Comrade Charlie

presence in the country. Except that she had been an internally functioning officer and was now assigned overseas duties, so maybe he would have access. She told herself it would be too much to expect, if on the off-chance he did learn about her, that it would mean anything to him anyway. It had all seemed real – so very real – in Moscow but there was always the doubt that for him it had been anything more than an affair of the moment, a temporary refuge from loneliness. He had, after all, gone back, hadn’t he? Gone back to whom? Charlie had talked of Edith and the way she’d died but there could have been another wife, a woman he hadn’t talked about. Except, she balanced hopefully again, he had pleaded with her to run with him. He wouldn’t have done that if there’d been another woman in England, would he? The pendulum swung back in the other direction, to another familiar reflection: there might not have been a woman then but what about now?

Whatever, Natalia still determined to make herself as attractive as possible, all the time she was there.

She spent days in the vast market place of the GUM store, picking over and rejecting and picking over once more. She went to the Western concessionary outlets available to her as a KGB officer, on Vernadskovo and Gertsana, and couldn’t make up her mind about anything on the first visits so she went a second time. She finally bought another business suit and two dresses and two pairs of shoes. And when she modelled them for herself back at the Mytninskaya apartment Natalia decided she didn’t really like any of them and wondered if she’d be able to shop in London early in the trip, rather than at the end which seemed to be the custom. She considered changing her hairstyle, taking it even shorter, but decided against it because she’d already shortened it from how it had been when she and Charlie were together and she didn’t want to alter herself too much. She experimented in front of the mirror with different make-up, applying more than she customarily did, but rejected any change here and for the same reason.

A fortnight before the departure day she received a scrawled note from Eduard, nothing more than a notification of another leave allocated and that she was to expect him home. The dates he gave clashed with those of her being in London and Natalia was relieved and ashamed at herself for the feeling. She wrote back immediately, saying that she was sorry but that she would be away for the entire period and got a response just as quickly from her son. He said it didn’t matter but that he would still use Mytninskaya: if she were going away she wouldn’t be needing the car, would she, so would she leave the keys somewhere prominent for him to pick up when he got there?

Natalia looked despairingly around her polished, pin-neat home and tried to imagine who Eduard might bring with him to an apartment he knew to be empty and what they would do once they got there. And physically shuddered at the thought. The day after receiving the second letter Natalia sat for an hour trying to compose a note to leave for Eduard, running the gamut from a mother disappointed to a mother pleading through to a mother demanding change. And then threw all the drafts away, guessing at best Eduard would laugh with his friends at her efforts or at worst do something stupid or disgusting or both, just to defy her.

A conference was called, for the last week, at which the delegation members were introduced to each other and they all had to sit through a lecture now familiar to Natalia on the expected behaviour of Russians engaged on overseas visits. The stress was upon absolute propriety, with no excessive drinking or exuberant, attention gaining embarrassments. At no time were they to forget they were representatives of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.

Natalia didn’t count heads but it was clearly the largest contingent with which she had so far travelled. Idly she tried to isolate the KGB escorts appointed to impose the discipline about which they were being warned, and decided at once upon a fidgeting, hunch-shouldered little man who constantly chewed his fingernails and whose name she remembered to be Gennadi Redin. She guessed there would be two more, at least.

Although there would have been little reason for it, Natalia wondered throughout the build-up if there would be any summons from Berenkov, like before. But there wasn’t and she felt relieved. There would have been nothing for them properly to discuss and the huge man made her feel uncomfortable.

Alexei Berenkov did consider a meeting with the woman. And it was because there was no valid reason for it – which would have been obvious to her – that he decided against it. With everything constructed just as he intended, an intricate house of matches with only two or three more tiny sticks to be added, the customarily irrepressible Berenkov was apprehensive now of anything happening to bring it all crashing down. It was absolutely essential that she remain the unknowing, unwitting bait, not someone allowed the slightest suspicion: he didn’t want her protecting Charlie Muffin again, as he was convinced she had protected him once before.

He set out to create further protection, in fact, actually on the day Natalia attended her delegation meeting, going early into Dzerzhinsky Square to meet with Kalenin. Berenkov did not, however, come at once to the point. Characteristically he allowed himself the boast and announced the London confirmation of Charlie Muffin’s reservation at the delegation hotel, adding at once their positive awareness of the British breaking the communication code. Wanting the concession from his doubting friend, Berenkov said: ‘It is encouraging, don’t you think?’

‘Situations often look encouraging at the preliminary planning stage,’ refused Kalenin. ‘I would not say we were anywhere beyond preliminary planning at the moment, would you?’

‘Yes!’ came back Berenkov abruptly, his impatience with Kalenin finally spilling over. ‘I consider we are a very long way past that stage.’

‘You’ve combined the two operations, brought them too close together,’ insisted the First Deputy. ‘You’ve created a danger where there was no need for one to be created, Alexei. It worries me.’

‘And you’ve made that obvious for a considerable time now,’ said Berenkov. He realized that, incredibly, it was their first positive argument.

The awareness seemed to come to Kalenin at the same time. Sadly he said: ‘This really does seem to be a period of great change, in everything, doesn’t it?’

‘I hope not in everything,’ said Berenkov sincerely. He would regret losing the man’s friendship absolutely: it was something to which he was accustomed, so accustomed that he took it for granted. Despite their increasing disagreements over this current assignment it came as a shock to think of any split between them being permanent.

‘So do I, old friend,’ said Kalenin, still sadly.

‘I’m considering the safety of both of us today,’ offered Berenkov, extending a threadbare olive branch.

‘How?’

‘Baikonur,’ declared Berenkov simply. ‘I think we should take out insurance against any more sniping from the scientists, like they tried to take out insurance against us by complaining over our heads to the Politburo Secretariat.’

‘I’m interested,’ said Kalenin, smiling slightly.

‘Why don’t we fully remove the threat of any attack from there?’ suggested Berenkov. ‘The fact they haven’t complained since must mean they’re satisifed with everything we got from America. Which we now know to be complete. And which only leaves what Krogh is due to get from England. Why don’t we move Nikolai Noskov, who led the attack against us, and Guzins, who seemed a pretty enthusiastic and senior supporter, to England?’

‘What!’ exclaimed Kalenin, astonished.

‘Send them to England,’ repeated Berenkov. ‘I could get them there easily enough, by circuitous routing and on false documentation. They could monitor and approve everything that Krogh produces, on the spot, before it gets here. That way – if anything is missed, if there is a problem we can’t anticipate – the responsibility is theirs, as the experts. Not ours.’

‘That’s brilliant,’ admired Kalenin, smiling more broadly and matching the other man’s simplicity now. ‘But Noskov is the Strategic Defence Initiative expert! We couldn’t risk exposing him to Western detection. It would be unthinkable.’

‘What’s the greater risk, to ourselves?’ demanded Berenkov, who had thought his argument through. ‘Is it failing to get the Star Wars missile in its entirety? Or the minimal possibility of Noskov being detected?’

Kalenin shook his head doubtfully. ‘It’s an impossible equation,’ he protested. ‘Of course we can’t risk failing to get everything. But the Politburo would never risk Noskov: minimal or not, the danger is too great.’

‘Insurance!’ insisted Berenkov, undeterred. ‘Let the Politburo make the refusal, which affords us some lessening of responsibility. And then, if they do refuse, propose that Guzins, still an expert but of lesser importance, be sent instead. More insurance still.’

Kalenin shook his head but this time it was a gesture continuing the earlier admiration. ‘You’ve always