It meant, Sokol realised, that he was under as much observation as the Americans he was following. It wouldn’t be necessary for Panov to turn on the recording machinery in his office. All traffic into the communication centre was automatically taped.
Sokol bent over his maps in absolute concentration, becoming more and more convinced of the destination as he traced the route Blair and Blakey were independently taking. It had to be Krasnaya. He hesitated momentarily, unsure whether to consult Panov and then deciding against it, aware it would indicate his uncertainty. Through the transmitters linked to Panov’s monitoring apparatus, Sokol called up half of the waiting reserves of street and mobile personnel and despatched them to the park, in advance of the Americans’ arrival. Sokol would have liked the time to brief them in one of the lecture rooms but decided speed was more important. So he isolated himself briefly from the constantly incoming surveillance information and withdrew to another radio installation, although still one to which the listening chairman above had simultaneous access. Over a separate wavelength he specifically instructed every car, identifying by name the men in each and insisting upon a response so that everyone understood what he was demanding.
Photographs had been taken of Blakey and King on their arrival at the airport and copies issued to every surveillance vehicle. It was from the photograph in the first car to arrive at Krasnaya that the occupants identified the undetected younger American already there, attempting to appear inconspicuous by the archer statue and when the information was relayed Sokol felt a warmth of satisfaction, at being right. The feeling grew with the news from the followers that both Blair and Blakey were approaching the park, as well. By the time the two older Americans entered Krasnaya it was completely under the control of- and sealed by -the KGB. All the attendants and staff- even staff at the solitary refreshment stall – were intelligence personnel and the apparently innocent pedestrians and users were KGB officers. There were radio-controlled pursuit cars in all of the five main approach routes, with extra men concealed in closed vans.
Blair didn’t need to study any further the lay-out of the intended meeting place, so by arrangement he went directly to the bench where he’d sat before with Orlov, leaving Blakey and King to orientate themselves.
At Sokol’s insistence there was a running commentary now being sent into the control room from four separate observers concealed within the park, operating mobile apparatus. There was no other sound whatsoever in the room; Sokol and the technicians all stared at the receivers through which the voices were coming, as if they expected to see as well as hear.
In the park Blair saw Art Blakey approaching and rose, before the American reached him.
‘What do you think?’ he said.
‘Good a place as any,’ judged Blakey.
The remark was picked up by a directional microphone aimed from about twenty-five yards away, by an operator hidden in dense shrubbery and Sokol couldn’t suppress the smile of triumph. He was glad Panov was listening to everything.
King came into the area, smiling.
‘OK?’ said Blair.
‘Tell you on Friday,’ said the younger man.
The second remark came clearly into the radio room and Sokol turned away from the technicians, not wanting the gossip to spread of his reaction to the absolute confirmation of everything.
‘Anything more you want to see?’ Blair asked both men.
Blakey shook his head. King said, ‘Can’t think of anything. This looks like an ordinary park.’
‘What else should it look like?’ asked Blair, curiously.
King shrugged, embarrassed at disclosing an idle thought. ‘Just felt it might somehow be different, really. You know what I thought, on my way here?’
‘What?’
‘That the people physically seem different.’
‘Different how?’ asked Blakey, leading the way out of Krasnaya.
King laughed dismissively, further embarrassment. ‘Square, somehow,’ he said. ‘Physically square.’
‘There’s a revolving restaurant on the top of the Ostankino TV tower,’ said Blair. ‘You can see something of Moscow.’
They were beyond the range of the directional eavesdroppers now, so the remark was missed by the listening Russians.
‘Sounds like a good idea,’ said Blakey. ‘We’ve been going round and round for quite a while anyway.’
On the Ulitza Akademika Korolyova, Blair led the way into the Sed’moye Nebo restaurant and in his fluent Russian engaged in the ritual of negotiating a favoured table with the head waiter and because those on either side of the window location were already occupied it meant that the pursuing KGB men were unable to get near enough to hear any conversation and long boomed microphones were impossible in such public surroundings.
As they sat Blair warned, ‘I hope you’re not in a hurry. Or hungry. These things take quite a long time. It’s something you have to get accustomed to, in Moscow.’
‘You know what I’d like?’ demanded Blakey. ‘I’d like Orlov to turn up this week with a perfectly sensibly explanation of why he hasn’t been able to make the contacts. So that all those pricks at headquarters can realise they’d been just that. Pricks.’
‘It would be good,’ agreed Blair. He added, ‘Somehow I can’t see it happening. I’ve got a gut feeling that it’s gone cold.’
‘You think it was the watch upon the woman in New York?’ asked the other supervisor.
‘I don’t know,’ said Blair. ‘I warned them as strongly as I could. I would have expected our people to have recognised any Soviet surveillance, if there’d been any.’
‘Wouldn’t there have been some sort of announcement, naming Orlov, if they’d moved against him because of what we were doing in New York?’ asked King, acknowledging Blair’s experience.
‘Not yet,’ said Blair. ‘Maybe not at all. Just something in a few months’ time saying that he’d been voted off a committee and then later dismissed from the Central Committee itself. He’ll be in jail by then, of course.’
‘Creepy country,’ said the inexperienced King. He stared out over the slowly revolving panorama of the Soviet capital and said, ‘That’s something else that occurred to me this morning. Everything’s grey: actually coloured grey, I mean.’
‘It’s not, really,’ said Blair. ‘But it’s a pretty common first impression.’
‘You know how it happened, don’t you?’ said Blakey to the CIA Resident. ‘How your balls got caught in the vice?’
‘How?’ said Blair.
‘Perelmen,’ disclosed Blakey. ‘George Bush was a CIA Director and made vice President. Perelmen thought the pathway looked pretty attractive. Set out to portray himself as the indispensible foreign affairs expert, better than State and better than anyone.’
‘Sorry I let him down,’ said Blair bitterly.
‘You didn’t,’ said Blatkey. ‘He let himself down announcing coups before they happened. This thing should have been kept under wraps so tight an Egyptian mummy would have looked naked.’
‘Pity it wasn’t,’ said Blair. He pulled back for the arrival of the tardy waiter, giving their order for bortsch in Russian.
‘Sure it’s a pity,’ agreed Blakey. ‘Now it’s blame time and you’re right at the end of the line. I’ve been at Langley for the last three years; know how the system works. You’re the one who fouled up, according to the book. All the panic and all the bullshit will be justified, the proper reaction to what seemed to be happening. You’re the one left carrying the can.’
‘Seems pretty shitty,’ said King, coming back from his examination of the Russian capital.
‘Believe me,’ said Blakey. ‘I’m right.’
Just how right was proven by the message awaiting Blair when they got back to the embassy that afternoon. After further consideration, cabled Hubble, it had been decided there would be no purpose in Blair’s tour being extended longer than originally scheduled. Blakey was to remain, as acting intelligence Resident.
Blair smiled wanly down at the decision, remembering it was what he’d told Ann to fob her off after his most recent return from Washington. She should be pleased: everything was turning out as she wanted it to.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Blakey, when Blair showed him the recall cable. ‘I didn’t try for this, you know?’
‘I know you didn’t,’ assured Blair. ‘Things could still turn out for the good.’
