The Bear's Tears

'But, what was it?' Stepanov asked.

'Who knows?' Zitek shrugged. He stood up and stretched. 'Anyway, I'm off. They've got my number if you need me— don't ring unless it's an emergency, mate!'

'I'll try,' Hyde murmured. Eleven-twelve. He slid the cuff of his lab coat over his watch. 'I'll try.' The football scores remained unaltered, unaffected. The short-life battery in the metro tunnel had at last died. The operation was still running.

He watched Zitek pack his equipment, kneeling by his toolbox. It was old, even ornately carved and beautifully jointed. His father's? Grandfather's? It was incongruous on the carpeted floor near an air-inlet grille and a bouquet of wires. Scraps of Stepanov's irritating, half-heard account of his Black Sea leave floated in Hyde's mind, but there was nothing else there. Only Godwin's voice, the terminal keyboard and screen, and the small group of people around him. Begin—

Zitek stood up, nodded to his companions, winked at Hyde, and left. Stepanov turned expectantly to Hyde. Godwin said in his head: 'The chances are you'll be expected to start with Education Records, Something low-security, innocuous. That's why you've got the roll-call of Prague embassy personnel. It's one of their standard system tests—'

Eleven-thirteen.

Hyde lifted his briefcase onto the table and opened it. He removed a thick sheaf of print-out paper and a metal ruler. Stepanov said: 'More coffee?' and Hyde shook his head. 'I think I will,' the Russian murmured, staring into his empty mug. 'And perhaps make use of the smoking-room.' He smiled disarmingly. Hyde was again suddenly alert to the danger he presented. Urbane, intelligent, pressured by his superiors in Moscow. He would remain in the vicinity, watching. Hyde felt the hair rise on the backs of his arms, on his wrists and neck. Education Records. Neutral area. Innocent. 'The password,' Godwin had added with a broad grin, 'is easy. Everyone knows it. Dominusilluminatio mea — Latin. The motto of Oxford's coat of arms. They used to use Cambridge's motto, but now, since Blunt dropped dead, they've updated it. For the next generation of recruits. Not without a sense of humour at Moscow Centre, are they? Every defector we've had for the past couple of years has told us that joke.'

Hyde placed the ruler across the top sheet of print-out. Checked that the tape streamer and the printer for hard copy were both on-line. Then the screen. He cancelled the unchanged, unchanging football scores. The screen became empty; pale green. Georgi was seated in a chair beside him. The other guard had joined Stepanov and they were smoking in the glass booth, behind the No Smoking sign in Cyrillic. The red circle of the sign hid part of Stepanov's face like a birthmark.

Begin — Log on using the embassy code.

The guard, Georgi, was unwrapping sandwiches — some thick Czech sausage that smelt of garlic and was pressed in slices between doorsteps of white bread. And unfolding a copy of the evening newspaper. He was comfortable, in a satisfied mood. Easy work. Hyde glanced back down the long room. Two figures moving distantly beyond the glass of the highest security area. Inside the glass, only figures in uniforms. One, Stepanov, alert and intelligent.

He used the password to gain access to the Main Menu, then summoned the Education Records from the Menu presented to him on the screen. As Godwin had said, these remote terminals were permanently on-line to Moscow Centre for ease and speed of access to the records. After all, no one expected an illegal, someone unauthorised like himself, to tap at this keyboard. Access was permitted to permitted staff and only permitted staff knew the passwords.

The room stretched away on his right, towards the corridor and stairs. To his left, perhaps fifty feet away, Stepanov was smoking and drinking coffee. Georgi bit into a thick wedge of bread. Hyde smelt garlic sausage once more, until the air-conditioning whisked the odour away.

Hyde typed the first of the names on his list, Abalakin, I.P. A moment, then the screen spilled his education record and qualifications. Hyde checked them against his print-out — Godwin's own compilation supplemented by the official SIS roll-call for the Soviet embassy in Prague. Correct. He typed the next name, Aladko, I.A. Waterfall of facts. Correct. Antipin, V.V. Correct. Baranov, I.K. Correct.

