by Ted Allbeury
‘So you must have been using one of the old rooms?’
‘I was. By that stage he didn’t seem to need cosseting. Maybe I was wrong.’
‘Did you have any theory about why he suddenly dried up?’
‘Not really. They do that sometimes for a couple of days if it’s a long interrogation. I’m quite happy normally when it happens.’
‘Why, for heaven’s sake?’
‘It means they’ve got pangs of guilt about what they’ve been telling me.’ He smiled. ‘And that usually means they’ve been telling me the truth or they wouldn’t feel guilty. Is there anything more I can do for you?’
‘I don’t think so. Thanks, Tony.’
Lawler checked-in the radio-control unit and headed for the flat. He knew that he would have to edge back into it again sometime with Petrov.
He got tickets and took Petrov and the girl to the Festival Hall, and in the interval they walked out to the upper landing to look out across the Thames. The lights were already on in the buildings on the far bank and there was a cosy glow from the cabin of a tug hauling a string of coal barges down-river. It was as the first interval bell pinged its early warning and they turned to go back that Lawler saw the man watching them from the far side of the foyer. It was the man he had seen on the bench in Royal Avenue. Petrov hadn’t noticed him, he was walking ahead with the girl and there was no reason anyway why Petrov should recognize the man. But as Lawler looked at him the man turned his face hurriedly, pretending to be interested in the traffic on the river. As Lawler followed Petrov he wondered why the man should be so concerned that he had been seen. They were, after all, part of the same set-up.
The second half of the programme was Ashkenazy and the Rachmaninov Third, and the magic brought such prolonged applause that it seemed likely to keep the young man bowing and smiling until midnight. Andre Previn smilingly persuaded him back to the piano and Ashkenazy played them variation 18 of the Rhapsody on a theme of Paganini. Honour was served, and the audience were delighted with their ‘bon-bon’.
The girl was spending the night with Petrov in Lawler’s flat, and Petrov was in good humour as they sat around drinking wine. They were on the third bottle when the phone rang. It was Silvester.
‘Any progress, James?’
‘We’re all just about to turn in.’
‘He’s with you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You can’t talk?’
‘Right again.’
‘D’you need to talk, maybe later?’
‘Yes.’
‘You know my home number?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll stay up until you call me.’
‘OK. Sleep well.’
It was over an hour before Petrov took the girl to his room, and Lawler waited for another hour before he let himself out into the street.
The King’s Road was empty as he walked up to Sloane Square. The late-night coffee van had gone, and the taxi rank was empty. The first telephone kiosk had been vandalized and the second stank of vomit. He propped the door open with his foot as he dialled Silvester’s number. Silvester answered at the second ring.
‘Hello.’
‘It’s Jimmy. Sorry to keep you up. But Petrov and his girl are at my place. He’s there most of the time now.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘Who are you using to keep an eye on us?’
‘Pleasance and Travers.’
‘Pleasance is the big blond fellow, yes?’
‘He’s about five-eleven. He was with you when you were doing that job at St Albans.’
‘And Travers?’
‘He’s much older. Early fifties. Tubby. Medium height. Wears glasses.’
‘So who’s the youngish guy in jeans and denims with the long hair?’
‘No idea. He’s not one of mine.’
‘He’s Special Branch, I’m sure. I’ve seen him somewhere before.’
‘Why are you interested?’
‘He’s tailing us.’
‘How many times have you seen him?’
‘Twice.’
‘Could be coincidence.’
‘Once outside my flat and tonight at the Festival Hall.’
‘I’ll check if maybe somebody has stood in for Pleasance or Travers but I’d raise hell if they had. You and Petrov are restricted.’
‘Do we have photographs of Special Branch surveillance men?’
‘Yes, but they may not be bang up to date. They used to be up-dated every month but I don’t know how often they do it now.’
‘Who looks after them?’
‘Photo Registry.’
The photographs were pasted on cards in alphabetical order and Lawler had checked Bridges and Bridger. There was a Bridges but no Bridger, and the Bridges face was nothing like the one he wanted. He started back at the As and checked each card, and he had got as far as Kingsley when the name came back to him. It was Ridger not Bridger and he went through the cards. There was a pink removal card under Ridger. Paul Endicott Ridger. ‘Card temporarily removed’.
He took the card across to the duty clerk.
‘How do I get to see this card?’
The girl looked at the pink card and then back at his face. ‘It’s issued out to Special Branch Personnel for up-dating.’
‘How long does that take?’
‘About two days usually.’
‘When did this one go out?’
The girl turned the card over and pointed.
‘Gosh. It went out ten days ago. Should have been back long ago.’
‘Can you phone SB Personnel and check when it will come back?’
‘Hang on. I’ll see what they say.’
She walked away to the plastic phone hoods and he watched her as she dialled a number. She was three or four minutes on the phone and when she came back she was frowning.
‘Sergeant Glass says the card is withdrawn but I’ve not had an official notice about it.’
‘Do they often withdraw cards like that?’
‘Not unless the guy’s ill for a long period or he leaves.’
‘No other reasons?’
