wrist. ‘Be careful … even though they’ve pushed you aside, be careful.’
Charlie freed his wrist, embarrassed.
‘I’ll be all right,’ he said. He sounded like a child protesting his bravery in the dark, he thought.
The Russian stared around the interview room.
‘Don’t ever let yourself get put in jail,’ he said, very seriously.
‘I won’t,’ agreed Charlie, too easily.
‘I mean it,’ insisted Berenkov. ‘If you get jailed, Charlie, your lot wouldn’t bother to get you out. Kill yourself rather than get caught.’
Charlie frowned at the statement. He would have thought Berenkov could have withstood the loss of freedom better than this. He felt suddenly frightened and wanted to leave the prison.
‘Come again?’ pleaded Berenkov.
‘If I can,’ said Charlie, as he always did. At the door he turned, on impulse. Berenkov was standing in the middle of the room, shoulders bowed, gazing after him. There was a look of enormous sadness on his face.
‘Charlie,’ he told himself, waiting in du Cane Road for the bus. ‘You’re getting too arrogant. And arrogance breeds carelessness.’
A woman in the queue looked at him curiously. She’d seen his lips move, Charlie realised.
‘So it didn’t work?’ queried Braley, perched on the windowsill of the room that had been made available to them in the American embassy in Grosvenor Square.
‘No,’ snapped Ruttgers. His face burned with anger. ‘Pompous bugger spent most of the time trying to teach me how to eat oysters.’
Braley frowned, trying to understand, but said nothing.
‘We can’t do anything unless they let us in,’ said the Moscow Resident.
‘I know,’ agreed Ruttgers, slowly.
‘So what now?’ asked Braley.
Ruttgers smiled, an expression entirely devoid of humour.
‘Lean on them,’ said the Director. ‘In every way.’
Braley waited, expectantly.
‘And if something started happening to their operatives,’ continued Ruttgers, ‘then they’d need assistance, wouldn’t they?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Braley. ‘They would.’
Ruttgers, he thought, looking at the mild little man, was a rare sort of bastard. It was right to be frightened of him.
(8)
General Valery Kalenin entered the Leipzig Convention Hall at precisely 11.15 a.m. on March 11. Harrison noted the exact time, determined to prepare an impeccable report to Cuthbertson on his first absolutely solo operation. A bubble of excitement formed in his stomach and he bunched his hands in his pockets, trying to curtail the shaking.
The Russian was in plain clothes, a neat, fussy little figure who appeared to listen constantly, but say hardly anything. The deference towards him was very obvious, Harrison saw.
The General moved in the middle of a body of men, three of whom Harrison had seen during the previous two days at the Fair. The recognition annoyed him: he hadn’t isolated them as secret policemen. One had got quite drunk at the opening ceremony and Harrison had marked the three as relaxing communist businessmen. The episode would have been a ploy, he realised now, a clever attempt to tempt people into unconsidered words or action. The mistake worried him. Charles Muffin would have probably recognised them.
Kalenin appeared in no hurry, hesitating at exhibition stands and closely examining products. Any questions, Harrison noted, were usually addressed through one of the other people in the party, so avoiding direct contact.
Harrison’s entry documents described him as an export specialist in the Department of Trade and Industry, enabling him free movement to any British exhibition. Impatiently, he shifted between the stalls and platforms, accepting the nods and smiles of recognition; with the obedience instilled by his army training, he had dutifully followed instructions and befriended those businessmen providing his cover.
‘Let Kalenin take the lead’ – He recalled Cuthbertson’s orders, watching the agonisingly slow progress of the Russian party, but holding back from direct approach. It would have been impossible to achieve anyway, he thought: there needed to be an excuse for the meeting to prevent surprise in the rest of the party.
At noon, by Harrison’s close time-keeping, Kalenin was only two stalls away, lingering with the Australian exhibitors. The Briton imagined he detected growing attention from the diminutive, squat man at the approach to the British section. Harrison positioned himself away from the first display, an office equipment stand, remaining near an exhibit of farm machinery. It comprised tractors and harvesters, among which it was possible for a man to remain inconspicuous, Harrison reasoned.
At the office equipment stall, Kalenin abandoned for the first time the practice of talking through the men with him, instead posing direct questions to the stallholders.
‘Wants to show off his English,’ commented the salesman by Harrison’s side. The operative turned sideways, smiling. The man’s name was Dalton or Walton, he thought. Prided himself as a wit and had spent the previous evening telling blue jokes at the convention hotel.
‘Any idea who he is?’ floated Harrison.
‘Looks important from the entourage,’ guessed the salesman.
Harrison went back to the Russian party, detecting movement, but the farm machinery salesman was ahead of him, beaming.
‘Reminds me of a T-54,’ Kalenin said hopefully, pointing to a combine harvester and looking to his companions in anticipation. There was a scattering of smiles and Kalenin appeared disappointed at the response.
‘But more useful than a tank, surely, sir,’ intruded Harrison, seeing the blank look on the stallholder’s face.
Kalenin stared directly at him, gratefully.
‘Do you know tanks?’ asked the General. ‘They’re a hobby of mine.’
‘Only of them,’ said Harrison.
‘A man of peace, not war,’ judged the Russian, smiling.
‘A man whom my country much admires, once remarked that through trade there will be peace, not war …’ tried Harrison, quickly, wondering if the man would remember quoted verbatim what he had said at the American embassy reception. If Kalenin missed the significance, he would have to be more direct and that would be dangerous in such an open situation.
Harrison was conscious of a very intense examination. Please God, don’t let him misconstrue it, thought the Englishman.
‘A wise comment,’ accepted Kalenin.
He
‘Bolton, sir,’ he introduced. ‘Joseph Bolton.’
‘And a remark my country remembered,’ over-rode Harrison, desperate not to lose the opportunity. He was attempting to reduce the sound of his voice, so it would not be heard by the others.
‘Perhaps there should be a wider exchange of views between the two?’ suggested Kalenin.
‘They’re looking forward very eagerly to such a possibility,’ responded Harrison. Elation swept through him. The last time he had experienced such a sensation, he remembered, was when he had collected his Double First at