Georgi munched, rustled the newpaper. Hyde studied his watch as Boyko's mediocre education achievements appeared on the screen. Eleven twenty-one. He selected the hard copy option, and the printer startled Georgi in mid-bite. Hyde stood up, leaned over the printer and checked the information against that on the screen. Boyko was dim, but his record was flawlessly presented. Chobotov, Dedov, Didenko, Fatayev, A.G. Correct, correct, correct.

Georgi folded his sandwich-bag with fastidious care. Hyde turned to him. Grim Party faces stared up at him from the newspaper.

'Sorry, Georgi,' he said. 'You're not allowed to see this. Not cleared, mate. I'll even have to shred it myself.' Hyde shrugged. 'I have to check up on their assignment histories now. Sorry.'

Georgi glanced at his officer, still smoking, enjoying some kind of joke behind the birthmark of the No Smoking sign. Smoking Absolutely Forbidden, it read. The smoke did not escape into the computer rooms, thus they ignored the sign. Absolutely Forbidden. His hands hesitated over the keyboard. He had to make the transfer before Stepanov returned; he was cleared to supervise.

Before Stepanov, before Moscow discovered, before the telephone rang — go on, go on—!

Georgi got up slowly, wiping his mouth with a grey handkerchief. He nodded, cleaning his teeth with his tongue, bulging his right cheek into an abcess. 'I'll get the lieutenant,' he muttered thickly and walked away casually. As slowly as some ruminant animal.

Fifty feet.

Godwin had warned him to be prepared to snatch at any chance that offered itself. But not to make a mistake—

Now?

Now. He stared at the Cyrillic keyboard, momentarily baffled by the strange alphabet. Then it was as if he had refocused his gaze; the keys swam into clear meaning. Last three assignments, in reverse order, without break. He could almost hear Petrunin, feel his blood-wet lips against his cheek and ear. He shivered.

He cancelled the Education Records. The Menu presented itself, requesting usage of the Centre's records computer. For Assignment History, he needed the passwords that Petrunin had given him; his thread into the labyrinth. Forbidden, Absolutely Forbidden. He requested Assignment History, and the screen requested the passwords that would indicate his security clearance. What—?

He typed: WHITENIGHTS WHITEBEAR WHITE-RUSSIAN.

ERROR, the screen replied, and requested he submit the correct password. Three times, Godwin had said — you get only three chances. He heard Petrunin's voice, dammit—! That awful, empty whispered growl. Hatred, delight in destruction, fear of his imminent death. The bastard had lied—!

He glanced towards the glass cubicle which was misty with blue cigarette smoke. Georgi was pointing at him and Stepanov was nodding. Then the lieutenant studied the amount of coffee left in his mug and the length of cigarette yet to be smoked. Hyde, sweating freely, waved in a casual, delaying manner in their direction.

Cancel it — back away…

He wasn't lying.

He typed: WHITENIGHTSWHITEBEARWHITERUSSIAN — without breaks, just like the final secret password to what Petrunin had stored in the computer. Without breaks—!

ERROR, the screen offered implacably. Hyde felt his temperature rise, his body quiver. Critical, the reactor out of control, the organism terrified. Georgi, Stepanov — the telephone… Moscow couldn't cut him off now, they had to let it run—

He concentrated, screwing up his eyes and face as if in pain. Bending his head over the keys, as if about to begin some intense recital. Petrunin's voice whispered hollowly, as if echoing in the abandoned cave of his own body. What—?

Hyde listened, then, as if he had communicated with some lost spirit rather than his own memory, he typed trancelike on the keyboard.

WHITENIGHTSWHITERUSSIANWHITEBEAR

The screen cleared. He opened his eyes. PASSWORD CORRECT. The screen asked him what he wished to