They cut diagonally back towards the house, arriving at the same time as the car. Levin saw that it was very dirty, the front and rear bumpers dented from careless parking: there was a further dent, long ignored and rusting, in the rear wing. The driver seemed to unfold from behind the wheel, a towering, heavy man.
‘Hi, you guys,’ he said.
‘Billy Bowden,’ identified Proctor.
‘Good to see you, Yevgennie,’ said Bowden, thrusting out a hair-matted hand: gingerish blond, like the hair that straggled almost to the collar of his checked shirt, open at the neck, without a tie. There was no jacket, either, and the left cuff of his washed-out jeans was caught up against the edge of his half-calf cowboy boots. The metal- strapped watch was very heavy and thick and calibrated, with a number of smaller dials and buttons, the timepiece of an outdoor man: or maybe someone who spent a lot of time underwater swimming.
Practised casual, like the car was practised neglect, Levin decided. He said: ‘Hello.’
Bowden made an expansive gesture to include the house and the grounds and said: ‘Great place, eh?’
‘You’ve debriefed here before then?’ said Levin. Bowden came back to him almost sharply.
‘Got on fine with the guy, too,’ confirmed Bowden. ‘Just like you and I are going to get on fine.’
The friendship appeared genuine – genuine enough, anyway – but Levin knew it wasn’t sincere, not even from Proctor with whom he’d dealt for so long. A defector from an intelligence organization was always considered a traitor by members of another intelligence organization.
Bowden confidently led the way back into the house, further showing he knew it well. Proctor allowed Levin to follow directly behind and the Russian got the impression that Bowden was the superior ranking officer. Levin had assumed his debriefer to be FBI but wondered fleetingly if Bowden were CIA. Unlikely, he thought; the Moscow legend had always been that the rivalry between the CIA and FBI matched that which existed between the KGB and the GRU. The Moscow account could always be wrong, of course. Bowden went directly to what had been described as the den, standing legs astride in front of the fireplace. It was laid with logs but unlighted. He said: ‘Dave explained things to you?’
The FBI would have maintained a case file upon him and it was logical Bowden would know everything in it, Levin accepted. He said: ‘Yes.’
Bowden grinned, as broadly as he appeared to do everything else. ‘No positive ground rules, Yevgennie. We’ll just kick things around. Chat.’
Levin considered the lie to be a stupid one. An interrogation had to be structured: it was basic tradecraft. If they were to talk one to one then everything was being recorded. He glanced idly around the room, wondering where the apparatus was concealed. He said: ‘I’ll take my guidance from you.’
‘Everything at your speed,’ insisted the man. ‘You feel like stopping, we stop. OK?’
‘OK,’ said the Russian.
‘You feel comfortable enough with English? Or would you prefer Russian?’
So Bowden was bilingual. Levin supposed that was logical, too, but he hadn’t expected it. He said: ‘English is fine.’
‘You want to, you can change your mind any time,’ offered the man.
‘I’ll remember.’
‘And nothing today,’ said Bowden. ‘This is just getting to know each other.’
‘I think I should get going,’ said Proctor.
‘Don’t forget Natalia!’ demanded Levin urgently.
‘Trust me, Yevgennie,’ said the man.
‘We all know the importance of getting the girl across,’ said Bowden.
The debriefer seemed to know everything, thought Levin. To Proctor he said: ‘When will we meet again?’
Proctor looked briefly at the other American and then said: ‘How about a month?’
‘Too long,’ said Levin at once.
‘Nothing is going to happen quickly,’ said Proctor, using his spectacles like worry beads. ‘It’s going to take a lot of negotiation.’
Levin nodded, accepting the fact. ‘Not longer than a month, even if there’s nothing positive.’
‘Definitely a month,’ guaranteed Proctor.
The man seemed embarrassed at the moment of departure, as if he were unsure how to break the contact. Abruptly he put out his hand and, surprised, Levin took it. It was something they had never done before: but every previous encounter had been clandestine when neither had wanted to appear aware of the other.
‘Everything is going to work out fine, Yevgennie. Just fine,’ said Proctor at the door, in familiar reassurance.
‘He’s right, you know,’ said Bowden after the man had gone.
‘I’m trying to think so,’ said Levin.
‘There’s got to be one or two formalities,’ announced Bowden.
‘Formalities?’
‘You know what the business is like, Yevgennie. Everyone claiming their little bit of turf… the technical people want in.’
‘How?’ asked Levin, guessing the answer.
‘An independent check,’ said the American. ‘A polygraph.’
The lie detector: so they didn’t trust him. Levin said: ‘After all I’ve done!’
‘Not my idea,’ insisted Bowden. ‘Don’t you think I haven’t told them it’s a stupid waste of time?’
No, thought Levin. His reaction would be another test, he realized. He said: ‘Don’t worry about it. Of course I’ll take a lie-detector test.’
They didn’t eat that evening in the dining room, agreeing without any discussion to a shared discomfort at the surroundings: even the kitchen eating area seemed overwhelmingly lavish. The uneasiness was heightened by having people cook and wait upon them: twice Galina half rose, instinctively moving to clear away or fetch something, then hurriedly sat again. The second time she actually blushed. The food – steak for the main course – was good and there was wine but none of them ate or drank very much. There was hardly any conversation, either. Petr did not speak throughout, not until the very end of the meal.
Then he said: ‘What about Natalia?’
‘We’re getting her out,’ said Levin.
The exaggeration was obvious and the boy seized upon it. ‘Getting her out? How? When?’
‘It’s being arranged.’
‘Who by?’
‘The Americans.’
‘Rubbish!’ rejected Petr. ‘The Americans can’t arrange that. And you know it.’
‘Respect your father!’ intruded Galina, thoughtless with the words.
Petr seized that, too. ‘What’s there to respect about him any more?’
‘She’ll be got out,’ insisted Levin doggedly.
‘When?’ Petr repeated.
‘As soon as possible.’
‘You’re pitiful!’ spat out the boy.
‘You’ll understand, one day,’ said Levin, flushing at the cliche.
‘What do you imagine I am going to do?’
‘There is going to be a tutor. School later, when you’ve completely adjusted,’ said Levin.
‘Adjusted?’
‘Settled in.’
‘You think I’m going to stay here!’
‘Of course you are.’
‘You’re the defector, not me,’ said Petr, leaning across the table, his face contorted by contempt. ‘I’m Russian. And I’m going to stay Russian. Always.’
Having initiated it, Vasili Malik had been excluded from any of the inquiry planning, and its timing worked against what he’d hoped to achieve. The official reaction to the thwarted Kabul operation had been immediate outrage. Which resulted in the commission – headed by KGB chairman Victor Chebrikov himself – being empanelled
