by Ted Allbeury
‘It must be Kerry or Cork,’ she said.
The girl laughed. ‘It was Cork, but Dublin the last few years.’
‘Well, bless you wherever it was, at least I get the chance to see my boy.’ She looked at Petrov and then at her son, and turned to the girl as if the men weren’t there. ‘My God, they look so miserable the pair of them, what on earth have they been up to? Putting the world to rights I suppose, as per usual.’ She took the girl’s hand. ‘Come on. You can help me do the cream.’
Edward Lawler turned to Petrov. ‘Can I help you with your bags, Tony?’
Petrov looked embarrassed. ‘Is no trouble, Mr Lawler.’
‘I’ll get them, Dad. Are my friends at the back upstairs?’
Lawler senior said, That’s right, Jimmy. There’s flowers in the lady’s room and a bottle in your friend’s.’
James Lawler smiled at his mother’s tactful insistence on the niceties.
When Mrs Lawler and Siobhan brought in the high-tea they all ate and talked until the room was almost dark. James Lawler watched his mother and father work their magic on Petrov and the girl. They treated them as old friends, and the Russian and the girl responded. Arguing about politics and literature, the two women joined forces against the men.
It was nearly midnight when Petrov and the girl went upstairs and Lawler sat with his parents, drinking a last cup of tea. And it was Edward Lawler who made the first comment.
‘What’s he afraid of, Jimmy?’
‘Who?’
‘Don’t kid me. Your friend Tony. He’s scared as hell.’
‘What makes you say that? I’ve never seen him so much at ease.’
‘Maybe. But there’s a terrible tension there. Is it the girl?’
There were a few moments of silence and then Edward Lawler said, ‘I think we’d better not probe anymore, Mother. It’s not our business anyway.’
James Lawler said quickly, Tell me what you think of him, Father. I’d like to know.’
‘He’s not a friend of yours, is he? Not a real friend.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘When we were talking and arguing he never once turned to you for support. Once he’d got used to us he changed from being very withdrawn to being almost . . . I don’t know quite how to describe it . . . authoritarian, peremptory . . . something like that. I’d say he’s a man who’s come down in the world. A rich man or an important man who hasn’t got used to having no money, or influence, or whatever it was.’
‘What does he need to put him right?’
His father shrugged. ‘Who knows? Time, for one thing. He speaks very good English for a German . . . or whatever he is . . . but he hasn’t settled down here yet. He’s tense, alert, constantly looking for a second meaning to anything that’s said. But once he was talking he forgot all the caution and was full of his own opinions. Almost aggressive.’ He looked at his son. ‘He’s not a journalist, is he?’
‘No.’
‘Something to do with your work?’
James Lawler turned quickly to his mother. ‘He wants to marry the girl. Would that help, do you think?’
She shrugged. ‘Who can tell, dear? Who can tell? It might work for him but I doubt if it would for her.’
‘Why not?’
His mother sighed quietly. ‘She’s a sunny girl and he’s a dark cloud. You could end up with either a silver lining or a thunderstorm. I’d say the storm. She obviously likes him. He’s intelligent and attentive. But he needs her. He’s hanging on to her like a drowning man to a life-belt. She knows it too. She’s not Irish for nothing, you know.’
‘Is she the marrying kind?’
‘Oh sure she is. But she’s the kind who’ll want to look around. And what about you? How are you managing?’
‘I’m getting by.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘There’s nothing I can do, Ma. I’ve got no rights in law.’
‘You’ve got responsibilities all the same.’
He sighed. ‘I know, but I’ve got no way of affecting the situation.’
‘Have you spoken to her?’
‘She won’t speak to me.’
‘She’s a foolish girl, but it’s not her I’m worried about. It’s little Sarah.’
‘There’s nothing I can do.’
His mother shrugged and shook her head. ‘I’m surprised at you, Jimmy. I grieve about that little girl in that set-up.’
‘So do I. It haunts me.’
His mother looked at him for a moment, and reached out her hand to cover his. ‘I’m sure it does, my love. And you haunt me. If I sound harsh it’s really only me railing against fate.’ She sighed. ‘I wish I had some magic wand to put it all right.’
‘And what would you wish?’
Her grey eyes looked at his. ‘You’re right of course. There’s nothing to wish for. Nothing could be right.’ She stood up. ‘It’s time you were in bed. Both of you.’
The next morning when Lawler went downstairs Petrov was already up, sitting at ease on a high stool in the kitchen, watching his mother shelling peas. He nodded briefly at Lawler and went on talking, and Lawler froze as he heard him speaking.
‘. . . and in all Moscow bakeries is always a fork so you can test that the loaf is fresh. And in GUM I go for meat. You go to the cashier for a twenty kopek receipt, wrap a treshka in the receipt and you get one kilo of best meat . . .’
‘What’s a treshka, Tony?’
‘A three-rouble note. Two pounds sterling.’
‘Well now . . .’ and Mary Lawler turned to look at her son. ‘What breakfast would you like, Jimmy?’
‘Just a coffee, Ma. We’ll have to get on our way.’ He turned to Petrov ‘Where’s Siobhan?’
