that happened, I was locked in; there was no chance they would let me out of the country before they squeezed me like a lemon. And the operative factor here was my total inability to put a time limit on it. If I could be sure it would be two weeks before the KGB caught up with this business then I still might be safe in applying for an early exit. But I couldn’t be sure of anything of the kind. For all I knew the word was already on the wire from Moscow to Zandor. There simply was no way to guess; and therefore I had to assume the worst and act accordingly.
Finally, although this was perhaps of lesser importance, there was the fact that I couldn’t go to Zandor with a request for early exit without further arousing his suspicions. Two days after my visa is extended? He wouldn’t buy it unless I had an ironclad reason, and there was no excuse I could think of that would convince him. At the very least, such a request from me would only persuade Zandor to redouble his efforts to find out what chicanery I’d been up to. If he did that he might find the real answer-and once again the result would be my incarceration and interrogation.
I went endlessly up one side and down the other and the answer usually came out the same. There were too many ways for them to nail me, too many risks in staying put and waiting for the bureaucratic machinery to convey me legally out of the country. If nothing else, I wasn’t sure I could stand the constant terror of never knowing when they would reach out for me.
The alternative was to escape illegally-a breakout-and while the risks here were as great as the other, at least I had the spiritual advantage of having made the decision myself, having taken the initiative and having been able to weigh known risks.
Also there was a bleak satisfaction in using Nikki’s organization to get me out of this mess: in some emotional way which I deliberately avoided analyzing, I blamed Nikki for having got me into this.
There was snow. I moved back and forth like a caged animal taking exercise-aimlessly, looking at my watch, waiting; I drank a beer from Bukov’s cupboard, moved an ashtray on the desk, stood at the window growing sick with tenseness.
Then I saw him coming across the square in the snowfall and I tensed like a runner in the starting chocks because he wasn’t alone.
An older man walked with him, in step; they were deep in conversation. An argument, from the gestures. A local friend-or one of Zandor’s people? It was a feeling like ice across the back of my neck.
I watched them come toward the downstairs door to the building; suddenly I broke out of my paralysis. I couldn’t take the chance. I backed away from the window, picked up my things and strode across the room: in the darkness I barked a shin on something-made a small racket and whispered sibilant invective through my teeth, and wheeled out into the corridor. I pulled the door silently shut and crept quickly to the ascending stairs and went up to the next landing, the top floor. I heard the main door open, heard their voices and shrank back against the wall opposite the balustrade. They wouldn’t see me unless they came partway up the top flight of stairs and if they did that I had no escape anyway unless I chose to burst into someone’s flat.
They came up the stairs two flights below and I tried to listen to their conversation-to identify the man with Bukov-but I only understood about one word in five because they were speaking in a Crimean Tatar dialect but then I heard Bukov pronounce my name. I couldn’t make out the context and in my present condition I was not prepared to make fine distinctions among tones of voice. I froze; I felt an insistent hammering behind my eyes.
I heard Bukov open the door to the flat and they went inside. I did not hear the door close; I stayed where I was with the pulse shaking me like a pneumatic drill. And then I heard Bukov, very distinct, in Russian: “He has been here.”
There followed the other man’s short grunt and then footsteps into the hall.
Bukov said, “Harry?”
I didn’t stir.
He started up the stairs.
I turned, ready to break into the nearest door but his voice arrested me:
“He’s a friend, Harry. It’s all right.”
Only half trusting him I went down slowly and he retreated to the landing to wait for me; he was talking to the other man who was inside the flat: “Draw the drapes before you switch on the light.” Then turning to me: “Where did you leave the car?”
I had to swallow and clear my throat. “Behind that row of shops.” I pointed through the wall to my right.
I heard drape cords slide; a light came on, splashing a yellow fan along the floor through the open door. Then Bukov’s companion appeared there, blocking the light. He was a big greying old man who had been red-haired; he had coarse features, there was a heavy roll to his lips. Bukov was arctic and aloof. “You’d better give the keys to Pudovkin.”
Without objection I produced them and handed them to the old man. They disappeared into his fist; Bukov ushered me toward the door and Pudovkin went down the stairs quickly, still in his overcoat.
Bukov shut the door behind us. “Pudovkin spent ten years of his life hunting down Germans in Johannesburg and Buenos Aires. He’s one of the best we’ve got.”
“You expected to find me here.”
“Don’t be so awed. Your escape stirred things up. The first thing they did was alert all border stations, and I have people at several of those. I’ve had the word for several hours.”
“They moved fast. I left my driver in the middle of a dirt track in the wheat farms. I didn’t see any telephone lines.”
“He picked up a ride with a lorry. It only took him twenty minutes to reach a telephone. Was it that same fellow who came here with you?”
“Yes. Timoshenko.”
“Pity. He’s an inoffensive sort. They’ll have his hide for this.”
“It wasn’t his fault. They ought to see that.”
“I’m sure they will-but they’ve got to have someone to vent their rage at. Would you like another glass of beer?” He asked it drily; he’d picked up the glass I’d left near the window.
“You offered me your help,” I said. “That’s why I came.”
“I hope you’ve got a first-class reason. You’re putting us all in jeopardy.”
“I had very little choice. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure you’ve considered what you’re doing-the consequences. You’ll be an outsider forever, you know. You’re consigning yourself to exile-a blind wandering to an unknown destination. You’re not the type, Harry.”
It took me a moment to catch up with him: then my head rocked back. “How do you know that, Bukov?”
“You found the gold, didn’t you.”
It was Karl Ritter all over again. I sank into a chair, raging in hopelessness.
“You’ll be an outsider everywhere until you share the secret with someone.”
Someone entered the building and Bukov listened to the climbing footsteps because he knew the tread of each of his neighbors and acquaintances. He relaxed before I did. The steps went on up the second flight. Bukov said, “Comrade Litvinov,” in a tone Napoleon might have used in pronouncing Wellington’s name.
I said, “I didn’t find anything. But they think I did. I won’t be tortured for something I haven’t got.” It was the story I’d decided on-to use in case I had to. It had become necessary far earlier than I’d anticipated.
Bukov was remarkably uninterested. “In any case it’s still my job to assist you. I gather you wish to get out to the West.”
“It’s a terrible imposition.”
“Don’t apologize. I offered our help. We’ve rather expected you to accept the offer.”
I didn’t want to think about that at the moment; it had too many implications I wasn’t prepared to face.
Pudovkin came up the stairs and Bukov, recognizing his step, met him at the door. “Where did you put it?”
“The railway motor-pool garage. I smeared the number plates. It’s just another official car-they’ll be a while noticing it.” Pudovkin shrugged out of his coat. “There’s a man standing by the station trying not to look like an agent. I think I know his face-I’ve seen him in Yalta.”
“Naturally. They know their man might come here for help.”
I half rose from my seat; Bukov waved me back. “It’s taken into account. But we’d better not stay here any longer-he may take it into his head to come up and inspect the premises. Come along-bring your things.”
