Brian Freemantle - The Blind Run

‘That’s conceited,’ she said.

‘What?’ said Charlie, regaining control.

‘Imagining you’d be able to lose everyone.’

It was, if she’d genuinely followed him: dangerous, too, because he’d checked constantly and been unaware of her. ‘From the beginning?’ he said.

Natalia nodded, pleased with herself. ‘I almost lost you on the metro, at Ploshchad Nogina. Only saw you switch at the last moment.’

Still needing time Charlie took her arm and began to walk her from the store. Where was the Chekhov quote that was going to confirm everything for him? Outside he actually shivered, to make it obvious – and easy – for her and said, ‘It’s cold, suddenly.’

‘I kept warm enough, chasing you,’ she said.

For him to make the approach would be against every rule and precaution. He said, ‘There is a prize.’ Nodding towards the Rossiya Hotel where they’d had their first meal, he said, ‘A congratulatory drink.’

The uncertainties remained, irritating him. If her being in the store were as she claimed it to be – simply the result of her expertise – then there was a good chance that the would-be defector, if he were watching, would have been frightened away by witnessing his being approached. Which would mean that he had been conceited. Worse, that he’d probably cocked everything up. He took her to the roof bar, adjoining the restaurant, and said, ‘I’m impressed.’

‘I wanted you to be,’ she said, in an abrupt moment of seriousness.

Charlie waited, hopefully, but she didn’t go on. He said, ‘I thought you were trained as a psychologist and as an assessor.’

‘A complete assessor,’ she expanded. ‘Practical as well as everything else.’

She didn’t have the identification phrase, Charlie realised. So it had been her expertise. And his ineptitude. He was unhappy at the awareness that she was his street equal: he didn’t think anyone was. Conceited, like she’d accused him of being. He waited for their wine to be served, raised his glass and said, ‘Congratulations.’

She giggled, recognising his attitude. ‘You’re offended!’ she said, pleased.

‘No I’m not,’ said Charlie, defensively.

‘You are! I know you are. You thought you were better than anybody else.’

Bloody psychologist, he thought. He said, ‘The others failed. All of them. So we’ll have to do it again. And you. Bet I’ll beat you next time.’

‘A bet,’ she accepted, extending her hand to confirm it.

Charlie joined in the play acting and said, ‘I’m getting fed up, shaking hands all the time.’

There was another moment of abrupt seriousness and Natalia said, ‘So am I.’

They stayed looked directly at each other for several moments and Charlie felt the nervousness he’d known with her before. He said, ‘It was scheduled to be an all day exercise: we don’t have to go back to Balashikha.’

‘No,’ she agreed.

‘My apartment is a long way out,’ said Charlie. ‘The neighbours cook cabbage all the time.’

She rose, without saying anything and they didn’t talk on the way to her apartment. They walked by the familiar concierge and Natalia had the key ready, when they reached the door. It was neat and fastidious, like Natalia, a small place with a couch that came out to form a bed, turning the living area into a bedroom. She made the conversion, appearing embarrassed now that he was actually in the apartment with her, unwilling to look at him. When she turned from the bed, still not looking, he held out his hand so that she had to stop and then he brought her to him. He could feel her trembling. He kissed her, not very well at first and then her nervousness started to go and she responded and it was better. Charlie was nervous, too, particularly about trying to make love to her because it had been such a long time and he didn’t do it well the first time and that made him more nervous. Her breasts were very full, like he’d known they would be, and he kept caressing her and she reacted and Charlie knew he could make love again, which pleased him. It was much better, the second time: they were getting used to each other, each matching the other’s pace. She climaxed ahead of him and that pleased him, too, and when it was over she clung to him tightly, not letting him withdraw.

‘Wonderful,’ she said. ‘That was really wonderful.’

‘For me, too,’ said Charlie.

‘I’d almost forgotten.’

‘So had I.’

‘Charlie.’

‘What?’

‘I want to tell you something. About my being in the class.’

She released him as she spoke, so that he was able to move beside her: he lay propped up on his arm, so that he could look down at her. ‘What about it?’

‘It wasn’t just to assess the others,’ she said. ‘I had to assess you, as well. Compare what happened against how you behaved during the debriefing.’

‘So you did know I would be there, that first day?’

She nodded. ‘It was done to off-balance you.’

And sodding well succeeded, thought Charlie. He said, ‘Why the hell let me into the place, if they don’t trust me?’

‘They trust you, as far as they’re able. They just wanted to be absolutely sure.’

‘Have you made the report?’

She nodded again, turning to look directly up at him. ‘I told them I didn’t consider there was any cause whatsoever to doubt you. That I thought you were fantastic. Which I do.’

That would turn out to be a damning opinion in a few months time, Charlie thought, in sudden realisation. He said, ‘Thanks.’

‘Are you angry? You’ve the right to be.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s just business.’

‘It’s not now though, is it?’

‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Not any longer.’

‘I’m glad it’s happened,’ said Natalia. ‘I was frightened of it happening but now it has I’m glad.’

‘So am I,’ said Charlie, sincerely. ‘Very glad.’

‘I won’t lie to you again, Charlie. I promise.’

Charlie swallowed, covering the awkwardness he felt by leaning forward to kiss her. Why the hell couldn’t it have been Natalia who wanted to cross to the West, he thought, bitterly. With no fresh interceptions, there was no alternative but to re-examine those that had already been made and try to discover an indicator that had been overlooked. Edwin Sampson was retained at Dzerzhinsky Square, in the office close to that of Berenkov, and went unsuccessfully through everything they had. There were empty, daily conferences with Berenkov and having gone through every message without discovering anything new Sampson said, ‘It’s hopeless: there’s nothing to indicate who it is. Just that it’s someone here, in this building.’

‘I suppose there’s some satisfaction to be gained from the fact that the transmissions have stopped,’ said Berenkov.

‘Perhaps whoever it is is frightened. Thinking we’re getting close.’

Berenkov snorted. ‘I wish that we were!’

‘It’ll happen,’ predicted Sampson. ‘So far he’s been lucky. But he’ll make a mistake. It’s inevitable that he’ll make a mistake.’

‘Maybe he’ll be clever enough not to,’ said Berenkov.

Life for Charlie became an existence in separate, settled compartments and the most settled of all developed with Natalia. He was allocated another apartment, smaller but better than the first, and nearer the centre of the city and they alternated between the two, sometimes at her place, sometimes his. At the weekends they stayed together all the time, sometimes going on river trips or journeys into the hills outside Moscow in her Lada car and sometimes not bothering to do anything at all, remaining in whichever apartment they had chosen, to read or listen to music, just enjoying each other. On a weekend when Eduard was released from school they went to the circus again – and slept apart, which seemed unnatural, so accustomed to each other had they become – and Charlie tried to make friends with the boy but Eduard remained distant and reserved, instinctively sensing competition for his mother’s affections.