He paused, his face bleak. ‘And Tania among them.’
Her response was so instinctive as to be almost banal. She put a hand on his. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I returned at once. A waste of time, of course, it was all over. Just a headstone in Minsky Park Military Cemetery. My father used his influence to make things look respectable. She was already dead when he’d got in touch with me in London, so he’d trapped me into returning. I got my revenge on him when I went downtown and joined the paratroopers. He was stuck with that. To pull me out would have looked bad in Communist Party circles.’
‘Then what?’
‘If you’ve read the opening chapters of On the Death of Men, you already know. There was no time to learn how to jump out of a plane with a parachute. I got three months’ basic training, then I was off to Afghanistan. It was eighty-nine, the year everything fell apart, the year we scrambled to get out, and lucky to make it.’
‘It must have been hell.’
‘Something like that, only we didn’t appreciate that Chechnya was to come. Two years of that, and that was just the first war.’
There was a long pause and he poured another vodka with a steady hand. She said, ‘What now – what next?’
‘I’m not sure. Only a handful of writers can achieve great success, and any writer lucky enough to write the special book will tell you the most urgent question is whether you can do it again or it was just some gigantic fluke.’
‘But you answered that question for yourself with Moscow Nights.’
‘I suppose, but…I don’t know. I just feel so…claustrophobic now. Hemmed in by my minders.’
She laughed. ‘You mean the bear-on-the-chain thing? Surely that’s up to you. When Svetlana cast off her chains and refused to return to Moscow, she had to defect. But things are different now. The Russian Federation is not dominated by Communism any longer.’
‘No, but it is dominated by Vladimir Putin. I am just as controlled as I would have been in the old days. I travel in a jet provided by the Ministry of Arts. I am in the hands of GRU minders, wherever I go. I don’t even handle my own passport. They would never let me go willingly.’
‘A terrible pity. Any of the great universities would love to get their hands on you. I’m biased, of course, but Cambridge would lay out the red carpet for you.’
‘An enticing prospect.’
He sat there, frowning slightly, as if considering it. She said, ‘Is there anything particular to hold you in Moscow?’
‘Not a thing. Cancer took my father some years ago, there are cousins here and there. Svetlana is my closest relative. No woman in my life.’ He smiled and shrugged, ‘Not at the moment anyway.’
‘So?’ she said.
‘They watch me closely. If they knew I was even talking this way to you, they’d lock me up.’ He nodded. ‘Anyway, we’ll see. Paris in a fortnight.’
‘Something to look forward to. You should be proud.’
She opened her purse and produced a card. ‘Take this. My mobile phone number is on it. It’s a Codex, encrypted and classified. You can call me on it whenever you like.’
‘Encrypted! I’m impressed. You must be well connected.’
‘You could say that.’ She stood up and said, ‘I mean it. Call me. Paris isn’t too far from Cambridge, when you think of it.’
He smiled. ‘If it ever happened…I wouldn’t want an academic career. I’d prefer to leave the stage for a while, escape my present masters perhaps, but vanish. I’d like to think that my escape would be total, so Moscow had no clue as to where I had gone. I wouldn’t appreciate the British press knocking on my door, wherever I was.’
‘I see what you mean, but that could be difficult.’
‘Not if I were able to leave quietly, no fuss at all. Moscow would know I’d gone, but the last thing they’d want would be for it to be public knowledge, which would create a scandal. They’d keep quiet, say I was working in the country or something on a new book, and try to hunt me down.’
‘I take the point and will pass it on to my friends. Take care.’
He caught her arm. ‘These friends of yours. They would have to be very special people who knew how to handle this kind of thing.’
She smiled. ‘Oh, they are. Call me, Alex, when you’ve had time to think.’
She went to the lifts, a door opened at once, she stepped in and it closed.
Four o’clock in the morning in London, but in the Holland Park safe house in London, Giles Roper sat as usual in his wheelchair, his screens active as he probed cyberspace, his bomb-scarred face restless. He’d slept in the chair for a couple of hours, now Doyle, the night sergeant, had provided him with a bacon sandwich and a mug of tea. He ate the sandwich and was pouring a shot of Scotch when Monica’s voice came over the speaker.
‘Are you there, Roper?’
‘Where else would I be?’
‘You’re the only fixed point in a troubled universe. That’s one thing I’ve learned since getting involved with you people. Is Sean spending the night?’
‘Returned to a bed in staff quarters ages ago. How was your evening? Did Kurbsky impress?’
‘Just listen and see what you think.’
It didn’t take long in the telling, and when she was finished, Roper said, ‘If he’s serious, I can’t see why we couldn’t arrange something. I’ll speak to Sean and General Ferguson first thing in the morning. You, we should be seeing some time in the early evening.’
‘Exactly.’
She switched off. He sat there thinking about it for a while. Alexander Kurbsky doing a runner to England. My God, Vladimir Putin will be furious. He put Kurbsky up on the screen. Too good-looking for his own good, he decided morosely, then brought up his record and started going through it carefully.
Kurbsky had found Bounine in the Volvo outside the Pierre and brought him up to speed. He smoked a cigarette. Bounine said, ‘So far, so good. It’s worked. She must be quite a lady.’
‘That’s an understatement.’
‘So, if they take the bait, we have Paris to look forward to. Colonel Luhzkov will be pleased.’
‘Only because he wants to please Putin, and if Paris works, you mustn’t be a part of it, Yuri. No one should know who you are. Luhzkov will work out something for you. Cultural attaché, for instance, would do you very well. Someone I can trust personally when I’m in London.’
‘I’m glad you still do,’ Bounine said.
‘It’s been a long time, Yuri. You’re the only GRU man I know who looks like an accountant. No one would ever dream you were in Afghanistan and Chechnya
