Firefox Down

the position his body had adopted when he first woke and made to rise. Hunched, small, lost. Guilt, yes — guilt and pride. Two emotions to move mountains; or bury people beneath mountains.

Stop it, he told himself, sitting upright, hands thrust into his pockets. Prepare yourself for the next step, for this conversation.

The Finns — more precisely, the Finnish Cabinet Defence Committee under the chairmanship of the Prime Minister — had agreed to the overflight of the Firefox and to certain, very limited back-up facilities and incursions of Finnish airspace. Aubrey had been tempted by a new mood in the country, under the new government, to use Finnish airspace rather than order Gant to fly the longer journey down the spine of Norway to rendezvous with the British Airways flight from Stockholm to London. Infra-red invisibility would have been guaranteed by the aircraft's proximity to the civilian airliner for the last crucial stage of its flight across the North Sea. The Finns had agreed because 'Finlandisation' had become a term of abuse, an insult to a resurgent mood of independence in the country. But-

But, but, but…

Army deserters crossing from the Soviet Union into Finland had been publicised, and not handed back. Granted asylum. Key industrial projects in the Soviet Union designed and built by the Finns had been halted or suspended until more acceptable trade agreements and repayment terms had been agreed. All good signs…

But, but, but -

The telephone rang, startling Aubrey out of his reverie of justification and optimism. He snatched at the receiver. 'Yes?'

'Director Vitsula,' Shelley said, and then he heard, more distantly, the voice of the Director-General of Finnish Intelligence.

'Good morning, Kenneth.'

'Good morning, Hanni — '

'What is this business we have to discuss — your aide tells me it is urgent… is that so?'

'I'm afraid it is.'

'What has changed since last night?'

'Nothing — except our attitude here to what we discovered.'

'Yes.'

'What is the feeling at present in your Cabinet Defence Committee?'

'Deadlock — I can put it no more hopefully than that.'

'What about the Russians?'

'I think they are more angry with them than with your country and the Americans. They do not know about — your little escapade, only about the overflight by the Nimrod, which they permitted, in the event… but, there has been a leak in the newspapers here

'What?'

'Only concerning intrusions into our airspace by Soviet fighters — nothing more. But the Prime Minister has made the most serious protest to Moscow concerning the matter.'

'Is there any hope there, Hanni?' Aubrey was speaking very loudly now because the Finn's voice seemed more distant.

'Hope for what?'

'A — ' Aubrey hesitated, then said: 'That matter we talked about last night… a fishing expedition.'

'Kenneth — I have seen the Foreign Minister and the Prime Minister — nothing, I'm afraid.'

'Do they understand?'

'Yes, Kenneth, they understand. They are not unsympathetic. But — troops, vehicles, helicopters — it would be easier to ignore the whole problem, or drop a bomb in the lake…'

Aubrey, enraged, snapped: 'What is it they want?'

'Ah,' Vitsula sighed. In front of his reply, as if coming from the next room, the line crackled and spat. 'Reciprocity and access were two of the words being tentatively used, I believe,' Vitsula said.

'Would they agree, in that case?' Aubrey snapped.

'I — don't know. It might… soften them.'

'It's a high price.'

'Higher than you think. Access to highest levels, access to the codes, access to the scenarios regarding Scandinavia…'

'You mean your people want a full Intelligence partnership with NATO while remaining neutral?' Aubrey asked, taken aback. He rubbed his forehead, wiping slowly and with force at the creases he found, as if they surprised him.'It's your price, of course.'

'My suggestion, yes.'

'In return-?'

'We would keep our heads down — three wise monkeys. '

'For how long?'

'I — don't know. How long must you have?'

'I don't know!'

'Then you must think it over. Just one more thing, Kenneth.'

'Yes?'

'Can you assure me — give me your word — that our friends across the border know nothing, nothing at all, of the whereabouts of their property? I must have that assurance, Kenneth, before I do anything more. Are you able to give it?'

Aubrey envisaged Gant's face for an instant, cleared his throat, and said, 'Yes. I can give you that assurance. They are in complete ignorance.'

'Thank you. When do we talk again?'

'Later. I will talk to London and Washington.'

'Good.'

'The price is very high.'

'So are the risks.'

* * *

The young KGB Colonel, whose shoulder boards and uniform seemed remarkably new, had hurried aboard the Antonov An-26 short-haul transport aircraft with the eagerness of someone meeting a dear relative. Gant watched him clatter up the lowered beaver-tail ramp into the fuselage, his eyes seeking along the row of tip-up seats. Gant was seated on one of them, hands manacled in front of him, a guard on either side, the remaining GRU men positioned on the opposite side of the fuselage.

The young colonel stood in front of the American, hands on his hips, appraising him frankly but without malice. There might have been something akin to admiration in his gaze. Then, almost smiling, he turned to the officer in charge of the guard detachment.

'OK, he's ours now,' he said.

As if he had been overheard, KGB men in civilian clothes clambered up the ramp into the aircraft's belly. The cold of the day outside followed them, striking through Gant's check woollen jacket and waterproof trousers. He shook his head, trying to fully wake himself. It had been surprisingly easy to sleep in the noisy main compartment, surrounded by guards. Now he was hungry. The journey was almost over — bath, food at the end of it. He knew why his mind had narrowed and was working at this fiction.

'Major Gant, would you accompany us, please,' the young colonel requested. The four civilian-clothed KGB men stood behind him.

Gant stood up, stamping the cramp out of his calves and thighs. The dog-bite in his calf ached. The GRU men were already at their ease. Cigarette smoke was pungent in the cold air. The colonel reached out a steadying hand, but Gant motioned it angrily away. The officer nodded almost respectfully.

Gant moved towards the ramp and the tarmac outside, a KGB man close on either side. Their arms touched him as they moved, and he could smell staleness and smoke on one of the suits, mustiness on an overcoat. The men's faces were pinched and whitened with the cold. Gant shivered as the sleet blew into his face.

The officer was suddenly beside him, one of his guards having dropped back a step.

'I'm Colonel Dmitri Priabin,' he explained, the rank still a strange, pleasant taste on his tongue. 'I found you,'