him.
'When will you come back, Padre?' the child asked bravely, hiding any sign of distress.
'I don't know, Nicky.' Ramsey used the diminutive of his name for the first time, and it sat awkwardly on his tongue.
'You will come back, won't you, Padre?' 'Yes, I will come back. I promise you that.' 'And you will let me and Adra stay here at Tercio? You won't send us away?' 'Yes, Nicky. You and Adra will stay here.' 'Thank you. I am glad,'said Nicholas. 'Goodbye, Padre.'
They shook hands solemnly, and then Ramsey turned away quickly and ran down the steps to the waiting jeep.
Preventing the Skylight test was of secondary importance. It was almost three years since they had first learnt of the South African plans to build a nuclear bomb, and Ramsey knew that by now they had a viable weapon.
However, a nuclear weapon had very little practical application in the type of bush war that was typically African.
What was of primary importance was to isolate South Africa even further from its last remaining support in the Western world. Already a political pariah, this was an opportunity that he had waited for, to brand her a nuclear rogue into the bargain.
They met in the ambassador's safe room in the cellar of the Soviet embassy.
The embassy was set in that intimate diplomatic enclave behind Kensington Palace.
Both General Borodin and Aleksei Yudenich had flown in from Moscow. Their presence gave weight to the deliberations. It underlined both the foreign ministry's and the KGB's renewed interest in the African section, and gave Colonel-General Machado tremendous personal prestige.
The Africans were represented by Raleigh Tabaka and the secretary-general of the ANC. Oliver Tambo, the president of the ANC, was on an unofficial visit to East Germany and could not return to London in time for the meeting.
There was a great deal of urgency, for the South Africans were due to test Skylight within the coming week. Red Rose had reinforced her initial despatch with quite extensive information concerning the enriching of the uranium, the specifications of the actual bomb, its projected delivery in the new G5 artillery round, the position and depth of the test-hole and the ignition system that would be used to detonate the bomb.
'What we have to decide today,' Yudenich opened the discussion, 'is how best to use this information.'
'I think, comrade,' the secretary-general of the ANC cut in eagerly, 'that you should allow us to call a press conference here in London.' Ramsey's lips curled into a small cynical smile. Of course they wanted it.
What a blaze of publicity the ANC would bring down upon itself.
'Comrade Secretary-General,'Yudenich smiled broadly,, 'I think the announcement would carry a little more weight if it were to be made by the president of the USSR, rather than the president of ANC.' His tone was heavy with sarcasm. Yudenich didn't like blacks.
In private, before this meeting, he had remarked to Ramsey that it was a pity that they had been obliged to invite the 'monkeys' rather than deciding the issue between civilized human beings. 'It is difficult to bring one's mind down to their level,' he had chuckled. 'But, then, you have had much experience with them, Comrade. Should I have brought a packet of nuts for them, do you think?' Ramsey sat aloof from the discussion for nearly twenty minutes. The voices of both Yudenich and the secretarygeneral were becoming louder and more strained. It was Borodin who at last suggested mildly: 'Should we perhaps ask Comrade General Machado's views? His source provided the information perhaps he has ideas how best to take advantage of it.' They all looked down the table at him, and Ramsey had his reply prepared.
'Comrades, all that you have said has good sense and reason. However, if either the ANC or the president of the USSR breaks the news it will be a one-day sensation. I believe that to extract the most benefit we should draw out the process. We should release a few scraps of information at a time, and allow interest to build up over a protracted period-' They looked thoughtful, and Ramsey went on.
'I also believe that if we break it ourselves, either through Moscow or through the ANC, it will be looked upon as biased or at least highly prejudiced information. I think we should give the news to the most powerful voice in America to spread for us.
