Wednesday – the day they met – ran into Thursday because of the length of time Blair spent linked to Langley, so there were only twenty-four hours before his scheduled second meeting with Orlov, but the pressure from Washington was unremitting. The same questions were asked a dozen different ways and Blair gave the same answers, recognising the headquarters’ excitement. They offered back-up, which he refused because of the difficulty of obtaining accreditation and visas and sensibly arguing that the sudden applications might arouse the curiosity they certainly didn’t want. They said they would maintain the emergency desk in the Watch Room and although Blair couldn’t see any purpose he didn’t bother to argue against that because it couldn’t cause him any personal inconvenience and he accepted it gave them the impression of actively doing something, which was what all the repeated cables were really about. Blair was instructed, first by Hubble and then by the Director, to make a booking on the late Friday plane and when he pointed out that there was no guarantee that Orlov would make the meeting was told it didn’t matter and that reservations could always be cancelled.
Blair hated the atmosphere that existed between himself and Ann since his return from Washington from the earlier trip and the temptation to tell her something – anything – about how it all might be put right was strong. But he resisted it, the professionalism subjugating the personal desire. But only just. He made the reservation and realised he should tell her about that at least but held back from doing so. If he told her he was going back to America and then cancelled because Orlov didn’t – or couldn’t – show then she’d be further confused.
Blair’s initial precautions to avoid observation, which in intelligence circles is called clearing your path, had been basic care, as instinctive as fastening a safety belt in an airplane. Now that he knew – possibly – that he was going to the biggest meeting of his life, he employed every iota of tradecraft and expertise. The beginning, however, was still basic; the hunted must always become the hunter, reversing the roles. Which meant identifying any pursuit. Blair began hours before his appointment with Pietr Orlov, wanting all the time available. He left the embassy on foot, setting out without any apparent hurry along the Ulitza Chaykovskovo and managed – incredibly – to locate two foot followers and their back-up car, a battered Lada, after only three hundred yards. He confirmed it by jumping a bus, suddenly, actually looking backwards from the platform to see their hurried scramble to get into the vehicle and keep up. He timed the disembarkation for a metro, trying to cover himself with departing passengers, hurrying down the brilliantly lit subway and wondered, as he did so, why the subways of New York were covered in graffiti and shit and muggers and those of Moscow were pristine and danger-free and then answered his own unthinking question, because the answer was the people attempting to follow him. He thought he detected attention from a man in an overly large and too distinctive green topcoat and got a further confirmation when the man followed him up on from the Marksa metro and then – too close and why that obviously noticeable coat! – on to Ulitza Gor’kovo. Blair headed for the Intourist Hotel and its beriozka: one day, he thought, he’d discover why the literal translation of Soviet hard currency tourist shops was ‘little birch tree’. He was lucky with the flood of Americans, easily able to mix. The man in the green coat stationed himself near the main door and Blair feigned the ritual of selecting something to buy, alert for a call to any tourist bus or gathering. It came – and it was American – and he was out of the shop and among the crowd before green coat moved. There was a confusion of assembly in the huge foyer and Blair hurried on, not from the hotel but to a basement washroom, hurrying the last few yards because he wanted to detect the sound of footsteps on the hard surface. Inside the lavatory he hurried to a cubicle but pushed the door closed with a discernible gap and stood upon the pedestal, so that his feet and legs would not be visible. It was part of the training, Blair recognised, but he felt theatrically absurd. There was no obvious pursuit and for the benefit of anyone at the stalls he needlessly flushed the toilet before he left. There were four men in the larger room but none of them was wearing a green coat. Blair marked exactly what they were wearing and ascended to ground level cautiously, seeking another obscuring tourist party. There weren’t any obvious ones but the vast foyer was comparatively busy.
