‘I hate her,’ said John, proud at having initiated the discussion. ‘Don’t you hate her?’
‘No,’ said Ruth, carefully rehearsed. ‘No, I don’t hate her. And I don’t hate Daddy.’
‘I don’t understand you!’ protested Paul, exasperated. ‘How can you not hate her!’
Not easily, conceded Ruth to herself. ‘Hate doesn’t achieve anything,’ she said.
‘What will, to get Daddy back?’ implored John, who had tears brimming in his eyes when she looked at him.
‘I don’t know, darling,’ she said soothingly. ‘Not yet I don’t know.’
‘Will you?’ he said, with trusting anxiousness.
‘I don’t know that either,’ said Ruth honestly.
The returning waitress stopped the conversation and Ruth smiled up at her, gratefully. Remembering, she said to Paul, ‘Don’t you have something to say to this lady?’
There was a moment when Ruth thought he would refuse but then he said, ‘Sorry,’ louder the second time.
Why was it, wondered Ruth, that sorry had been the most familiar word in their vocabulary for so long now?
The unrest was centred in Shemkha, which was fortunate because Sokol was not sure he could have contained the protest if it had started in the Azerbaijan capital of Baku. It was from the KGB centre in Baku, of course, that the reports came and because he was so alert to the problem Sokol responded at once, ordering that Shemkha should be sealed and moving extra militia from Tbilisi in bordering Georgia and from Rostov and Donetsk as well. Sealing the town was only the first step, until he could get there himself on the long flight from Moscow. On the way from the airport Sokol gazed out at the parched fields of the tropical part of the Soviet Union, realising how crop failures of this province had been compounded by the grain failures on the Steppes: people were slow moving and actually, in cases, already emaciated. He went immediately to Shemkha and from the car radio system ordered that the leaders of the revolt should be assembled, for his arrival. There were four of them, a city physician and a factory technician and two farmers. The physician, whose name was Bessmertnik, was the reluctant spokesman, a bespectacled, stutteringly hesitant man. Sokol heard the complaints out, a litany of promised but never realised grain deliveries from the chairman of the city committee and spoilation through transport confusion and delays of food that did arrive. He ordered the immediate arrest of the committee chairman and transport authority head and detained Bessmertnik and one of the farmers as well. The hearing was brief- at Sokol’s instructions – in every case the charge of anti-Soviet activity, which covered any and every transgression. They were found guilty, also at Sokol’s instructions, and shot within an hour of the verdict. The official Soviet airline Aeroflot is subordinate to KGB orders and Sokol used fifteen aircraft from their transport fleet to fly in grain and vegetables. The entire operation took only a fortnight and the day after his return to Moscow there was a congratulatory memorandum from Aleksai Panov. Sokol was grateful for the recognition but knew it wasn’t what he wanted for the promotion upon which he was so determined; it wasn’t a coup.
Chapter Five
Brinkman settled in carefully, not because of the repeated advice to do so but because it was obviously the way to proceed, cautiously; to be cautious about his assessments and be cautious about making friends and be cautious about his new colleagues. Realising it was the traditional practice – something upon which they had budgeted, in fact – he bought from the departing Ingrams their car and their specially-adapted stereo unit and a few pieces of kitchen equipment. He moved in the day after they left Moscow. The place was cleaned and tidied, as Lucinda Ingram had promised – she’d even left a vase of flowers as a welcoming gesture in the main room – but it was not clean enough for Brinkman, who made the maid do it all over again while he was there, to ensure she performed the task properly. The maid was a bulging, overflowing woman named Kabalin who muttered something under her breath when he told her to clean again and who appeared surprised when Brinkman, who hadn’t heard what she said, continued the instructions in his perfect Russian, intent upon stopping any insubordination – even whispered protests from a servant – before it began. He knew she would spy upon him, officially, of course; that was one of the standard warnings. Probably steal, too. Which was why it was important to establish the proper relationship from the beginning. It wouldn’t affect the spying but it might lessen the theft if she realised at once that he wasn’t a weak man, prepared to tolerate laxity.