The voice that governs the United States - and, through it, the Western world.' Yudenich looked confused. 'Gerald Ford? The President of the United States?' 'No, Comrade Minister. The news media. The true government of America. In their single-minded obsession with the freedom of speech, the Americans have created a dictatorship more powerful than anything we can devise. Let us give this to the American television networks. We make no announcements, we hold no press conferences. We simply give one of them a mere whiff of the scent, show them the tracks of the hare, and let them hunt it down and tear the animal to pieces themselves. You know well how it works; like a pack of hounds their excitement and their blood lust will be more thoroughly aroused if they believe that the prey is theirs alone. They call it 'investigative journalism' and give prizes to the ones who do most damage to their government, their allies and to the capitalist system that supports them.' Yudenich stared at him a little longer before he began to chuckle. 'I hear that in Africa they call you the Fox, Comrade General.' 'The Golden Fox,'Borodin corrected him, and Yudenich burst into full-throated laughter.
'I see you merit your name, Comrade General. Let the Americans and the British do our work for us once again.'
The total success of the Skylight operation reaffirmed Red Rose's-worth a hundredfold, but brought with it its own problems.
The more valuable Red Rose became, the more skilfully and carefully she must be controlled. Every possible precaution had to be taken to protect and guard her in the field, and to give her incentive to continue. She must be rewarded immediately for Skylight and given access to Nicholas as soon as reasonably possible. However, this again was complicated by Ramsey's own changing attitude towards his son.
He was determined that these sickly bourgeois sentiments which recently had intruded on his sense of purpose must never be allowed to interfere with his duty. He knew that, if necessary, given the right circumstances, he must be ready to sacrifice Nicholas, just as he was completely resigned to laying down his own life if duty dictated it.
Until that day, however, Nicholas must never be placed in any position of danger. Especially there must never be the least possibility of Red Rose or any other person laying hands on the boy and removing him from Ramsey's custody.
He considered once again arranging the next access at the hacienda in Spain. This would mean moving from Tercio; that involved a degree of risk, a very small degree, but a certain risk none the less. It was just possible that Red Rose - say, with the assistance of South African agents might succeed in spiriting the child to the British embassy in Madrid. He knew that Red Rose possessed a British passport and dual nationality. Spain was no longer secure enough to satisfy Ramsey.
Of course, he could arrange the meeting in either Havana or Moscow. This entailed considerable logistical problems in getting Red Rose to those locations. It would also reveal to her beyond any doubt who were her ultimate masters. He wanted to avoid that if at all possible.
The most secure location outside Cuba or Russia was Tercio base on the Chicamba river. It was remote and heavily guarded. There was no foreign embassy within a thousand miles. Nicholas was already installed there. Red Rose could be brought in with very little inconvenience. Once she was at Tercio she would be more completely under his control than in any other place on this earth.
Tercio it would have to be.
Isabella came fully awake with a guilty start. For a moment she did not know where she was or what had woken her. Then she remembered, and realized that it was the change in the sound of the Ilyushin's engines and the canting of the deck beneath her that had woken her. Despite her best intentions, she had fallen asleep in the uncomfortable jump-seat.
She glanced quickly at her wristwatch. Two hours fifty minutes since take-off from Lusaka.
She lifted herself slightly in her seat and checked the instrument-panel over the pilot's shoulder. They were still on the same heading, but they were beginning their descent. The altimeter began to unwind steadily.
She looked ahead through the windscreen of the cockpit. It was late afternoon and hazy, but suddenly the low sun flashed on a large body of water ahead.
Lake? she thought, and searched her memory for one that large. The African lakes all lay along the Great Rift Valley, thousands of miles in the opposite direction. Then suddenly it occurred to her.
'The Atlantic! We have reached the west coast.' She reassembled the map of Africa in her mind. 'Angola or Zaire, or the Enclave.' The Candid banked on to an approach heading. The undercarriage whined and vibrated as it was lowered. Ahead she saw white coral beaches, and the shape of the reefs beneath the blue Atlantic waters.
There was a river mouth, with a low surf breaking on the bar and a deeper serpentine channel crawling into the lagoon. The river was broad and brown, but not large enough to be one of the major African drainages, not the Congo nor the Luanda river. She tried to memorize every detail. A few miles above the lagoon the river formed a distinctive ox-bow, a double S. Dead ahead
