The Bear's Tears

'I need written proof.'

'No cameras. Too risky, snapping away at the screen. The hard copy coming out of the printer will be too bulky. You'll use the recorder that's already wired in. They call it a streamer tape drive. Think of it as a cassette recorder. You switch on and it's just like recording a movie on TV!' He grinned. Almost boyish, for the first time that evening. Godwin as Hyde had previously encountered him. A man of promise and good nature. 'Guest can play it back in the comfort of the Cabinet Office with no trouble at all. Most of the Czech equipment was made by ICL, or IBM under another label, anyway! Government contract some years ago.'

'OK. And when I've finished, I just walk out again the way I came in?'

'Yes. Just walk out. You'll pronounce your tests complete, sign a few forms, and pack your bag and go.'

'And if I blow it?'

'You'll shoot your way out, I should imagine, with your usual subtlety.'

'It's as easy as that?'

Godwin nodded. 'Computer security needs a genius to set up — and a crooked moron in possession of one or two vital passwords to break down. Even you can do it, Hyde.' He rubbed his chin. 'You'll need luck. What Petrunin was about to tell you — the moment he passed on to the great Centre in the sky — was a shortcut to Teardrop. We don't know what that was. You'll have to sit through everything that comes out of his secret file until you hit the right stuff.'

'How long?'

'Can't be too long. Petrunin would have thought of that — he might have needed the stuff himself in something of a hurry. He might have been like you — somewhere he shouldn't have been, accessing a security computer's records.' Again, Godwin grinned.

Hyde nodded. 'I don't have any choice, anyway.' He stood up. 'All right — show me what to expect on the screen, then tell me what a system tester does and how he does it.' He held out his hand to Godwin, who moved his own hand forward. Disturbed by the movement, the cat leapt lightly from his lap. Hyde gripped Godwin's hand and felt the hard skin on the palm; a badge of long service with his crutch. He pulled Godwin from the armchair and handed him the crutches. Godwin stumped heavily towards the table and the computer that rested on it.

'Come here,' he said. 'Come on. I've got it ready for you.' Hyde followed him. 'Sit down, sit down—' He was impatiently instructed. 'Now, on the screen you've got the—' He tapped at the keyboard. A list unrolled on the small screen in luminous green letters. ' — the usual Menu. That's what you'll see on the terminal in the Hradcany — on all of them. Waiting for you to request something… That's where you use the first password.'

Godwin leaned over Hyde's shoulder, his thick finger pointing almost with accusation at the screen. His breathing was stetorious. Hot against Hyde's cheek. 'See here — from everything we know about the way the Central Records computer works, this Menu is accurate. Everything's stored in a database, and material is accessed by choosing one of these items from the Menu — Personal Records, Military, Education, Criminal, Career Details, and so on.'

'Criminal?'

'Every scrap of information on everyone, anyone and everyone who's ever had anything to do with the KGB — or the MVD and the NKVD, even as far back as OGPU, if they had the records — is in the database. Millions and millions of items of information… all there, waiting to be accessed even by an idiot like you. Dissidents, psychopaths, thieves and murderers — and that's just the enlisted personnel—' Godwin chuckled.

'OK — how do I find what I want?'

Godwin tapped at the keyboard. The screen requested more information from him. He typed once more. The screen cleared and then a graphic display appeared. What was it like? A family tree, Hyde decided.

'There,' Godwin said with studied nonchalance, straightening up on his crutches. 'That's something like the schema they'd have. See, this is the driver, as it were, that controls the database represented by this top box here.' It was labelled System. Lines connected it with other boxes below. More lines connected the second, third and fourth rows of boxes, to the System and to each other. The box below System was marked Name Identification, below that three boxes labelled Assignment History, Education History and Personal Background. Near the bottom of the screen, below perhaps another half-dozen boxes, all labelled, were two which remained blank. 'Clear?'

'Yes. What about these?'

'I can label these now, from what you've told me. Let's call them—' He tapped in his instructions. 'Teardrop and — oh, Dirt, mm?' The words appeared in their boxes after a few moments. 'This is a simplified model — there are hundreds, thousands of these boxes of information in the schema for Personnel Files.'

'What do the connections mean — they're numbered, why?'

'They mark the sets, the pathways whereby you retrieve the information. These two boxes, the ones Petrunin added secretly, are linked only to each other and to his Assignment History — see? That's how I imagine he did it. Once you've requested information on Tamas Petrunin and given the correct code to access the information, you'll have to provide the legitimate password, just to prove you're kosher. Then you ask for his assignment history, and so on… if you are kosher. But, since it's you, when you access his assignments you'll use his password, those postings in reverse order — and this calls up a completely different access programme, and your request will follow this route…' His forefinger traced the line from the System box to Name Indentification, then to Assignment History, then to the box he had labelled Teardrop. 'Except,' he said heavily, 'you'll have the password to Dirt, which you'll have to run all the way through before you can get to Teardrop. From what Petrunin was about to tell you, I'm sure he had shortcut passwords to each part of his secret files, but you'll have to access the lot to make sure you find Teardrop. OK?'

Hyde nodded. 'OK.' He felt a tremor in his hands, and pressed them between his thighs, thrusting them out of sight. 'How long could it take?'

'Depends. On how much he had stored and whether he's been adding to it over the past few years. Minutes, perhaps.'

'All displayed on the screen or coming out of the printer?'

'Yes.'

'I might have to be alone for—'

'Ten minutes. You don't know how to go to Teardrop direct — only through all the other dirt he stored away.'

'A real Chance card — go directly to jail, do not pass Go,' Hyde murmured.

'It's the safest way.'

'I think,' Hyde began, looking up at Godwin, 'that bastard Petrunin might have the last laugh — don't you? He could kill me yet. And the bugger's been dead for days already!'

Godwin said nothing except: 'Let's do a test run on accessing the computer, shall we? I've set it up for that.'

Hyde looked down at the keyboard of the small computer. Godwin had patiently stuck small pieces of address label on each of the letter and function keys. On each, the letters of the Cyrillic alphabet had been inscribed. Russian words now indicated the functions of the computer. He had made Hyde practice over and over, before their meal and while he noisily prepared it, in order to become familiar with the Cyrillic keyboard he would meet in the Hradcany. Now, Hyde stared at it in profound mistrust as Godwin cancelled his graphic and reinstated the Menu on the screen. Thanks to Godwin, he could cope with the jargon, with the tasks he would be set to access the information he sought. But he did not think he could cope with the situation, its danger and isolation.

He would be too alone, too exposed for too long… passing time was a series of tripwires. It was going to take too long, too long—'Ready?' Godwin asked. 'Then begin.'

* * *

The moment she saw him, still seated at his desk, the telephone now replaced on its rest, Margaret quailed at the prospect of deceiving Babbington. The room was warm against her cheeks, flushing them with the colour of confession and guilt. The guards still held her arms, and the dog scrabbled on the wooden floor of the corridor behind her. Restrained by its choke-chain, its breathing was loud and threatening. Babbington was smiling broadly.

Her lies were pale and unsubstantial now. Babbington knew everything and would not be persuaded of her