty Charlie conceded to himself that for a long time she had been the only reason for his staying anyway. As with everything else, for so long, the apparent answer to one problem created another. He couldn't just go, like he'd arranged with Wilson. He'd become involved with Natalia and guessed the authorities would be aware of it. And if they weren't already they soon would be, when they investigated his flight; and they would investigate it, aware of the damage he could cause because of his admission to the spy school. To flee, as he now had to flee, would mean Natalia being arrested and interrogated and probably jailed. The awareness spurred Charlie into trying to make fresh approaches to her, to warn her, but always she refused the conversation. It led to one of their biggest arguments so far. He accused her of sticking her head into the sand, like an ostrich refusing to face reality, and she yelled back that Russia was her reality and that with its head in the sand an ostrich at least remained where it was. The outburst meant she knew or at least guessed what he wanted to say and a.s.suming that Charlie argued that she didn't know the risks she was taking. Distraught actually crying Natalia said she did and that she didn't care and when he accused her of being stupid and child-like and not even making sense she fled, locking herself in the bathroom. Which added another level to the barrier growing between them because it meant eventually she had the embarra.s.sment of unlocking the door and emerging again. She only did so after shouting through the door that she didn't want to talk about it any more. Charlie's instinct was to say they hadn't talked about anything but instead he agreed and they sat in silence, not even looking at each other, and Charlie fully accepted just how completely things had ended between them.

He still refused to abandon her, however. He spent nights away from her, alone in his own apartment, needing the relief as much as Natalia did but needing more the solitude to find a seemingly impossible way to save her from any retribution. She wasn't the only one facing retribution, he realised. From the early meetings with Alexei Berenkov Charlie knew that the permission to appoint him to the spy school in the first place had been approved by someone else but Berenkov had clearly been the instigator. So he'd suffer. Charlie sighed, trying to rationalise. But then Berenkov had always been going to suffer. Whether the att.i.tude was cynical or professional or both, Charlie had known from the very first moment of contact contact he couldn't have refused that the moment he entered the emba.s.sy gates, Berenkov would be the loser. That was business, decided Charlie, confronting the familiar thought. About Berenkov he could have done nothing do nothing but he'd knowingly pursued an involvement with Natalia although not guessing what it would come to mean to him and she didn't deserve to suffer because of it. And she'd protected him. She'd said nothing about the GUM visits, when she could have done. And still wasn't saying anything when, even if things weren't actually out in the open, they were at least understood.

When the idea occurred to him Charlie s.n.a.t.c.hed at it, like a drowning man at a lifebelt. But having got its support he looked around, like the same drowning man might look for the lurking shark that would pull him down again to destruction. It wasn't perfect, Charlie recognised, with his ingrained objectivity. In fact for a lifebelt it was pretty waterlogged but it had a chance. Timing would be important. Absolute and utter timing, so there would be incontrovertible proof of her loyalty. Which meant finally that she had to hear him out. If it meant physically holding her down and keeping her hands away from her ears she had to hear him out.

'No,' she said at once, when she answered his telephone call. 'I don't want us to meet again. I've thought about it and I think it should end, now.'