coming on like a pushy broad again, aren’t I?’
‘I’ll tell you when to stop.’
‘Do you want another drink?’
‘No.’
‘Coffee?’
‘No.’
They remained looking at each other, eyes held, for several moments unspeaking in a loud silence. Then Caroline smiled and said: ‘Your move.’
All the much-considered words – like precluded and forbidden and prohibited – crowded in upon Yuri, along with others like madness and stupidity and insanity. He put the brandy glass on the convenient table, edging on to the bed beside her but avoiding any contact, just leaning forward to kiss her and she leaned forward to meet him but also without her body touching his. They stayed that way for a long time, mouth searching mouth, but when he finally reached out she snatched for him eagerly, pulling them together so that they fell back against the bed. Each started to undress the other, clumsy in their eagerness, so they became impatient and they stopped with each other and stripped their own clothes off, unable to wait. He explored her again with his mouth, her nipples hard to his tongue atop those spectacular breasts, and then tasting her wetness and she ate him too. He was too far gone when he entered her but so was she. They climaxed practically at once but he didn’t have to stop and the second time took much longer, settling to a rhythm, and again they came together.
‘We forgot the rules,’ she panted.
‘Rules?’
‘In the age of AIDS we’re supposed to use condoms.’
‘You’re safe,’ he said,
‘How do you know you are?’
Yuri laughed with her, taking the remark beyond her intended joke. How safe was he, in this situation? How safe in any situation? The inevitable reflection about Moscow brought another thought, jolting him. Was this how it had been for the grotesquely fat Kazin and a woman he had never known but who had been his mother? Yuri tried for some feeling, the disgust or hatred of which his father felt incapable, but could not manage it either. How could he feel any emotion about people he had never known?
The following morning he left early, before she got out of bed, promising to call as soon as he returned and careful to stop off at his own supposed apartment to collect a case to carry from the building if she looked out of her upstairs window and saw him in the street. It meant the delay of storing it again in a left-luggage locker but he used Grand Central instead of Penn Station, which was nearer to the UN building.
He ignored his own official section at the United Nations, going directly to confront Anatoli Granov, who stared bulge-eyed at him but held back from any open demand in surroundings of which they were unsure, waiting until they began the corridor perambulation. Even then the man’s fury – mixed, Yuri was sure, with relief – had to be muted by their being in a public place.
‘Where the hell were you?’
‘I had no choice.’
‘Moscow want an explanation.’
Yuri knew that was an exaggeration, an attempt to frighten him: Granov would not have raised any alarm this quickly. He recounted the confrontation with Caroline, stressing her remarks about mysterious strangers and the janitor’s gossip about the leaseholders, conscious as he talked of Granov’s anger deflating.
‘She was suspicious?’ demanded the rezident.
‘Curious,’ qualified Yuri. ‘Quite obviously it was necessary for me to remain overnight in the apartment.’
Granov nodded in reluctant agreement. ‘I will recommend to Moscow that we dispose of it: find somewhere else.’
‘To do that, because of a passing encounter, would too easily create suspicion,’ argued Yuri at once. Why was the protest so important? It had only been a one-night stand, like all the others.
‘You think we should do nothing?’
‘Some eventual contact was inevitable,’ said Yuri. ‘To run would be quite wrong.’
‘What is she like, this woman?’
‘Quite ordinary,’ lied Yuri easily.
‘How long were you together?’ pressed the older man.
‘Maybe an hour: perhaps a little longer. To have avoided the conversation would have been as suspicious as it would be to close up the apartment,’ said Yuri.
They were at that part of the corridor overlooking the main entrance. Granov stopped abruptly, jerking his head to look directly at Yuri. He said: ‘You didn’t get involved with her?’
‘Involved?’ queried Yuri, quite relaxed under the questioning.
‘Sleep with her?’
Yuri stared directly back at his superior. ‘Even to have considered such a thing would directly contravene all my training!’
Granov retreated under the imagined outrage. ‘Quite so.’
‘I have a question, Comrade Granov.’
‘What?’
‘Some of those magazines, showing unclothed women,’ said Yuri, with open-faced innocence. ‘Most decadent, I thought.’
‘I considered them essential, to give the impression of typical male occupation,’ said the rezident, flush- faced.
‘They’re yours!’ said Yuri, in apparent surprise. ‘Would you have me return them to you?’
‘Of course not!’
‘What about the ass on the blonde in Hustler!’ said Yuri. ‘Wasn’t she something?’
The local KGB controller stared at him and abruptly walked away without speaking.
‘You’ve been sweating us, Sergei,’ protested the American.
‘That’s not true,’ rejected Kapalet, sure of his strength. ‘The only purpose of a meeting is to pass on information: with no information there was no reason for us to meet. It would have been dangerous, in fact.’
‘So you’ve got something!’ demanded Drew eagerly.
They were in the Crazy Horse Saloon, Wilson Drew hunched over the bar, uninterested in the stage, the Russian looking in the opposite direction at the floor show in which a girl with disappointingly small breasts was stimulating herself with an eighteen-inch length of thick rope. Kapalet said: ‘I’m really not sure.’
‘What!’ said the American.
‘Shelenkov is a difficult sod,’ said Kapalet. ‘Talks in riddles.’
‘Just tell me what he says,’ insisted Drew with forced patience. ‘We’ll solve the riddles.’
‘Washington is worried, then?’ The information was important to send back to Moscow.
‘What do you think?’ said Drew. ‘They’ve established a special committee.’
Definitely important to relay back to Moscow. Kapalet said: ‘It comes out in bits: nothing connected.’
‘Just tell me!’ begged the American.
The woman on the stage definitely seemed to be screwing herself with that rope. Kapalet said: ‘You know about Semipalatinsk?’
Drew turned to him, frowning: ‘Your development complex?’
Kapalet nodded: ‘According to Shelenkov you think you’ve got a source there…’
‘ Think!’ interrupted Drew, isolating the important word.
‘Shelenkov got drunk, three nights ago. Said something about all those crosses over Semipalatinsk on the CIA maps being kisses, to America’s oblivion.’ Reluctantly Kapalet turned momentarily from the girations on the stage, to assess the reaction from the American. It was possible to see the tension stiffen through the CIA officer.
Drew said: ‘I’m not sure I’m getting this right.’
‘I’m not sure that I have, either,’ said Kapalet, turning back to the stage. It wasn’t possible to see the rope at all now. He said: ‘The way it sounded to me was that having established someone within the CIA to disseminate the reports as Moscow wanted, Dzerzhinsky Square installed someone inside Semipalatinsk to leak out whatever disinformation we wanted you to swallow.’
