Sweden, hundreds of miles away. Sweden was lucky for him. He had money in Stockholm. He'd got to the bank and taken out the money, but the Swedes were too interested in him. They wanted him to ask for political asylum, but he was afraid the publicity would betray him to the KGB. He'd had to get away. The money had bought him forged papers and a passage on a ship for Hamburg. From Hamburg he'd flown to Rome, from Rome to Ankara, and from there he'd drifted south, to settle finally at Kutsk.
'Why choose Turkey?' Craig said.
'Because the Turks hated the Russians,' she told him. 'They'd give him asylum if ever he needed it. And it was remote. The kind of place nobody ever went to. When he bought the flock of sheep he'd learned something else too. He was happy there, a hermit, alone. He hadn't been happy for as long as he could remember.
'Isn't it wonderful?' said Miriam.
'Fantastic,' he said. 'What else is there?'
'He's afraid,' she said, 'of you and others like you.'
'Did you tell him about going to America?'
'You told me not to.'
'Did he say anything about our knowing his real name?'
'Yes,' she said. 'I don't understand that. He said Kaplan was supposed to be dead and buried. He said your people promised. I guess he meant the Russians.'
'I'm sure he did.'
Craig got up then and walked round the garden that encircled Angelos's house. He'd done it before, when they arrived the preceding night, but it was better to do it by daylight. The house was set in a fold in the hills, encircled by pine trees. A stream supplied its water, a turbine generator its power. A mud track was the only approach to it, and the nearest neighbor was seven miles away. He went back into the house and called Omar and Miriam, led them into the living room, where a big picture window looked out on the track that led to the house. For the last four hundred feet there was no cover at all.
'I want you to watch this place,' said Craig. 'If anybody comes up that road, call me at once.'
'You want both of us to watch?' Omar asked.
'Both of you. All the time, Omar.' The Turk looked up at him. 'It's possible the lady may want to leave this room. See that she doesn't.'
'Too right,' said Omar.
'What are you going to do?' the girl asked.
'Find out the truth,' said Craig. 'I'm sick of fairy stories.'
He left them, and she sat watching the path. After a few minutes she heard Kaplan cry out, and jumped to her feet. At once Omar also rose, standing between her and the door. He was an old man, but he was strong, she knew. She'd be helpless against him. Then Kaplan cried out again, and she ran at Omar, trying to get past him. But he picked her up, held her in his gaunt, work-worn hands, and looked at her with eyes that were curiously gentle, almost compassionate.
'It's no use, miss,' he said. 'We've got to do what the boss says. Now you sit down and watch the road. It's what we're here for.'
But she went on struggling until there was neither fight nor breath left in her, even when Kaplan yelled a third time. After that she sat down as Omar bade her, and there was no more noise.
Craig came back into the room forty minutes later, and Kaplan followed him. There was a bruise over his left eye and he was limping. Miriam got up at once and led him to a chair. Craig fetched water and gave it to Kaplan, who drank it eagerly.
'The shepherd's got a new statement to make,' said Craig.
'Looks like a pretty important shepherd,' Omar said.
'He is,' said Craig. 'A man could get killed just knowing what his real name is. Do you want to know it?'
'No, thank you,' said Omar. 'I think I'd sooner cook lunch.'
Craig watched him go, then said, 'I roughed him up a bit.'
'I heard you,' Miriam said.
'It was nothing like you got,' said Craig. 'That's work for experts. But this poor bastard's scared silly. He's got nothing left.' He turned to Kaplan, and this time he spoke in English.
'Now tell this woman what you told me,' said Craig. 'Unless you want to change your story again.' 'I told you the truth,' said Kaplan. 'Now tell it to her.'
Kaplan looked at her, but his whole body was concentrated on Craig, standing beside him.
'I'm sorry,' he said, 'but most of what I told you yesterday was lies. There were no friendly Lapps, no smuggling across the border to Sweden.'
'You didn't escape?' Miriam asked.
'No. The other nine did—that is true. But I did not.'
'Tell her what you did, Kaplan,' said Craig.
The agony on his face was unbearable.
'I betrayed them,' he said, 'to the commandant of the camp. The price of my betrayal was a pardon.'
'Get on with it,' said Craig.
'I told the commandant the night we—we were ready to go. You have to be in Volochanka to know how it was. Slow death in the camp, quick death outside. The commandant was drunk all the time. He was drunk when I came to warn him. He beat me. Threw me out. Went back to his vodka. Then it happened. We made our break. Only I didn't go. I went to the deputy commandant instead, told them where to pick up the others. He got seven of them. All the time I had to hide in his hut. If I'd come out, the other prisoners would have killed me. Then the commandant was shot, and the deputy took over. He put in a word for me, got my pardon. I was allowed to live. They gave me new papers, sent me to work in the Crimea. On a collective. I was happy there.' He paused till Craig raised his head, then went on immediately. 'Then a man came to see me from the Central Scientific Bureau. They'd opened up my dossier again, run some tests on my theory. He said I was to be pardoned.'
'But what had you
'Slept with a man's wife and been found out,' he said. 'The man was a close friend of Lavrenti Beria. The charge was moral degeneracy.' He looked at Miriam. 'It wasn't that. I swear it. I loved the woman very much. It was the second time in all my life I had known what love was and-'
'Tell us about your theory,' said Craig.
'It's a way to bring water to desert places. It's part engineering—using atomic plant to make sea water into fresh water—and part agriculture—the growth of certain crops intermingled to help each other—catching the dew and so on. The Central Scientific Bureau said it ought to be tried out in a limited experiment. They were going to rehabilitate me. I couldn't stand it. I ran away.'
'You couldn't stand what?' Craig asked.
'Coming back to life. Beria was dead by that time, but his friend—the man whose wife I loved—he's still alive. Doing well. His wife is still with him. I'd have had to meet them again, go to receptions, parties—as if nothing had ever happened. And he knows I betrayed my friends. I couldn't face them—not with that. I ran away, stole money, crossed the Turkish border. It wasn't easy, but I'd been trained how to do it in Volochanka. In Turkey, I robbed again—it seems I have a talent for that, too, and bought papers. When I had enough money, I settled down, paid those peasants to keep their mouths shut. I had a life of my own then. It was a good life, but the peasants betrayed me. I should have expected it. It's what I did myself.'
'You felt safe?' Miriam asked.
'I'll never be safe. But the ones I feared were all Russian. If they knew I was alive, they'd kill me. The knowledge I have is too important to be taken out of Russia.'
'They know you're alive,' said Craig. 'They're looking for you now.'
'You won't give me to them?'
'Not if we can get a better offer,' Craig said. 'I'm pretty sure we can. The Americans want you, Kaplan.' 'They don't need my skills.'
'A gift to underdeveloped countries. A nice gesture from Uncle Sam.'
'Well, it is,' said Miriam.
'Of course it is,' said Craig. 'If they can keep him alive.'
CHAPTER 11
