Alexander McCall Smith - The Dog Who Came In From The Cold

On his arrival in Podgornin’s flat, Freddie had been led into a sitting room. There was a woman there, and two other men, and they were engaged in some sort of meeting. When Podgornin entered with Freddie, one of the men gave a sarcastic cheer. “Country gentleman, now, Anatoly Michailovich?” he called out mockingly. “Going shooting? Off to the dacha?”

Podgornin cleared his throat. “My house,” he said. “If I want a dog, it’s up to me. And it’s just for a week. I’m looking after him for that charming young lady on the other side of the landing.”

“Fraternising with the locals?” asked the other man. “Or only with the female locals?”

Podgornin watched as Freddie went to lie down on a rug. “He’s settling in. And as for this business about fraternising, how are we to make the necessary contacts unless we get out and meet people? Moscow made it clear: integrate, get on the inside track. You know that as well as I do.”

The woman was clearly irritated by this conversation and began to show her impatience. “That’s enough about dogs,” she said. “Pointless creatures. I suggest we get back to the topic in hand, which is, if I may remind you, the issue of access to further information about energy acquisition strategy. I would like to know where you are with that young man in their liaison office. Coming along nicely?”

“Very,” said Podgornin. “He is that very useful character – the incorrigible gambler. At the moment he has very little debt – he’s been lucky – but I’m assured by our friend in the casino that it won’t be long before we shall have him right where we want him. We shall very generously offer to pay his debts once they’re large enough—”

“And pressing enough,” interjected the woman.

Podgornin laughed. “Exactly. And then he’s ours.” He hesitated. “Although frankly I don’t see what they’ll get from him.”

The woman looked at him scornfully. “You don’t get it, do you? If we know the real position of our rivals in energy negotiations – how much they can really afford to pay, which officials they’re bribing and so on – then we can … we can adjust our own offers … and inducements accordingly.”

“Oh, I know all that,” snapped Podgornin. “What I was wondering was whether that particular man will have the information in his possession. I suspect we might be overestimating his importance in the office. The monkey doesn’t always know what tune the organ grinder’s going to play. That’s all.”

“I shall be the judge of that,” said the woman coldly. “And my sources tell me that he has access to the lot. Complete.”

Podgornin shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Freddie watched them from the rug. He did not like any of them, but he was developing a particular dislike for the woman. There was something about her that made the hairs on his back stand on end, and indeed that was now happening, giving him a slightly strange appearance, as if he had teased out his coat with hair gel.

The woman was looking at him intently. “There’s something odd about that dog,” she said. “Look at him. He’s ill at ease.”

“It’s a new place,” said Podgornin. “Dogs take a bit of time to get used to new surroundings. He’ll settle.”

“I had a dog once who looked a bit like this one,” said one of the other men. “Went mad. The police came in and shot him.”

“Did you need those rabies injections?” asked his colleague.

“Yes, but then they did the tests and they discovered that it wasn’t rabies. He had just cracked. Stress, I suppose.”

“Oh.”

The woman was still staring at Freddie de la Hay, who returned her gaze cautiously, trying not to blink and thereby attract unwelcome attention. He felt distinctly uncomfortable now, and wondered how long his ordeal would last. Why was William letting this happen to him? Where was he? What had he done to bring this about this rejection, this abandonment?

“Look at him,” said the woman. “There’s definitely something odd going on. Do you know this young woman who owns him, Anatoly?”

Pordgornin lit another cigarette. “She lives next door. I already told you.”

“That means nothing,” said the woman. “You can live next door to people for years and know nothing about them. What do you know about her? What does she do?”

Podgornin looked sulky. “I don’t know,” he spat out. “In London you don’t go round asking people what they do.”

The woman now began to move very slowly towards Freddie de la Hay. She was staring at his collar. He eyed her watchfully, his nose twitching very slightly, his whiskers erect and receptive.

She was now standing directly above Freddie, who whimpered, almost inaudibly. “Nice dog,” she said, reaching down to stroke him. He tensed, but allowed her to try to smooth down the hair on his back. He could not see her hand; he just felt her touch. Now the hand moved forward and was about his neck. She was fumbling with something.

The woman gave a cry, and Freddie felt his collar being stripped roughly from his neck. “What have we here?” she said triumphantly. And then turning to Podgornin, she waved the bulky collar in his direction, as if confronting a malefactor with the evidence.

She put a finger to her lips and mouthed the word “silence”.

Podgornin looked flushed and confused. Freddie lay where he was. Nobody moved.

Nor spoke. Lying motionless on the rug, Freddie de la Hay noticed that all human eyes in the room were fixed on him – the worst of all possible situations for a dog. Embarrassed by this attention, he closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them again, the unwelcome human interest would have passed. But it did not, and was still there when he opened them again.

At first, Podgornin said nothing as the woman flourished Freddie’s collar at him. But then he raised a hand to quieten her and observed laconically that all dogs have collars – perhaps she did not know that.

“Yes, all dogs have collars,” she whispered. “But do all dogs have collars as heavy as this one?”

He did not have time to answer the question before she reached for a letter opener on the table and started to unpick the stitching in the leather of the collar. Within a very short time, the first of the wires started to be exposed. This was the signal for the other two men to turn and stare accusingly at Podgornin. For his part, he stubbed out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray and tried to snatch the collar from the woman. She resisted.

“It’s probably just one of those behavioural devices,” he said, ignoring her gestures to silence him. “They put them in collars so that the dogs can be given an electric shock if they bark too much. Surely you’ve heard of those things.”

She was still busy exposing the inner part of the collar. She found a battery, which she detached and waved in Podgornin’s face, and then the transmitter itself, a small bundle of electronics that slipped out of its container and into the palm of her hand. Having detached the battery, she felt free to speak at normal volume.

“So, Anatoly, here is your behavioural device. Ha! And let’s take a look at what this says.” She peered at an inscription on the casing of the transmitter. Property of MI6 .

“MI6!” she exclaimed. “What do you say to that, Anatoly? Our old friends – right here in the flat, courtesy of you. Well done!”

“Show it to me,” he said. “You can’t be sure …”

She passed the transmitter to him. “See? There it is – clear as daylight.”

Podgornin examined the transmitter, and then looked reproachfully at Freddie de la Hay. “MI6? Why would they put their name on it? No organisation would be so stupid as to do that. This is a joke, something from one of those novelty stores.”