She shrugged. ‘Only for security reasons, and there’s not been more than a couple of those since I’ve worked here, and that’s over three years.’
‘Do you have files on SB Personnel?’
‘I don’t know. Archives might have them. We’re only photographic here.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
He was walking up to Silvester’s office when Dyer came out of the small conference room.
‘Hello there, James. Nice to see you. Come and have a cuppa in my office.’
Lawler liked Dyer. He affected a rather casual manner but there was a sharp, intelligent mind behind the smiles and the easy-going style.
‘I can’t stay long, Richard. I was just going up to see Adam.’
‘Is he waiting for you?’
‘No. But I’ve only got ten minutes.’
Dyer’s girl brought them coffee. The real stuff, from the private and unauthorized Cona.
Dyer took off his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair before he sat down. He was brushing imaginary dust from the seat of his chair as he spoke.
‘I gather you’re doing something very special for Silvester.’
‘I’m pretty busy, yes. What happened to Oberon?’
‘Oh. Pigeon-holed. There wasn’t time to brief someone else. Maybe they’ll let me have you back before too long.’ The shrewd but smiling eyes looked across at him awaiting an answer, but he didn’t respond. He knew Dyer was just fishing. Probably just to give him the chance to annoy Silvester.
Dyer reached out for another cigarette, and when it was lit he said, ‘Any progress about the little girl?’
‘Afraid not. There’s nothing I can do. It’s just a shambles. A write-off.’
‘Must have upset you a lot.’
‘I’m trying to get used to it.’
‘It can’t be easy. I’m sorry.’
Dyer stubbed out his cigarette half-smoked and reached for another.
‘How’s your present operation going?’
‘No comment, Dickie. You know me better than that.’ Dyer grinned. It was bad form for departmental directors to quiz anyone from another department. And it was bad security too. Lawler was surprised and embarrassed that Dyer should step over the line.
‘Where did you learn your Russian, James?’
‘At Cambridge, and I did a refresher at Coulsden.’
‘Is it good?’
‘It gets me by.’ Lawler stood up. ‘Do you speak Russian?’
Dyer laughed. ‘Not a word. That’s not true. Da, Nyet and dosvidanya and something some bastard told me meant “I love you”, and was, in fact, very rude and very specific.’
‘See you soon.’
‘Of course. Pop into Cadogan Square any time you feel like a bit of company. Parties can be laid on at five minutes’ notice. Orgies take longer — up to half an hour.’
‘Love to Mandy and the girls.’
‘They’ll appreciate that, James. They really will.’
Lawler was no longer in a mood for talking with Silvester. Even the glancing reference to Joanna had been enough to put him down.
He walked to Waterloo Station and took a taxi to Sloane Square. He bought a copy of The Gramophone at the W.H. Smith shop and as he was waiting for the lights to change at Sloane Street, on an impulse he turned down Lower Sloane Street and walked through the narrow side street behind the Duke of York’s HQ to St Leonard’s Terrace and the far end of Royal Avenue. He walked slowly up the centre of the avenue along the line of plane trees. When he was almost at King’s Road he stopped. An old lady with a dog on a frayed rope sat alone on the wooden bench. In the far corner by the Drug Store two teenage lovers stood kissing and cuddling. A nanny with a pram stood watching the traffic as she jogged the sleeping baby. There was no sign of the watcher.
He waited for a break in the line of cars and started to cross the road. An impatient red bus drove him back to the pavement and it was then he saw him, standing just inside the big glass doors and windows of Tesco’s, a wire basket swinging loosely in one hand. He was wearing a plaid shirt and denim trousers, his face raised to look up at the window of the flat, unaware that he was being observed. Lawler glanced up briefly at the flat windows. Siobhan Nolan was standing there, looking down at the shoppers, and Petrov’s face was just visible over her shoulder. When he looked back in the store the man had gone. He thought he saw him in a group of people waiting to cross the road but when he hurried over the man had a dark skin and a Zapata moustache. Lawler went into the store, walking between the displays, up and down, his eyes looking at every face. There was no sign of the man.
He stood as if he were looking at the shelves of tinned fruit trying to make up his mind. Then he turned and walked slowly out of the store, down Royal Avenue to the telephone kiosk by the Royal Hospital. Cooper was off duty and the duty-officer gave him Silvester’s number. He was at the Travellers’ and the porter fetched him to the phone.
‘Silvester.’
‘I’m using a call-box and I’m out of coins — can you call me back?’
‘What’s the number?’
Lawler gave him the number, hung up and waited, to the obvious annoyance of a woman who was pacing up and down, impatiently waiting her turn. Then the phone rang and it was Silvester.
‘What is it, James?’
‘You remember the man I told you about? The one I thought was tailing us?’
‘Yes.’
‘He was at it again and this time it was quite obvious that he was watching my flat.’
‘Were you able to trace him?’
‘I’ve got his name. He’s Special Branch all right. But his photo card had been withdrawn to Scotland Yard. They are normally returned in two days. It had been out for ten days. I got the clerk to check when it was coming back. They said it was withdrawn and they didn’t know when it would be returned.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Paul Endicott Ridger. Born 7 Jan 1946.’