‘Still asleep. I wake her, yes?’
OK.’
When Petrov had gone Mary Lawler turned with raised eyebrows. ‘You’ve got a problem there, James.’
Tell me.’
‘He wants a background. Parents. Wife. Children. He wants to have been married for ten years already. He wants the security of a set of long relationships. He’s a sad man waiting for a miracle. He’s desperate for it to happen soon. He’d like to go to bed tonight and wake up tomorrow in someone else’s life.’ She stood with her arms on her hips. ‘Somebody’s taken away his soul. Is it your people, whoever they are?’
‘No, Mother.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not us. Maybe we added the last straw, but it’s just the result of his life.’
She looked at him, her eyes wet with unshed tears.
‘And is that going to be the result of your life ten years from now?’
‘No. I don’t think I’ll ever have his problems.’
‘He told me what he was.’
‘So I gathered. Did he say more?’
‘He spoke about this man Blake who escaped from prison.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said he’d warned you but you didn’t understand. He said he was scared.’
‘Of what?’
‘He didn’t say.’
And then Petrov and the girl were coming through the sitting-room with his father.
They had a snack before they left, and as he drove back to London Petrov and the girl slept in the back of the car. Right up to the time to leave Petrov had been like a child on holiday. Laughing and talking, with the girl obviously impressed by seeing him in such an unaccustomed mood. But Lawler felt lonely and depressed as he drove in silence like the captain of some ghost ship, a Marie Celeste on its aimless circling of the oceans. What the hell did Silvester expect him to do? It was a hopeless, doomed exercise, that probably only a psychiatrist could solve. Provided he had ten years to do it in.
He dropped Petrov and the girl at her flat. They were going out for a meal and then coming round to his place for the night.
The phone was ringing as he threw his case on the bed. It was Silvester.
“Been trying to get hold of you. Thought you must have fled the country
.’
“I was only away for a night, for God’s sake.’
“You sound touchy. Anything wrong?’
‘No. Not really. It’s just wearing. And it’s slow progress.’
‘Have you made any progress?’
‘Yes. I took him down to my parents with the girl. He made himself really at home.’
‘Well, take your time. We need the bastard, but I’ll leave it to you to decide when he’s ready to carry on.’
‘Did you check up on Ridger?’
‘Ridger? Who’s Ridger?’
‘The Special Branch man who’s been tailing me.’
‘Oh yes. It must have been coincidence. He resigned from SB four weeks ago.’
‘What’s he doing now?’
‘The record says he’s training as a computer programmer at some commercial training school. Paid a fee of four hundred quid. Passed an aptitude test with a high rating. I should forget him.’
‘What was his last address?’
‘Somewhere in Croydon.’
‘So why is he hanging around outside my place right now?’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure, and he didn’t look shifty when I looked at him either. He just stared back like he didn’t give a damn.’
‘Maybe he’s got a girl-friend near you. Or perhaps he’s moonlighting for some private agency. Divorce stuff maybe.’ There was a pause. ‘You don’t think it could be Joanna, do you?’
‘She hasn’t got the money for those capers. Apart from that what interest could she have? I’m not married to her.’
‘Could be some crazy scheme to check on your life-style in case you applied for custody of Sarah.’
‘For God’s sake, she knows I haven’t a chance in a million.’
‘You never know, Jimmy. She’s pretty way out. Bear it in mind anyway.’
10
Petrov came back to the flat mid-morning, tense and irritable. When Lawler asked him what was the matter he threw a small box on to the coffee table. It rolled like a large dice and there was gold lettering on one of its sides.
‘Look at it,’ Petrov said aggressively. ‘Look at it.’
Lawler picked it up and realized what it was. He opened it carefully. In a velvet-lined case there was a platinum engagement ring. Two small diamonds set on either side of an opal. Lawler guessed that it must have cost well over a hundred pounds.
He looked at Petrov. ‘What happened?’
Petrov shrugged. ‘I give her ring. Ask her to marry me. She say no.’
‘Just that?’
‘We have bloody row, she says she is finished with me.’ He shrugged again.’Is all over.’
‘What was the row about?’
‘That she say no again.’
‘Did you try to persuade her to change her mind?’
‘I tell her she is a bitch.’
‘That wasn’t very bright. What did she say?’
‘That I am a phoney. No family. I don’t belong here. I don’t really have a job. I make bad husband and bad father.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I say is better be phoney than a whore.’
‘That must have gone down well.’
‘Is true. No? She’s just a baralka. ’
‘What do you want to do?’
Petrov shrugged. ‘God knows. You tell me.’
‘Do you really want to marry her, Tolya, or is it just something that’s got fixed in your mind?’
‘Of course I want to marry her.’
‘Would you marry her if she was a Russian girl and you were both in Moscow?’
‘Would be no problem. In Moscow I am senior officer in KGB. She would marry me first time I ask.’
‘But would you ask her if you were in Moscow?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded to give an emphasis that somehow didn’t ring true.
‘Do you want me to go and talk to her?’
‘Why?’ Petrov sneered. ‘You want excuse to sleep with her?’
