‘Interest?’
‘He’s been trying to sell me a story. A story that was going to cost my newspaper five thousand dollars.’
‘It must be a very good story,’ Pol murmured, ‘or the man is an idiot.’
‘You’re in the best position to judge that,’ said Cayle.
‘Comment?’ Pol gave him an innocent stare.
Cayle hesitated; then decided that he owed no special loyalty to Leonard Maddox. ‘The man works for you — or claims to. Little fellow called Maddox.’
Pol sunk his chin into the voluminous folds of his silk cravat. ‘Did you accept his offer?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I didn’t have the chance. He was supposed to call me this evening at my hotel, and didn’t. He promised to tell me something. Something about a fellow-Englishman living here in Moscow.’ He glanced up and down the corridor. They were alone, except for a man in a vest shaving with an electric razor. ‘An Englishman who could mean bad trouble, Monsieur Pol.’
‘Trouble?’
‘The man is considered in his own country to be a major criminal. A traitor.’
‘Traitor?’ Pol repeated. ‘It is a useless word. Who are the great traitors? Pétain? Salan? De Gaulle? Perhaps your Mister Smith in Rhodesia?’ He gave a massive shrug and stood gripping the brass rail under the window.
Cayle said nothing.
‘Things have been arranged for you in Leningrad,’ Pol went on. ‘There, I promise you, you will find a most amusing story for your newspaper. What is more, it will not cost you a centime.’
‘That’s nice of you. But what happens to poor Maddox and his five thousand dollars?’
‘Bah! Maddox was an idiot, he was not serious. He was also as bent as a mountain road, though he had his uses, I admit.’
‘Was?’ said Cayle.
‘Quoi?’ Pol was staring out the window, his great body absorbing the rhythm of the train, and Cayle could detect no concern in his face, except that he was sweating.
‘You spoke of Maddox in the past tense, Monsieur Pol. What’s happened to him?’
Pol turned and gave him a quick warning glance. A couple of large men in open shirts were swaying down the corridor towards them, carrying soap and towels. Pol waited until they had struggled past him, then said: ‘My dealings with Monsieur Maddox have always been of a strictly business nature. They are therefore confidential.’
‘I think that Maddox was not only trying to peddle information to me — he was also passing it to British Intelligence.’
‘You have proof of this?’
‘Just an inspired guess. Somehow he found out I was coming to Moscow — or was told by someone — and managed to get a seat on the same plane. He also made it clear that first evening that he knew I’d come over to see Philby.’
Pol touched a forefinger to his cherry-lips: ‘Sh! Here we talk only of Monsieur Kim. Never his family name, please!’ He leant back and closed his eyes again, his pink domed forehead now bright with sweat. ‘I confess that Monsieur Maddox has been a great problem to me,’ he added. ‘But now the matter is happily terminated.’
Cayle grinned: ‘Terminated with extreme prejudice?’
‘Eh?’
‘It’s a favourite expression of the CIA. It means to “kill somebody”.’
Pol sighed. ‘You are a very presumptuous man, Monsieur Cayle. But of course, in your profession you are accustomed to making presumptions, no doubt? However, you are also a man who speaks his mind, and fortunately for you, that is something I appreciate. But perhaps I may also offer you a word of advice. It is always wise to temper directness with discretion.’
‘Thank you. But I’m going to leave that advice for the moment, and ask you a very indiscreet question.’
Pol chuckled: ‘My dear friend, there are never indiscreet questions, only indiscreet answers.’
‘Fine. Now let’s get things straight. We’re in this together — both involved with Monsieur Kim — only for different motives. Mine is to get a newspaper story. What’s yours?’
‘Ah!’ Pol gaped at him with mock outrage. ‘Now that is an indiscreet question. However, I think I can trust you enough to answer it. When you ask me what is my motive in this affair, I can only reply that it is the oldest in the world. Also the most vulgar. Money.’
‘So Maddox was wrong when he said you were an idealist?’
‘Maddox was a misérable. He saw nothing beyond his nose. But you must understand, mon cher, that whatever the moralists say, ultimately everything of value in this life — including ideals — must be related to hard currency.’
‘And who’s providing it this time? Surely somebody very interested in Monsieur Kim’s fate? And I don’t suppose he’s got the kind of money you’d be interested in — even if you considered roubles to be hard currency.’
‘What are you inferring, Monsieur Cayle?’
‘If they were pushed, the British Secret Service might have the right money. They’ve certainly still got an interest in Monsieur Kim.’
Pol made a little growling noise and spat delicately between his feet. ‘I’m afraid that again you are asking indiscreet questions, Monsieur Cayle. The matter of my personal finances is no concern of yours. Now, I am tired.’ He sighed and nodded at their compartment door. ‘The little one will now have finished her toilette, I think?’
‘Who is she?’ said Cayle.
‘Ah! A little idea of Monsieur Kim’s,’ he cooed, ‘to keep you company in Leningrad!’ And he turned and pulled open the compartment door.
Galina Valisova now lay tucked into her bunk, her wide dark eyes peeping out above the sheet, while Passmore’s voice droned down from the bunk above: ‘You people are going to encounter the same sociological problems, however good your organization is. You see,