At the embassy Brinkman remained polite, even humble, grateful to people who identified the various departments, courteously introducing himself to the head of each, joining the various clubs and organisations that existed within the building, to relieve the existence of Moscow and – maybe the most important of all – never indicating that because he was an intelligence officer, which most of them knew even though they shouldn’t have done, that he considered himself in any way superior to them or beyond the rules and regulations that they had to obey. During the official welcoming interview the ambassador, who asked to be remembered to his father, repeated the invitation to approach him personally if he encountered any difficulty and as he had done at the Ingrams’ party, Brinkman thanked the man politely. At a subsequent meeting with the Head of Chancery, whose name was Wilcox, Brinkman let the offer be known, apologised for the intrusion of his father and assured Wilcox – quite honestly – that he had no intention ever of going over the man’s head. Like letting everyone else know he didn’t consider himself different, because of the certain dispensations allowed him as a security man, it let Wilcox know he didn’t want any special favours. And by being open about it, Brinkman took out insurance against Sir Oliver mentioning it to Wilcox himself.
Brinkman was as careful making contact with the Westerners whom Ingram recommended he should seek out, wanting always that the approaches should come from them and not from him, which would have put him in the role of a supplicant. It happened first from the Canadians. It was a reception marking some Commonwealth event and Brinkman went to create the opportunity and was picked out of the English contingent by Mark Harrison within thirty minutes of his arrival. His Canadian counterpart was a heavy man, florid through obvious blood pressure: relaxed in his own embassy surroundings, the man wore a string tie secured at the throat by a heavy clasp. There was the settling in conversation which by now Brinkman felt he could recite in his sleep and then the restaurant-delay conversation and then the restriction of travel conversation. Harrison let the talk then drift into apparent generalities and Brinkman allowed the Canadian to lead, suspecting that the man wasn’t dealing in generalities at all. They discussed the apparent relaxation under the new Soviet regime and Harrison asked Brinkman whether in his opinion he considered it a genuine desire for friendship with the West or motivated by some inner Soviet requirement of which they were unaware. The seemingly innocent question sounded the warning bell but Brinkman gave no reaction and said – untruthfully – that the impression within the Foreign Office prior to his departure from London was that there was some desire from Moscow for a relaxation in tension. Harrison’s enquiry whether trade approaches in recent times supported the relaxation theory lit another light but once more Brinkman gave no indication, replying casually that he’d always found it ironical that relationships between East and West had for so long existed on the two apparently contradictory levels, opposing rhetoric at conference tables and necessary trade agreements upon which each side was dependent on a quite separate level. Brinkman discerned Harrison’s disappointment and wondered if it would be possible to impress Maxwell at this early stage. Before they parted Harrison suggested Brinkman dining with him and Betty, not expecting Brinkman’s response. Not knowing if it would be necessary to maintain close contact with Harrison over whatever it was he was talking about – but deciding to take out insurance if it were – Brinkman seized upon the invitation, saying he’d be delighted to accept and asking when. Trapped, Harrison fixed dinner three nights away and Brinkman hoped he would have discovered more by then.
It was easier, in fact, than he expected. The trade counsellor at the British embassy, a man named Street, was immediately forthcoming to Brinkman’s approach, impressed by Brinkman’s earlier, deferring introduction and anxious to help as much as possible a newcomer with the proper manner. There hadn’t been any unexpected trade approaches during the preceding six months; in fact the only thing that had caught his interest was a request a month earlier about the availability among British owners of bulk carrier ships. Brinkman was glad he pressed further, persuading Street to pull the file from records because when they examined it there was a tighter definition; the enquiry had been specifically about bulk containers, not carriers.
Ingram had been a meticulous keeper of files, better, in fact, than the standard regulations required. And
