American War of Independence, in its imposing setting in front of the CIA headquarters and then, while his ID was being checked at the entrance, at the inscription in the marble hallway. ‘And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.’ Did he know the truth yet? He thought so, after the soul-baring with the kids. It seemed to have helped. He realised that it was too early to attach over-importance to omens, but the signs were good. John had made it very clear the previous night he wanted to be kissed and that morning’s breakfast had been like Blair remembered, actually some noise and the boys talking between themselves and then initiating some kind of conversation with him and Ruth. Blair’s thoughts stayed with the woman. He believed it was a breakthrough – of sorts – and would have imagined she would, as well. Yet she seemed strangley subdued. He supposed it was understandable. She’d gone through a lot more than he had; maybe knew the apparent signs weren’t what he thought they were at all.
The division chief’s office was on the fifth floor, high enough at the back for there to be a silver thread of Potomac just beyond the tree line; if there weren’t an Orioles game at the weekend maybe he’d take them out on the river. Ray Hubble strode across the room to meet him, confirming the acquaintanceship, hand outstretched. There were the predictable assurances of how good each other looked and had London really been that long ago and then Hubble said, ‘Sorry to hear about Paul.’
‘Seems a common problem, from what I’ve been told since I got back.’
‘Hope everything works out OK.’
‘I’ve got to see it has, haven’t I?’ said Blair. ‘Appreciate the understanding everyone’s shown here.’
‘No problem,’ said Hubble. He was a polished man, polished cheeks and oiled, polished hair and polished shoes; the sort of man to gleam in the dark. Having given the reassurance he immediately contradicted it by saying, ‘When do you think you’ll be able to go back?’
‘As soon as possible, obviously,’ said Blair, discerning the other man’s tone. ‘But I’ve got to make sure everything is settled here. There’s still the court appearance and I don’t know when that’s going to be. I’ll have to make sure the kid gets into some remedial programme, if the court doesn’t order it. So I can’t make positive dates.’
Hubble made an upward movement with his head, towards the sixth and seventh floors, where the Director and the deputies were quartered, to indicate that the pressure was not his doing and said, ‘You know how they are.’
‘I’ll let you know, as soon as I know myself,’ said Blair.
‘Just a bitch of a time to be away, that’s all,’ said Hubble. ‘Everything is popping over there and you’ve confirmed quite a reputation for yourself from it’
‘That’s good to know,’ said Blair. At least his professional life wasn’t screwed up, he thought, in brief self- pity.
‘You’d better believe it,’ said Hubble enthusiastically. ‘State were telling the President to behave quite differently over the Geneva offer but it was our counsel that prevailed. And when everything was examined the Soviet thing turned out to be a bunch of bullshit, just like you said it was…’ Hubble extended his hand, one finger crossed over the other. ‘That’s how the Agency and the President are at the moment. Hugger Mugger. And the Director likes it very much indeed. Which makes you a pretty important guy around here because although he’s a funny bastard in some ways, he doesn’t deny anyone the credit they’re due. Getting it as completely right as we did was down to you and he’s letting everyone know it.’
Blair felt the satisfaction stir through him. It seemed that his professional life was anything but screwed up. ‘That’s pretty decent of him,’ he said.
‘But he wants everything to stay that way…’ Hubble put out a finger-crossed hand again ‘… him and the President. Which means he’s nervous having you off base. Because it’s known to be so important, of course, I had to tell him. He said OK but he’s pressing to know just how quick you can get back.’
Blair was vaguely discomfited at the Director personally knowing why he’d had to return from Moscow. Would it have any effect upon his career? wondered Blair. The swirl of guilt was immediate. Of course not: and if it did, so what? The Agency could take their job and stuff it up their ass. That wasn’t true, he corrected at once. He loved the job – couldn’t imagine any other – and the ability that he seemed to have to do it. ‘As soon as possible, like I said,’ he reminded his immediate superior.
‘How long before Serada officially gets dumped?’ asked Hubble.
There might have been hints over the last few days, indications from something in Pravda or on Tass. Or a clue he could have got from some photograph. Or the way a proclamation was issued and signed. Or not signed. But he needed to be in Moscow – like they knew he needed to be in Moscow – to be able to detect the signals and the signs. ‘Difficult to say,’ avoided Blair. Aware how bad that sounded, Blair went on, ‘Maybe not yet awhile.’ That wasn’t much better. And it was an over-assessment, as well. He didn’t know – had no way of knowing – whether Serada would go tomorrow or next week or next month. To indicate that there would be some time was just trying to give them a reassurance and take the pressure off for him to get back. He wouldn’t be pressured, determined Blair. All right, so he liked the job and he liked the praise and he wouldn’t stay longer than he had to – he’d never intended that in the first place – but he was damned if he’d cut anything short, either.
‘Bitch of a time to be away,’ repeated Hubble, who’d seen the attempted reassurance as the snow job it was.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Blair, not quite sure what he was apologising for but unable to think of anything else.
‘It’s not just the immediate situation,’ said Hubble.
‘I’m not sure I know what you mean,’ frowned Blair.
‘You’ve been in Moscow two years?’ said Hubble.
‘A little over,’ agreed Blair.
Hubble nodded, the minimal correction unnecessary anyway because he had Blair’s personnel file in the desk drawer on his left and knew everything about the man’s career. He said, ‘Normally we’d be thinking of some reassignment now; three years is the term, as you know.’
‘ Normally? ’ said Blair, picking out the important word.
‘Like I said, Eddie, the Director’s impressed; impressed as hell. He thinks you’ve got the handle on Moscow for a period that is going to turn out important. So he says – and the logic is difficult to argue with – why put someone else into bat when you’re scoring all the home runs? If we pull you out as we would normally do, after three years, it means someone has got to go in there cold and learn the tricks. The Director thinks – and again the logic is difficult to argue with – that at a time like this we should stay just as we are, ahead of the game.’
‘You want me to remain in Moscow?’ said Blair, irritated by all the other man’s awkward metaphors.
‘Just that,’ said Hubble.
‘How long for?’
‘As long as it takes,’ said Hubble expansively. ‘Then you can go wherever you like in full glory.’
‘What’s that mean?’ said Blair.
‘It means – and the Director has personally asked me to make this clear to you – that if you agree to stay on then when you finally move you can call the shots. You choose what you want and you get it. You can have another overseas posting. Or you can come here, to Langley. And if you come to Langley it won’t be for the doorman’s job. You’ll get a division at least. What do you say?’
During all his thoughts and discussions with the boys and with everyone else Blair had always calculated, without consciously counting the months or considering it too definitely, that he’d be out of Moscow according to the normal custom, in three years. That was why he’d been so forceful in the talk of their being together more because if it had proven difficult to get them into Moscow – or for them to accept Ann – then he knew it would have only been months, not even a year, before he was somewhere else that would have been more convenient. Would it be difficult, to get them in, if he stayed on? He could make it a condition of his agreeing that the Agency – through the State Department – made damned sure they could get in, whenever he wanted them to. And impose another condition, too: that he be allowed to come out whenever he wanted, to be with them. What about Ann? She said she hated Moscow but he’d always thought that was an exaggeration. So she disliked it. But so did a lot of people, at first. Two years was hardly at first, so maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough. She’d understand, when he explained it; she knew how important the job was to him. And it was a pretty impressive promise, anything he wanted afterwards. He could let her choose. That wouldn’t be bad, telling her that for her understanding this time she could pick anywhere in the world where they would go next. And why should it be such a long time anyway? Serada could be dumped tomorrow and everything nicely packaged and compartmented before the normal three years were up.
