Comrade Charlie

‘No,’ refused Berenkov shortly, retreating at last behind the expected security-consciousness of his job.

‘Who’s right?’

Berenkov laughed, unoffended at his wife’s directness. ‘It’s not like that. It’s just different viewpoints.’

‘Nothing could ever happen to us, could it?’ asked the woman, with sudden concern. ‘Nothing to upset the life we now have, I mean.’

Berenkov laughed at her again, in reassurance this time. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘Why do you ask a thing like that?’

Valentina shook her head, refusing the question. ‘I wouldn’t want anything to upset the way we are now,’ she said.

31

A pattern quickly developed and Emil Krogh relaxed further as he became accustomed to the work surroundings at the Isle of Wight factory. When he returned the second day Robert Springley took him on a tour of the moulding rooms and explained in detail the difference between the British-evolved thermoplastic resin process, which enabled the carbon fibre to be reshaped without any loss of strength, and the more easily shattered and unchangeable thermoset system that had been employed at Krogh’s plant in California. He watched the fibre and resin matrix being created in a temperature- and climatecontrolled environment and even before studying the waiting blueprints in detail was able to understand how this section was going to assemble with what they were building in America to create the missile housing for the defence system.

The promised side office was made available to him and at first Springley stayed close at hand to take him through the drawings, which was an intrusion Krogh didn’t want but could do nothing about. It was well into the afternoon before the man left him alone and Krogh was finally able to make the notes he considered necessary to reproduce the manufacturing plans. He did so in a way to satisfy Petrin and take the pressure off himself. He separated the drawings according to Springley’s definition and concentrated first upon the eleven easy ones. It took him that day and most of the following to make sufficient notes and late that afternoon returned with Petrin to the Kensington house to begin work.

Vitali Losev was already there with the frightened Yuri Guzins, and in the first half hour other men entered and left the room which had been set up as Krogh’s drawing office. The American prepared his board and clipped his notes to it and set his lights, all the while feeling like a laboratory experiment under the scrutiny of so many people.

The progress was slower than Krogh anticipated. As soon as the American started to draw, Guzins, to whom he was never introduced, came and stood at his elbow and practically at once began asking highly technical questions which had to be painstakingly translated back and forth between them by Petrin. When Krogh, exasperated, asked what the hell was going on Petrin said it was a precaution they believed worthwhile to prevent any mistake, to which Krogh complained that his constantly being interrupted risked mistakes being made instead of being guarded against. Petrin accepted the protest and told Guzins to wait until a drawing was finished before querying it, which was the method they adopted, but by midnight Krogh had produced only six copies and was aching with exhaustion. His announcement that he couldn’t draw any more provided the catalyst for the row that had simmered between Petrin and Losev from the moment of their first meeting.

Krogh spoke to Petrin when he said he wanted to stop but it was the unidentified Losev who responded.

‘Work on!’ ordered Losev, brusquely and in English.

‘I said I’m too tired,’ repeated Krogh.

Losev went to speak but Petrin got in first. ‘I’ll decide how he works,’ said Petrin. He spoke in Russian.

‘He’s got to do more!’ insisted Losev, also speaking in Russian. ‘Who gives a damn how he feels!’

‘Idiot!’ said Petrin. ‘Didn’t you hear the conversation about mistakes? Tired men make mistakes!’

Krogh couldn’t understand what was being said but their tone was sufficient for him to realize it was an argument.

‘You don’t have the authority to overrule me!’ said Losev.

‘Nor you to supercede me,’ Petrin shouted back. ‘So let’s get it ruled from Moscow. Until which time I decide what Krogh will do and what he won’t: he’s my responsibility.’

Guzins stood with nibbled fingers to his mouth, looking apprehensively between the two men, bewildered by the sudden eruption. Surprisingly trying the role of peacemaker, he said: ‘What’s an argument like this going to achieve?’

Ignoring the scientist Losev said: ‘I am the rezident in this country. Mine is the ultimate authority.’

‘Which I am refusing to recognize,’ said Petrin. ‘Moscow can decide.’

Losev regretted the dispute now, suspecting Dzerzhinsky Square would favour Petrin in the choice. Retreating, he said: ‘OK. Let him finish for the night.’

‘There was never a question of his not doing so,’ persisted Petrin. ‘I’ll want to see the cable exchanges with Moscow.’ That was an encroachment upon the local KGB chief and Petrin knew it but he decided to make the challenge anyway: he wasn’t frightened of what Moscow might decide and he was curious how far Losev would take the dispute.

‘You’ll see what’s appropriate,’ said Losev.

Not a capitulation, judged Petrin: but not the outright rejection it should have been, either. So the other man wasn’t sure of himself. Wanting the exchange to end on his terms Petrin said disparagingly: ‘Be here the same time tomorrow night,’ and hurried Krogh from the room with his hand cupped to the American’s elbow.

‘What went on back there?’ asked Krogh when they were out in the street.

‘Nothing important,’ said Petrin dismissively. ‘A stupid difference of opinion.’

Berenkov was irritated by the message when it reached him from London. Passingly he had thought of the possibility of friction between the two equally ranked men but put it from his mind. Now he looked upon it as an unnecessarily distracting squabble between two prima donnas who should have known better. Berenkov’s immediate reaction was to give Petrin overall command but he held back. Losev was the British station chief. For the man to have Petrin appointed over him would be a blatant demotion and exacerbate the ill feeling which clearly already existed between them. The counter-balance was that the control of Emil Krogh had to remain with Petrin, who had succeeded – and was continuing to succeed – brilliantly in suborning and manipulating the American industrialist. So there could be no question of his surrendering that role to someone else.

Berenkov attempted to resolve the clash of vanities by neither giving nor taking from either, which was no resolve at all. He replied that Vitali Losev was head of the KGB rezidentura in London and should be accorded that authority. But that in the unusual circumstances of the assignment Alexandr Petrin retained unchallengeable control of the American and that nothing would be permitted to affect that. In an effort at long- distance head-banging Berenkov reminded both of the importance of what they were doing and said he did not wish to referee any further demarcation disputes.

The effect was for Petrin to consider his attitude vindicated and for Losev to believe his authority had been diminished.

‘Satisfied?’ demanded Losev when the reply came.

‘Very,’ said Petrin. That day Krogh completed the remaining drawings he considered easy and got more than halfway through the first of those he considered more difficult.

Natalia was allocated a window seat and Gennadi Redin, whom she had already decided to be one of the KGB escorts, sat next to her – which she regretted because his nervousness became even more apparent on an aeroplane. He fidgeted and sweated excessively and drank a lot of vodka, which appeared to do nothing to allay his fears. It didn’t make him drunk, either.

‘Have you been to London before?’ he asked her.

Natalia shook her head. ‘No.’