He emerged from a different door from that through which he entered, heading back to the Marksa underground. He isolated one hurrying man and a possible back-up car, managed to get his ticket way ahead and dodged platforms by jumping a barrier unseen and had the satisfaction of seeing the pursuer feverishly depart on a train upon which the quarry wasn’t travelling. Blair hurried now, believing the entrance unguarded. He mumbled an explanation for his unused ticket at the kiosk and re-emerged on to the highway at the very moment that a vacant taxi was passing. He strained behind him, looking for any obvious pursuit. There wasn’t any. He still didn’t take chances. This time he avoided GUM, going instead – and with unknowing irony – to the huge department store of TsUM, which is on the Ulitza Petrovska and directly behind the Bolshoi Theatre from which Brinkman and Ann had gone to begin their affair.
He moved hurriedly here, going from floor to floor in hopefully confusing speed and made the final test on a seat outside: the arrangements were made for Orlov’s convenience – and possible cancellation – but they applied equally to Blair and he obviously decided that if he believed there to be the slightest risk he would abort the meeting. He waited for an hour, conscious of everyone around him, before deciding he was clean. Which he was.
Blair still arrived early, reflecting as he sat waiting on the bench that he hoped it had all been worth it and that something quite understandable hadn’t kept Orlov from the meeting. Again his luck held. It was just before noon when he saw the Russian picking his way along a side pathway, towards the statue of the archer. There had been another effort to dress unobtrusively. This time Orlov chose a bench of his own and Blair – still careful – waited fifteen minutes past the appointed hour before moving to join the Russian, wanting to be completely sure he was alone.
‘Is everything arranged?’ asked Orlov at once, in his immediate anxiety.
‘I have had a long discussion with Washington, about everything,’ said Blair, thinking what an understatement that was. ‘I have been told to pass on to you the guaranteed undertaking that you will be welcomed to my country and that we will do everything possible to get you safely there. That we can get you safely there.’
It sounded formal, as if he were reading from a prepared speech. And not quite the sort of assurance he’d wanted to give anyway. Trying to improve it he said, ‘I am flying to America tonight, to make all the arrangements.’
Orlov nodded his head. ‘That is good,’ he said. ‘So it will be soon?’
‘When I return I will have everything settled at the American end. All that will have to be planned is your actual exit, from Moscow.’
Beside him Orlov sighed, in audible relief. ‘It will be so good, when it is all over,’ he said.
It’s only just starting for you, thought Blair, momentarily sad for the man. He said, ‘I won’t be in Washington long but I can’t be definite. We’ll maintain this as a method of contact.’
‘I understand,’ said Orlov. He looked at the American and said, ‘Harriet is not to be involved?’
‘I’ve made that quite clear,’ said Blair. Would they have stayed away from the woman? They’d probably avoid direct contact but he was damned sure she’d be under the tightest sort of surveillance. Like establishing emergency desks, it was something active that Langley could do.
‘I want her to know, but not yet,’ said Orlov.
‘It’s going to be a very unsettled time,’ warned Blair. ‘You’ll have to be careful.’
Orlov smiled, a resigned expression, ‘I’ve been unsettled for a very long time,’ he said. ‘And I’ve been careful.’
‘We’ll get you out, as soon as possible,’ said Blair. He’d be able to make the evening connection; it would be tight but he could make it.
‘You might need this,’ said Orlov. ‘Not yet but later. It’s Harriet’s direct extension at the United Nations.’
‘Thank you,’ said Blair, accepting it. Naive, he thought again. By now the Agency would know more about the girl than she knew herself. He wondered what she looked like.
‘And thank you,’ said the Russian, ‘For everything you’re doing.’
It is as much for me as it is for you, thought Blair; maybe even more.
He returned directly from the meeting to the embassy, to alert Langley that everything had gone as they’d hoped and that he was on his way back, telephoning Ann from there to say that something had come up and that he was making another trip to America. He talked over her surprise, emptily promising to explain when he got there. What could he tell her? thought Blair, during the drive to the apartment. Nothing. Officially he had to worsen the already-strained relationship between them, use the easy excuse of his family again and make the amends and explanation later.
Ann was red-faced when he entered the apartment, the anger obvious. ‘You’ve only just come back!’ she
