little rebellion from one of his children. Not endangered or unsettled, simply enraged at the enormity of defiant words or disobedience.
'Your friend Massinger—' he began, then swept his hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. 'Why concern ourselves with him? The man is a fool!'
'A sentimentalist. They are only the same thing once in a while, usually over women or small animals. Paul is no fool.'
'If he tries to help you, he is.'
'Has he—?' Aubrey could not prevent himself from asking.
'Inadequately, yes. There's no comfort in it, though.'
'No,' Aubrey admitted.
Babbington crossed to his briefcase, and removed a buff file.
'Read these,' he said, pressing them into Aubrey's hand. 'They contain the details of your arranged escape from NKVD custody in Berlin, and Soviet instructions to ensure that you reached the British sector safely.' The papers shook in Aubrey's grasp, and he could not prevent them doing so. Babbington seemed delighted.
'Your ambition's blinding you to everything except the surface…' Aubrey began.
'You had Castleford killed. You're a Russian agent — my God, to think what might have happened if we hadn't got hold of this! — and we'll have you for that. Especially for that.' Babbington collected his briefcase, and made for the door. Looking at his watch, he said, 'I'll send Eldon along in a little while. I'm sure you won't object to a late night? I doubt you could sleep, anyway.'
'There. he's ready for you now.' Cass inspected the dilated pupils of Karel Bayev, KGB Rezident in Vienna, as his plump, still fully-dressed form lolled in a deep armchair. The light of the room fell on Bayev's blank, dead-yet- alert features. The man looked capable of reason and speech at one moment, incapable even of movement at another. Massinger was disconcerted by proximity to such total imprisonment. 'Try him out,' Cass suggested as he filled another syringe with benzedrine. Hyde slipped silently back into the room through the door to the bedroom. Presumably, he had tied the girl and gagged her. A call from the Vice Squad had persuaded her to open the door, and shock had prevented her from having to be hurt or disabled as they pressed through. Hyde had gagged her with his hand and bundled her up the stairs in front of him. Bayev had been sitting idly drinking champagne, and at once called out to the girl as they opened the door of the lounge. He had recognised a type in Hyde almost immediately but Cass, holding Hyde's pistol, had quelled protest.
Simple preliminaries, Massinger reminded himself. Almost too easy. Now, begin—
Hyde had crossed to the window, almost unobserved. Bayev's pupils had not followed his progress. He was staring into some unknown middle distance.
Margaret—
Begin.
'Karel, old friend — so good to see you again!' Massinger exclaimed in Russian, attempting as close an impersonation of Pavel Koslov's ringing tones as he could. 'Karel!' he tried again, catching in his memory the echo of Pavel's usual enthusiastic greeting. 'It's Pavel — your old friend, Pavel!' He chuckled, imitating Pavel's delight, clear in his mind, from the darkened back of an opera box.
'Embrace him,' Cass whispered. 'Call his name again.'
'Karel — come on, Karel!' Massinger bent forward and took Bayev by the sholders, kissing him on each cheek. 'It's Pavel. I want you to show me Vienna, old man!'
Bayev seemed to snap into wakefulness. His eyes watched Massinger, who could not but believe that the fiction would be exposed in a moment, that Bayev would protest, attempt to rise from the chair, threaten, become frightened—
'Pavel — Pavel…'he muttered, his voice thick with phlegm.
'That'll clear in a minute,' Cass observed nonchalantly. 'Once the station's tuned in properly. Go on.'
'I've four whole days in this beautiful city, and I'm ready for anything. Just like the school holidays, eh, old man? Tallinn — do you remember Tallinn? The girls?'
Cass was smiling broadly when Massinger glanced up at him. He nodded encouragingly. Hyde was also smiling, then he tossed his head towards the door and went out.
'Ah… aaah…' Bayev sighed. His hands moved in slow-motion, describing the female form in the air. 'Yes — the girls in Vienna, too! Wait till you see some of them. Meet them, Pavel! Oh, yes—'
'Very well, old friend. And how are you — busy?'
'Too busy. Much too busy. But, I will give myself a special assignment for a few days — we'll enjoy ourselves!'
'Good, good.' Massinger could not see the conversation unfolding any further. He had established the circumstances, the fiction of himself as Koslov, but he could not force his own imagination to ignite. He could not be Koslov.
'What now?' he whispered.
'You've got the script,' Cass replied.
'Damn,' Massinger breathed, then he said: 'London is a pig, Karel, old friend. Trouble, trouble, trouble. I can't tell you how they're keeping us on our toes…' His voice and ideas trailed off once more.
Then Bayev said: 'You complain? We had that bloody Deputy Chairman here again last week! My God, that operation is never-ending—!' Bayev was animated, waving his arms slowly like the sails of a windmill or the slow circling of a lighthouse beam.
'My God,' Massinger whispered. Then: 'Kapustin always was a real shit!'
'Too right, my friend, too r- right… y-es, oh… y-e-ss…'
'What's happening?'
'He's not lasting long, is he?' Cass replied. He moved towards Bayev's form, which now had slumped back in the armchair, his pupils tiny and hard like currants, his eyes staring blankly. His hands and legs lay like those of a dummy about to be folded into its case.
Cass injected benzedrine, and stood back. 'He could be overtired or half-cut. I can't tell. Looks like you'll have to keep waking him.' He looked at his watch. 'If I want to catch the Frankfurt flight, I'd better go, I'll leave you the syringe. Remember, if he doesn't come out of it at any time, leave him alone.'
'Very well.'
Bayev snapped awake once more.
'Kapustin's a real shit,' Massinger said at once.
'Who are you?' Bayev replied in a suspicious voice.
'Oh, Jesus—!'
'What is it, Wilkes? You told London. What did they say? What did they come back to you for?'
'Never mind — look, go out and get some chocolate cake, will you? I'm starving.'
'Now? Everywhere's shut—'
'Not that little delicatessen on the corner. Go on, do as you're told for a change.'
'Money first. I know you.'
'Here — and don't be long.'
'OK. See you.'
'Thank God for that. Now, six… seven… four… eight… nine… three… one… five… Come on — Christ, if this hits the fan, Wilkes old son, you can forget a cushy berth next time out — come on… thank God — give me Savin — at once. Never mind, just put me through. Yes, yes, the bloody code of the day is Volgograd — bloody imaginative, isn't it? Hurry up! Savin, is that you? Listen. London just signalled. If you know where your Rezident is, check up on him and keep him secure. Why? Because someone's been into our Registry files, and they've been checking on your boss. Yes, and that someone's in Vienna now — probably with Hyde… yes, that's right, Hyde. So, if you know where he is, I should check up on him if I were you!'
'Pavel — It's Pavel,' Massinger said hesitantly.
'Pavel?' Bayev was still suspicious. Massinger had been attempting to re-establish the fiction of his circumstances for more than five minutes. Cass, as if supremely indifferent, had left to catch his flight; Frankfurt
