interviews with Charlie and Miriam.
Miriam followed Charlie’s lead by refusing. And did so again when he insisted he would not be photographed near the grave, either.
As they hurried back into Polyakov’s office, Miriam whispered in English, “We got well and truly suckered.”
“We got well and truly fucked,” corrected Charlie.
Charlie guessed Polyakov’s anger matched his but hoped his was better controlled. He’d had time now to rationalize his mistakes, acknowledging that he’d underestimated everything and everybody, which had been foolishly arrogant. He wasn’t sure how much of a recovery he’d managed, but he had to go on working at it and at the same time not lose sight of the fact that, devious, conniving bastard though he’d been, Valentin Ivanovich Polyakov was a diplomatically recognized head of a semi-autonomous republic who had to be accorded the respect due to his title. It didn’t necessarily extend to the man himself, of course. Only the three of them had returned to Polyakov’s suite, leaving Ryabov and Kurshin to organize the transportation to the grave. Possibly his first advantage, recognized Charlie. He’d have to make sure he isolated all the others.
For that reason Charlie waited for Polyakov to speak, but unexpectedly it was Miriam who broke the angry silence. “That was monstrous!I am going to make a full report to my embassy in Moscow. Ask that protests are made from my State Department in Washington.”
Wrong, thought Charlie. There was no threat in that: Polyakov, who’d caused the offense, was the same man who’d sit in judgment upon any diplomatic complaint about it. Don’t get sore, get even, remembered Charlie, calling upon another dictum. What other advantages were there? The eavesdropping was a definite advantage there: a signpost to follow, in fact. He’d told McDowell and Gallaway he was getting nowhere-probably never would-and the listening Polyakov had believed him. The bastard would never have chanced a trick like the one he’d just pulled if he’d known Charlie’s bullshit was going to be spread thicker than his. The benefits were stacking up. What else? He had the official release of the body and possessions snug in his inside pocket. Important to ensure those possessions, including the uniform, weren’t picked over by anyone else. There were the lists, of course, carefully prepared by Vitali Novikov. But the local medical examiner had not been able to read the English lettering of the cigarette case inscription, so the danger was minimized there.
Insufficient for a total recovery, assessed Charlie objectively. Publicly-in Moscow and London and Washington-it would still probably be regarded as an unmitigated debacle requiring his head on a pole. If he stood any chance at all of keeping it instead on his shoulders, he had to solve all the mysteries, not make up any more. But not here, at this precise moment. At this precise moment he had verbally to manacle Valentin bloody Polyakov as effectively as the victims they were trying to identify. And Charlie thought he could do it. Calmly, conversationally-no longer, in fact, furious-he said, “You should have told us: prepared us for what you were going to do back there.”
“I achieved all I wanted.”
Charlie discerned the faint doubt. Shaking his head, he said, “Maybe if you’d been more forthcoming we could have helped you make it better.” He refused to answer Miriam’s abrupt look, willing her not to say anything, make any interruption, until she understood what he was doing.
“What do you mean?” demanded Polyakov.
“I mean that both of us have been aware from the beginning that all our contacts with Moscow have been monitored,” said Charlie, easily. “Which is why we’ve said nothing to indicate our thinking or what we’ve already been able to decide. But most importantly there’s been no discussion, either, of what was discovered in London or Washington before we came here. Or what’s been shared by Moscow.”
The other man’s uncertainty was obvious now. “I want to know everything about this Nazi business!”
“After what happened this morning, I don’t feel at liberty to tell you,” said Charlie. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s something you’ll have officially to approach London about.”
“And Washington, as far as I am concerned,” came in Miriam, once more following in Charlie’s footsteps.
“Your being allowed here was on the understanding of complete cooperation,” threatened Polyakov, inadequately.
“That was our understanding, too.” Charlie nodded in the direction of the just-left room. “There wasn’t much evidence of complete cooperation in there. And I expect London to be outraged that what were official discussions between myself and my embassy were monitored.”
“Washington, too,” endorsed Miriam again. “I think the whole episode was extremely unfortunate. You would probably have been able to avoid a great deal of embarrassment by first discussing the claims and accusations you made today.”
Careful, thought Charlie worriedly.
Polyakov said, “I demand to know everything that’s been discovered elsewhere!”
“I have to refer you to London,” said Charlie. “Or my embassy in Moscow.”
“You are both here with my permission: under my sufferance,” further threatened the bearded chief minister. “It’s I who have to authorize the release of the bodies and their effects.”
Charlie thought Polyakov and Stalin would have gotten on well together. He said, “You told us earlier you’d already been in contact with London and Washington, agreeing that. We were photographed being given the official release papers.”
Polyakov’s face began to burn.
Sure of herself-of Charlie’s script-Miriam said, “This really could get most unpleasant. My embassy has an aircraft on standby to recover our national. I think everything is out of our hands now. Any decision to hold the bodies will be taken on a diplomatic level.”
The man was close to being out of his depth, Charlie guessed. His mind still on limitation, Charlie said, “I agree. I regret-and I feel sure my government will very much regret-what occurred today. At my level-the level of the investigation-I think it would be most unwise if the media for whose invitation you are responsible were allowed any more information or facilities than they already have been given. That’s as far as I feel able to go, guiding you about what’s known elsewhere about this case.”
“I can’t add to that,” said the woman.
The television teams had, of course, brought satellite communication equipment and the conference was instantly syndicated by their respective stations to be seen worldwide during the course of the day.
In London Sir Rupert Dean turned to his assembled committee and said, “Charlie Muffin will need a damned good explanation for this!” For Gerald Williams it was a superhuman effort not to speak or keep the satisfaction from his face.
In Moscow, McDowell, Gallaway and Cartright looked between each other in matching incredulity. Gallaway said, “Oh, my God!”
McDowell said, “I’ve got to speak to the bloody man,” but at once corrected himself. “No. I need to speak to London.”
And in the Lesnaya apartment Sasha said, “That’s Daddy. What’s he talking about?”
“I don’t know,” said Natalia. Their situation had never stood a chance of succeeding, not from the very beginning.
“Inconceivable!” protested James Boyce.
“Definitely a need for some close control: find out what the dangers are,” said Kenton Peters. “Sounded awfully like your man knew something he shouldn’t.”
“And your woman, too,” said Boyce. “Yakutsk itself was always our greatest weakness: a problem if the bodies were discovered, not knowing ourselves precisely where the grave was. Never in a million years expected it would melt like that.”
“Do you think Muffin is getting too close?”
“I’ve absolutely no way of knowing, not until he gets back to Moscow. I’ll get a full account then,” said Boyce.
“I think I should go personally,” said Peters. “Best you stay clear: more to lose in some ways with your man