Lawler bit back the words and said, ‘So far as I’m concerned she’s your girl, Tolya. But you and I had better talk first.’
‘OK. You talk.’
‘How about we start by levelling with one another?’
‘What does that mean?’
‘We speak the truth. We say what we really mean.’
‘OK. You start.’
‘We need the information you can give us. All of it. And we need it quickly so that we can take action. In return for this we pay you a pension. We can discuss the details before you talk if you want. We’ll find you a house. Give you a new cover identity. Give you protection if you want it. And we’ll meet all reasonable demands.’
Petrov sat silently for several minutes, looking at Lawler’s face as if there might be some sign that proved his sincerity. Some psychic litmus paper that went blue for loyalty or truth. When Petrov finally spoke Lawler sensed that there was an actual change in their relationship. As if the weeks of random, pointless friendliness were actually having some effect. Not much, but some. But it could be that the question that Petrov put to him represented no more than curiosity.
‘Tell me about the girl in the photograph.’
‘Why that, Tolya?’ But Lawler didn’t say it resentfully.
‘I want to know about you. You said they put you with me because we’re like one another. I don’t see that at all.’
‘How do you see me?’
‘I’d say you were efficient at your job. A loner. You give the impression of being a nice guy. Friendly, sympathetic and so on, but underneath it all I’d guess you were very tough. You don’t seem to have many friends. That could be because of your work, or it could be because they find you out.’
‘Which of those things doesn’t apply to you?’
‘None. But I’m not sure if I was in Moscow and you had come over that I would care all that much so long as you did what we wanted. If you stopped co-operating we’d try and get you back on the railway lines, but if it didn’t work I guess I wouldn’t shed tears if you ended in the Gulag. So why should you be any different?’
‘I don’t think I am, but what you described isn’t really the scenario we’ve got here.’
‘Why not?’
‘You were co-operating. Suddenly you stopped. There’s obviously a reason. All I’m trying to do is find out that reason and put it right. Silvester thinks that you might be missing Moscow, that you want to go back. You tell me that you miss some things, but that you definitely don’t want to go back. That makes sense. If I was suddenly transposed to Moscow there are things that I should miss, so I understand all that. But I don’t think that you stopped co-operating for that reason.’
‘What do you think the reason is?’ Petrov’s eyes were half closed with concentration as he waited for an answer.
‘I can only tell you the truth.’
‘So tell me.’
‘The truth is that I have no idea. Not the faintest, thinnest clue. But if you’ll tell me what it is I’ll put it right, whatever it is.’
Petrov closed his eyes for a moment, then opening them he said slowly, ‘If I did really want to go back who would make the final decision?’
‘The Section heads concerned with the Soviet Union.’
‘Who are they?’
Lawler hesitated for only a moment. ‘Silvester, Mason and Dyer.’
‘What does Mason look like?’
‘About five-seven, stocky, black hair plastered down. A slight Scottish accent. Generally wears tweed jackets and drill trousers. A bit untidy looking. Doesn’t smile much and . . .’
‘What’s Dyer look like?’
‘About the same height as Silvester. Five-eleven or six foot maybe. Medium build. Fair hair, blue eyes. Always well dressed. Neat, easy going, friendly. That’s about it.’
‘And what would their answer be?’
‘I’d bet on it being “no”, unless you had some really exceptional reason.’
‘What if
one of them strongly supported my request?’
‘You mean Silvester, I suppose. It could make a difference. Possible but not probable.’
‘And when they had said “no” what would happen to me?’
Lawler looked embarrassed. ‘You’d lose a lot of freedom. I’d guess they would put you in some comfortable house under permanent guard. You’d get whatever you wanted. Food, female company, the odd trip out under escort, but you’d be a prisoner. A very comfortable prisoner.’
‘Why all the trouble? Why not liquidate me?’
‘For obvious reasons. These things filter out. They always do. Any KGB or GRU man thinking of coming over would think twice if he thought that might be his fate. What you did to Sneddon got about, and I’d guess it did you a lot of harm.’
‘Did you know Sneddon personally?’
‘Yes.’
‘You didn’t see his defection to us as a possible attempt at a plant?’
‘Not in Sneddon’s case, no.’
‘Why not?’
‘Sneddon didn’t work in the field, he was basically a historian specializing in the Soviet Union. He was used as a sort of “devil’s advocate” in evaluating Politburo and KGB moves. I wouldn’t have classed him as pro-Soviet but he was a sympathizer. He saw the good as well as the bad. He knew more about Marxism than most Marxists do. He just thought the Soviet Union was no longer Marxist. He was very useful to us. And I suspect he was very useful to your people when he defected.’
‘We could never decide. We couldn’t understand why he came over if he wasn’t committed. So in the end the hardliners won the day.’
‘Were you one of the hard-liners?’
‘Yes.’
For a fleeting second Lawler was revolted, before he realized that it represented a break-through. It was a piece of honesty that Petrov would recognize did not endear him. He was too experienced to think otherwise. Lawler was also aware that temporarily their roles were reversed. Petrov was the expert and Petrov was the interrogator. It was Lawler who was being weighed in the balance, as friend or foe.