‘Just a minute, I need a pencil.’
There was a pause and then Silvester came back on the line. ‘Paul what was it?’
‘Paul Endicott Ridger. Born 7 Jan 1946.’
‘You’re quite sure that he’s the guy concerned?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re quite sure he’s tailing you?’
‘Absolutely sure.’
‘Do you think he’s seen our friend?’
‘Our friend and his girl were at the window. He may not know who he is but he couldn’t fail to have seen him.’
‘I’ll see what I can find out. Leave it to me.’
‘OK.’
It was nearly seven when he got back to the flat. Petrov and the girl were in their room. He switched on the radio so that they would know he was there. It was the news on Radio 4. The Russians had launched eight Cosmos satellites from one rocket. As he sat in the leather armchair he wondered if the time hadn’t come for him to resign. What he was doing seemed so utterly futile. SIS was a kind of dream world that nobody outside it would believe. You survived by being so involved in its intricacies that you had no time to think about yourself. And the strange thing was, that it was your own life, your private life, that became unreal, as if you were an actor playing a part. SIS seemed somehow safer than the outside world. They were almost like monks from some silent order, speaking only in their own special language that was not for normal mortals. Fighting the good fight in silent dedication. But acting as companion and protector to Petrov seemed to epitomize the futility of his work. He had made some progress in his relationship with Petrov. So what? A Russian defector with vague thoughts of going back was looking a bit more cheerful. And if they were lucky, sooner or later he would start co-operating again. Which was fine except for one fact. Despite his cheerfulness the Russian was still convinced that they were intending to kill him. In the meantime Lawler was sitting in the pale evening sunlight, alone and depressed.
He washed and changed and walked down to the Royal Court Hotel. He ate alone and it was nearly midnight when he got back to the flat.
The girl had left and Petrov was sitting in the living-room in his bathrobe, a half-empty bottle of vodka on the floor beside him. His face was flushed and his hand trembled as he poured himself another drink. He held the bottle up to Lawler.
‘You drink with me, Jimmy?’
‘No thanks, Tolya. I’m going to bed.’
Petrov lifted his glass. ‘Na zdrovye. ’
‘Na zdrovye. ’
‘You been planning how you kill me, Jimmy?’
Lawler sighed. ‘I told you, Tolya. Nobody’s going to kill you. Nobody wants to kill you. Nobody has any reason to kill you.’
‘Not yet, my friend, not yet.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘You wait till I have told you all you want to know. Then you kill me.’
‘Why should we do that?’
Petrov reached down for the vodka bottle and filled his glass again. Lawler realized that it wasn’t the first bottle for Petrov. He wasn’t yet drunk, but he was well on the way. Petrov sat looking back at him without answering.
‘Why should we want to kill you, Petrov?’
‘I told you is same as the man you call George Blake.’
‘We didn’t kill George Blake. He was tried in court. He confessed. He was sentenced to imprisonment and he escaped.’
‘You are naive, my friend. A child. A fool. Or you think I am a fool.’ He banged his fist on his chest and his eyes blazed as he shouted the words. ‘Not with me you play those games.’
‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
He saw the swing of Petrov’s arm but the vodka stung his eyes. Very slowly he fumbled for the box of Kleenex and took a tissue to wipe his face. And all the time he kept his eyes on Petrov.
&
nbsp; Lawler said very quietly, ‘I think perhaps somebody else should help you, Petrov. I’m obviously making things worse.’
Petrov shrugged. ‘It makes no difference to me, Jimmy, who they fix to kill me.’
‘I’ll talk to Silvester tomorrow morning and arrange for a replacement.’
‘Why they choose you for me, tovarisch?’
‘Because I speak some Russian and some German.’
‘Is plenty of your officers speak Russian and some German. It must be more than that.’
Lawler sighed. ‘Silvester said that he thought we were like one another.’
‘In what way?’
‘A bit romantic and emotional.’
‘How old are you now?’
‘Thirty-seven.’
‘And how old me?’
‘Forty-three.’
‘How you know?’
‘I saw it in your file.’
Petrov leaned back half-smiling. ‘What does it say in my file?’
‘You know I can’t discuss that, Tolya.’
‘You got father and mother?’
‘Yes.’
‘What does he do?’
‘He’s a writer.’
‘Not either for me. No father, no mother.’
‘What happened?’
‘He was officer in engineers’ regiment. I never hear of him again. My mother died in Leningrad during German siege.’
‘Was she killed?’
‘A land-mine on the hospital.’
‘How old were you?’
‘Fourteen, fifteen, I don’t remember.’
‘What happened to you?’
Petrov shook his head vehemently, tears on his cheeks. He waved his hand as if he were cleaning a window, washing things away.
‘I not talk about that.’
Lawler leaned forward. ‘When Silvester briefed me about you he said that he was worried that you wanted to go back to Moscow. He wanted me to make you feel at home here in London. He couldn’t possibly want you killed or he wouldn’t do all this. It would just happen. You know that. Give me one possible reason why Silvester should want you killed.’
Petrov shook his head. ‘I say no more. You must know what I mean.’
