The aircraft was half-empty in first-class. The seats behind and in front were empty, so they were able to talk freely as the descent continued. Paula looked at her Swiss watch.
'I wonder where this was made?'
'Probably at La-Chaux-de-Fonds. A town up in those Jura mountains. Funny place. None of your old-fashioned Swiss chalets with window-boxes. More like a child's town built of bricks – then enlarged to normal building size. A bit stark.'
'Do I get to meet this Russian? The one who says he saw this phantom? He knows you're coming?'
'I'll see him first. And no, he doesn't. I'm hoping to catch him off balance.'
He glanced at Paula who was staring out of the window again. She was dressed perfectly for the occasion. A classic two-piece suit with pleated skirt and a pussy bow at the neck of her blue blouse. Would he have to unleash her on Sabarin he wondered? He doubted it. Bloody waste of time, the whole trip. He looked glum as the aircraft descended on the final run-in to Cointrin Airport.
Yuri Sabarin agreed to come immediately to the Hotel des Bergues when Tweed phoned the number Lysenko had given him. Which made Tweed even more sceptical. The Russians normally took their time – to emphasize their self-importance, to show how busy they were. Paula waited in her own room while Tweed paced back and forth in his bedroom. The second surprise was when the Russian arrived on time. The third was his opening remark after he met Tweed.
This is an appropriate place for our discussion. It is here where I saw Zarov.'
'Actually in this hotel?'
Yuri Sabarin was a small, wiry, lean-faced and energetic man who, Tweed estimated, would be in his thirties. He was also dressed smartly in a pale grey suit, blue-striped shirt and a pale blue tie. One of the new breed Gorbachev was using? His command of English was excellent.
'No, outside this hotel,' Sabarin smiled. 'If we could go downstairs to the small restaurant I could show you exactly – Le Pavilion.'
On the spur of the moment Tweed changed his mind, phoned to Paula, asked her to come to his room. Sabarin was not what he had expected. He introduced Paula and they went downstairs in the elevator. Sabarin led the way through the reception hall and into the restaurant Tweed knew well.
It faced the street with windows overlooking the Rhone beyond. 'Watch to see if you think he's telling the truth,' Tweed whispered as they followed the Russian who seemed at home in one of Geneva's best hotels. The PM had allocated a generous budget for what Tweed still felt was a useless exercise.
Sabarin made for an empty window table. They were almost the only customers at three in the afternoon. The Swiss eat early and get back to their desks, abhorring the long business lunch. He pulled out a window chair for Paula and Tweed intervened.
'Why are we sitting here?'
'Because I was – when I saw him…'
'In which chair?'
'This one.' It was the chair he had offered Paula. Tweed shook his head. 'Then I want you sitting there – so we can reconstruct exactly how it happened…'He heard himself speaking and it reminded him of his days back at the Yard in the days when he was investigating a murder case. 'Paula can sit opposite you,' he continued. 'I will sit alongside -so I get a similar view. Ah, here is the waitress. Coffee for everyone. Good, that's settled.'
He sat alongside Sabarin and looked out of the window without speaking for a short time. The sidewalk was immediately beyond the window and passers-by walked close to the glass. He kept up his silence, wanting to unsettle the Russian, to undermine some of his confidence. Thankfully, Paula followed his lead, saying nothing as she also stared out towards the swift-moving waters of the Rhone. Tweed waited until coffee had been served.
'It was after dark when you think you saw him?' he suggested.
'No! It was just about this time of day. That is why I wanted you to come down.' Sabarin checked his watch. 'He walked past this window at 3.10 p.m. exactly.'
'How do you know the time so precisely?'
'Because I looked at my watch before I jumped up and rushed outside. Through the main exit. I was too late. He had disappeared. I came back in here…'
'Wondering whether you'd been mistaken?' Tweed pressed.
'No! It was him. Igor Zarov. There's only one.'
'How was he dressed?'
'Dark blue two-piece suit, blue-striped shirt, plain blue tie. No hat…'
'Colour of shoes?'
'No idea,' Sabarin responded promptly. 'Couldn't see.'
Which made sense, Tweed thought. Even sitting by the window, passers-by walked so close you couldn't see their footwear.
'One thing was different from when I last saw him,' Sabarin continued. 'His face was chalk-white. He used to be ruddy-complexioned – that's the Georgian side coming out. For a second that did make me wonder, but only for a second.'
'When did you last see him?' Tweed fired at him.
'About two-and-a-half years ago. In Moscow.'
That fitted in with what Lysenko had told him, Tweed thought. He disappeared two years ago from East Germany. That was what the GRU chief had said. Sabarin was talking volubly.
'I knew him well. You see, we worked together for a year in a certain section. We went out drinking in the evening. He was a strange chap…'
'What did he drink? A heavy drinker?'
'Vodka, like me. No, one glass was enough. He said he was giving up alcohol. It muddled his brain.'
'A strange chap – strange in what way?'
'First, he was a brain-box. We all knew that. He had a very mixed personality. He could charm any woman.' Sabarin looked at Paula. 'You would have fallen for him. But at other times he was as cold as ice. He frightened all of us when he was in that mood. We felt that if we got in his way and he could have eliminated us with a flick of his fingers, he'd have done just that.'
'When he walked past this window,' Tweed asked, 'do you think he saw youT
'Definitely not. He was walking in a trance, his mind fixed on some problem…'
'Walking fast?' People hurrying past the window came and went in seconds.
'No, he strolled past, very erect, staring ahead…'
'I'd like to try an experiment. Both of you wait here. I'm going to stroll past that window myself. He did come from that direction?'
'Yes. Towards me as I was sitting here – towards the rue du Mont Blanc.'
Tweed left the restaurant by the entrance which leads direct on to the street. He paused outside until an elegant woman walked past towards the window, a woman wearing a cream suit, carrying a fur over one arm, a single string of pearls round her shapely neck. He strolled after her.
As he reached the window he deliberately glanced inside where the Russian was sitting. Even strolling you had to make a deliberate effort to look inside Le Pavilion. He came back through the main entrance to the hotel, sat down again.
'Someone passed this window just before I did. Tell me what they looked like, what they were wearing.'
'A stunning brunette. Wearing a two-piece cream suit. She had a single string of pearls round her neck. Oh, yes, and she carried a sable fur over her right arm.'
'How do you know it was sable?'
'Please!' Sabarin made a dismissive gesture. 'I am Russian. I have attended the fur auctions in Moscow. I certainly know sable when I see it!'
Paula intervened for the first time. Giving Sabarin her most encouraging smile, she asked the question quickly. 'When this man passed you were eating a meal?'
'No. I only came in here for coffee. Why?'
'I just wondered,' she said, and left it at that.
'One more question,' Tweed said, 'and then I think we are done. Oh, your English is very good…' He brought
