by Adam Hall
He wasn't there.
The ball of ice freezing my hand, the scene shifting again as I got to my knees and then to my feet. He wasn't there, that was all right, I could go now and try to get someone to look at my — watch what you're doing and think for God's sake think because he's -
Towering over me, stark against the street lamps with his feet on the step of the cab and the gun coming into the aim a short range, snowball, all the strength I had left and it flew upwards against the flash and struck his face but I was spinning round and going down again hitting the snow and bouncing with the pain bursting in the shoulder and the truck's angular shape rocking against the sky and the blood coming into my head again and bringing consciousness back, scaring me because there were sudden intervals of amnesia and I couldn't remember if that was the seventh or the eighth shot, but he didn't fire again and I managed to grab his foot as he dropped from the metal step and tried to start running. He came down full length and I put him out with a neck strike that would leave him alive because all I had to do was to stop him going to the nearest telephone before I could get clear.
The keys of the Syrena took a long time to find in the snow, two or three blackouts, the shoulder burning alive, but found them, the keys, all right.
I called the Embassy from the underground garage and got Bracken direct at Ext. 7. Speech code for Schrenk, Apt. 15 Pavilion, Baumanskaja, told him they'd have to be quick. And pick me up.
Then I walked through the concrete columns and up the ramp and found the Pobeda where I'd left it, got in and sat waiting, might hit something if I drove any more. I hoped they wouldn't be long, blood on the phone down there, whole trail of it, someone might notice. Dizzy and getting thirsty, singing in the ears, dark coming and going. Hurry.
17: MIDNIGHT
'For God's sake leave me alone,' I told them.
'He's all right,' a voice said.
'Who is?' I hit out and felt an arm and heard something crash on to the floor.
'Steady,' someone said. It sounded like Bracken.
'Open your eyes.' This was in Russian, a woman's voice. I'd heard it before somewhere.
'Eyes?'
Then I saw her, swaying from side to side, leaning over me, melting into some kind of shadow and taking shape again. I remembered her now.
'Can't you keep still?' I asked her.
She laughed, deep in her throat.
Raging thirst.
'Can he sit up?' I saw Bracken now.
Place stank of chemicals.
They helped me, but only on one side. The other side was peculiarly numb. 'Am I in bed, for God's sake?'
'Take it easy,' Bracken said.
I let them pull me upright and when they weren't ready for it I swung my legs over and stood up and they caught me as the wall swung round and hit me full in the face.
'When was that?' I asked them.
'An hour ago.' Bracken was trying to sound cheerful. He was sitting hunched on a brown-painted crate below the window, his big blunt face lit by the street lamps outside and the glow of the stove. The woman was leaning against the wall watching me with her arms folded, black sweater and slacks, raven black hair, eyes like slow coals, Zoya, you are for safe keeping, a lot of it was coming back.
'I've got a thirst like a wooden god.'
She laughed and swung a jug over a glass. The room looked like a hospital ward, bowls and towels and instruments all round the bed, a sickly stink in the air. I drank three glasses of tepid water.and lay back again and then the whole thing hit me.
'Bracken. Did you find him?'
He shook his head slowly. 'No. But then we didn't expect to:
I shut my eyes and something inside my head kept saying all that for nothing, all that for nothing.
'Why not?' I asked him.
'You phoned at 8.42. I got three men there by 8.57. He'd had fifteen minutes to get out, quite long enough.'
'Shit:
'You did your best.'
My eyes came open. 'Time for epitaphs, is it?' There were half a dozen pillows and a couple of them rolled on to the floor but I kept moving and got my legs over the edge of the bed. She came at me fast but I said, 'Leave me alone for Christ's sake, I'm all right now.' My left arm was in a sling and I couldn't feel anything on that side. It didn't interest me; all I could think about was that bastard Schrenk. I'd nailed him at his base and now we were about as close to him as we'd been when I'd first got into Moscow.
Why had I let him reach that gun?
Because I hadn't wanted to kill him. I'd been holding off, taking things right to the brink, chancing my own life and trying to save his. Sometimes you learn the hard way.
'Take it easy,' Bracken said, and got off the crate to hold me up.
