it was automatic not to involve himself in hindering delays in case he had to move with abrupt urgency.
Levin didn’t react to the person settling to his left. The voice said: ‘Quite some place’, and Levin smiled sideways, nodding agreement to the most casual of casual conversations, knowing his control wanted it to seem a chance encounter to enable the protectors arranged unseen around them to make the final, positive check for any Russian surveillance.
‘Very impressive,’ agreed Levin.
‘I guess they recycle the water.’ David Proctor was a compact, hard-bodied man who constantly removed and then replaced his heavy horn-rimmed spectacles, as if he were ashamed of the physical frailty which made it necessary to wear them. The man had been appointed Levin’s control immediately upon the Russian’s first approach to the FBI: the circumstances had prevented their becoming anything like friends but from the odd remark Levin knew the American jogged most weekdays and worked out in a gymnasium on Saturdays and Sundays.
‘I guess they do,’ agreed Levin.
‘You put the frighteners into us, Yevgennie,’ said Proctor.
Levin had not been conscious of the clearance being signalled to the other man by someone in the foyer and was glad; it proved they were professional and that he was well protected. He said: ‘I’m frightened myself.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘I’m being recalled.’
With the mixer straw Proctor eased the lemon peel from his martini and idly squeezed it back into the drink. ‘Didn’t expect that,’ he admitted.
‘Neither did I,’ said Levin, waiting.
‘This could be good, Yevgennie. Very good.’
Levin’s response to the predictable suggestion that he continue spying from Moscow was immediate. ‘No,’ he refused.
‘Why not?’
‘A dozen reasons why not,’ said Levin, as forcefully as their surroundings would allow. ‘Working with you here, as I have done for the past year, is altogether different from working for you back in Moscow. And I wouldn’t anyway be working for you, would I? It would mean a transfer to the CIA: extending the knowledge of my identity to another agency and increasing the risk of detection. But that’s not my biggest fear: my biggest fear is that the recall at this time, ahead of when we both expected it, means there’s already some suspicion.’
Trained as he was, Proctor was still unable to prevent the instinctive look beyond them into the vast foyer. He removed, polished and then replaced the spectacles and said: ‘You got any reason for thinking that?’
‘The early recall, like I said. That’s always the most obvious indication. And I haven’t been assigned anything but routine for at least the past three months. You know that.’
‘Frozen out?’ said Proctor, more to himself than to the other man.
‘That’s what I think.’
‘When are you supposed to go back?’
‘Two weeks.’
‘That’s quick, too,’ said the man, in growing acceptance.
‘Too quick. I’m frightened, David. I need help.’
‘Don’t worry,’ placated the American. ‘It’ll be all right.’
‘You any idea how the KGB treat people they believe to be traitors? Remember Penkovsky, who told your CIA about the Cuban missiles so that Kennedy could confront Krushchev? They fed him alive – slowly – into a furnace!
We’re shown a warning film at training schools. He melts!’
‘Easy, Yevgennie. Easy.’
‘I want to come across,’ insisted Levin. There’s a lot I could offer. Structure at the UN. Training. Some of the agent set-up throughout the United States…’
Again the American gave a startled reaction. ‘You got that sort of detail… names… places…!’
‘Some.’
‘You never told me.’
‘My insurance, David: my very necessary insurance.’
The barman approached inquiringly and both nodded agreement to fresh drinks. They paid separately, as strangers would have done.
Proctor said: ‘Your wife and kids, too?’
Levin did not immediately respond, gazing down into his glass. Then he said: ‘Natalia is still in Moscow: I told you about the operation on her eyes. She’s not due back for a month.’
Proctor paused. Then he said: ‘That’s a bitch.’
‘I think I’ve persuaded Galina but I’m not sure: she still might refuse.’
‘No chance of getting the girl back sooner?’
‘What reason would there be now? It’s logical for her to remain in Russia until we return: to start trying to get her back here would set off every alarm bell in Moscow.’
‘I’m sorry, Yevgennie. Really sorry.’
‘I’m hoping they’ll let her out, eventually. I know it wouldn’t be for a long time. But eventually,’ said Levin.
Proctor hesitated again. Finally he said ‘Sure’ in a voice from which he didn’t try to keep the doubt.
‘How quickly can you get me out?’ demanded Levin.
‘A day or two. Three at the outside.’
‘How?’
‘We’ll use the book displacement, like before. But the American edition. Check every afternoon: it’ll mean we’ll be ready, that night.’
‘Where?’
‘How freely can you move?’
‘Dolya has agreed to my taking Galina out in the evenings,’ said Levin. ‘It shouldn’t be difficult.’
‘You know the Plaza Hotel?’
‘Yes.’
‘There are two entrances, one directly from Central Park South, with the main doors fronting on to Fifth Avenue,’ set out Proctor. ‘When you get the signal enter from the park, as if you’re going to Trader Vic’s or the Oak Room. I’ll pick you up in the lobby: we’ll go straight around and exit by the main door. We’ll have cars waiting: the parking area is convenient. How’s that sound?’
‘Almost too simple.’
‘The simple way is always the best way.’
‘What time?’
‘It’s got to seem like a dinner outing, right? Let’s say seven: but we’ll build in contingency time. Don’t want to screw up over something as innocent as a traffic block, crossing town.’
‘How long?’
‘Thirty minutes,’ said the American. ‘I’ll definitely be there at seven – earlier, in fact – and I’ll wait until seven thirty. If you’re not there by then I’ll know there’s a problem.’
‘It wouldn’t automatically mean I’ve been stopped.’
‘I realize that,’ said Proctor. ‘If you’ve got to cry off for any reason, just let yourself be seen around the UN the following day: we’ll be watching. And waiting in exactly the same way, that night. And the following night, if necessary.’
‘It’ll work, won’t it?’ said Levin in sudden urgency.
‘We’ll make it work,’ assured Proctor. ‘Everything’s going to be all right, Yevgennie. Believe me.’
‘I want to,’ said Levin. Then he said: ‘Petr is sixteen.’
‘Yes?’ said the American curiously.
‘You’ll make everything possible for him, won’t you? High school, college. Things like that? I’ve earned it, after all.’
‘It’ll all be taken care of,’ promised Proctor in further reassurance. ‘There’ll be a safe house. New identities. Money.’