'Time is it now?' I asked him, and wobbled about, leaning on him when I had to.
'Nearly twelve.'
'Twelve what? Oh. Night.'
'He must rest,' Zoya said angrily. I suppose she was waiting for me to fall over, going to be right out of luck. Two lumps of metal lying on a bloodied swab in one of the basins, I said: 'What are those?'
'They both went into the same shoulder,' Bracken said. The woman began clearing the stuff away, obviously not prepared to speak to us any more.
'Did you find Ignatov?'
'No.'
'What about the girl?'
'What girl?'
'There was a girl there. Misha.'
'The apartment was empty when our people got there.' He steadied me as I moved my feet. Weak as chewed string, bloody infuriating.
Someone was outside the door and we all froze by habit and Zoya opened it, standing close in the gap. A man spoke in Russian and she nodded and went out, shutting the door.
'Croder's on his way here,' Bracken said and I jerked my head to look at him.
'Croder?'
'Things have been moving. Look, why don't you sit down for a bit?'
'How did he get into Moscow?'
Patiently he said: 'You mean Croder?'
I let him lower me on to the crate and I put my head back against the wall and waited until the throbbing eased off. It was the first time I'd ever heard of a control coming right into the target area from London and now it had to be Croder and he was going to find his executive in the field looking just about as useful as something the cat had coughed up and there was nothing I could do about it.
'What's he doing in Moscow?' I asked Bracken.
'Going to help us out. Want another drink?'
'You don't need any help, for God's sake.' He'd pulled me off the street and got me into the safe-house at a minute's notice, even Ferris couldn't have done any better. 'Fill me in, will you?'
'I've been in signals with London for the past twelve hours. They — '
'Did you know Croder was coming out here?'
'Yes.'
'Uninformation, Jesus, I — '
'His orders. They blew Gorsky, by the way.' He didn't want to talk about Croder.
'Gorsky?' The man at the first safe-house, a good man, reliable. 'Did Schrenk think I was there?'
'Presumably. The KGB raided the place an hour ago.'
Schrenk wasn't going to leave me alone. That was all right. The next time I'd follow instructions. All we want is his silence.
Do it for Gorsky.
'Mind getting me some water?'
'Coming up.'
I was drinking it when the door opened and Croder came in, a thin scarecrow in the heavy military coat, his skull's head catching in the light from the corridor and then darkening in shadow as he moved farther into the room, picking his way through the cluttered furniture as if through a minefield, halting in front of me at last and staring down with his black hooded eyes.
'What happened?'
'Schrenk tried to kill him,' Bracken said.
'Where is Schrenk?'
'We lost him again.'
The skin drew taut across the pale pointed face and the hooded eyes blinked once. It was like watching a lizard,
but I felt a strange sensation of comfort: with someone like this here, cold-blooded and totally dedicated, we wouldn't make any more mistakes.
He heard the door click shut and turned with a quick swing of his shoulders; it was Zoya coming back. He looked at Bracken again. 'How many do we have left in the cell?'
'It's still intact. Six of them.'
'How are they deployed?'
'Two are watching Schrenk's last known base and two are watching an apartment block where Schrenk's lieutenant lives with his family. Pyotr Ignatov. One mobile liaison, one signals.'
Croder swung back to look down at me. 'I assume you're not operational.'
I was so annoyed that I got on to my feet before Bracken could try to help me. This time it didn't feel too bad. 'I'm short on protein, that's all. There wasn't time to eat.'
'He lost blood,' Zoya said in thick accents. 'I could not make any transfusion here, of course. He is weak.'
Croder looked at her. 'Are you a doctor?'
'Yes. There are two bullets, and a third wound. He needs to rest. He came out of a general anaesthesia an hour ago.'
'Can he handle protein yet?'
'Perhaps, in liquid form. But you are taking risks. He has lost blood, quite a lot, and so he is weak. The conditions were sterile but I cannot guarantee there will be no infection.'
'Have you any liquid protein?' Croder was into fast fluent Russian.
'I have chicken broth, yes.'
'Give him some, if you will.'
I sat down on the crate again, sliding my back against the wall and feeling the left shoulder gradually coming to life. The room span slowly for a while and then Croder came back into focus, perched on the end of the bed. Zoya went out and he asked Bracken: 'What's security like in this place?'
'As good as you'll get,' he said, 'in Moscow. She even keeps weapons here.'
'We don't want those.' Croder looked back at me. 'I don't wish to press you, but I'd like your report on Schrenk. Just give me the salient points if you feel up to it.'
There was still some fog in my head but I thought I could work out a summary. I took a minute and then said: 'He's gone half out of his mind. They roughed him up too much in Lubyanka. And he's Jewish. He's made some friends among the dissidents. He's out for revenge and he's rationalizing it, thinks he's crusading for the cause. Just my impressions.'
I had to wait for a bit because I was out of breath. Croder watched me, still as a reptile, his black eyes brooding.
'Don't hurry,' he said.
'He blew me off the street. He said he had to get me out of his way, didn't want anyone to know where he was, wants to be left alone.' I tried to remember what else Schrenk had said, with the cigarette smoke curling past his narrowed bloodshot eyes and his body twisted to face me. 'He said there's only one thing the bastards will listen to, by which he meant it was no good just protesting against oppression. I'd say there's something he wants to do, and very badly. I'd say he's become a dangerous fanatic.' I stopped again to get my breath. 'Something else. He said "Moscow needs me." I was trying to talk him into pulling out with us, and that was his answer. Degree of megalomania, I suppose.'
'Do you think so?' asked Croder.
I thought about it. 'It's hard to say. I mean he's still a very capable operator. He could do a lot of damage if he wanted to.'
'Quite so.'
Then the door opened and we all looked round. It was Zoya.
'Bracken,' I said. 'Does Schrenk know this address?'
'No. Don't worry.'
All very well. Schrenk had just blown Gorsky's safe-house and if he knew about this one he'd send in the KGB and there'd be nothing we could do: they'd get the London director, the director in the field and the executive all in one bag. It didn't bear thinking about.
Zoya had brough me a can of self-heating soup, US Army issue, God knew where she'd got it from. She poured it into a thick white cup and gave it to me.
'Would you say,' Croder asked in his cold thin tones, 'that Schrenk has got a cell together?'
'Possibly. There's this man Ignatov, and he mentioned two other people, Boris and Dmitriy. It's either a cell or some kind of wildcat group of revolutionary dissidents.'
Croder said nothing for a moment, then began speaking in formal Russian to Zoya. 'You did a splendid job with this man's injuries — I should have mentioned it before. I'm most indebted to you, Doctor.'
'It was good to work again.'
He gave a slight bow. 'Now if you'll excuse us, we have to debrief him.'
'I understand.' She looked at me critically as she turned to leave. 'Take care of him, please. He is still weak.'
She took away the self-heating can and quietly closed the door. Croder sat with his head half-turned, listening to her footsteps growing fainter along the passage. Then he swung round to look at me. 'I want to get a picture of Schrenk in my mind, as clearly as you can give it. Would you say he's totally unbalanced by his experiences in Lubyanka? Do you feel his imagination has run wild and that he sees himself as the shining liberator of oppressed Russian Jewry, that sort of thing? Or would you on the other hand say that he's still in full possession of his professional expertise and capable of mounting a sensitive operation with the help of an organized cell? Please consider carefully, because this is important.'
They were both watching me in the silence, and I leaned my head back against the wall and shut my eyes, remembering all I could of Schrenk: the ravaged face and the crippled body with its rage contained like a furnace, that strange laughter that had led to those fits of coughing when the force of his hate had threatened to choke him, the chilling diatribe about Detsky Mir and its mechanical toys. When I felt ready I opened my eyes and said:
'I don't think he's unbalanced, in the normal sense. I think he's been given a direction. I've never seen such hate in a man, and he's turned it into a driving force — which is typical of him. I'd certainly say he's in full possession of his talents and could get a cell together. I don't believe he sees himself as a shining liberator, but I'm pretty sure he's capable of liberating Borodinski, for instance, by leading an armed raid on the courthouse and getting him out.' I left it at that.
Croder wrinkled his thin brows. 'Did he mention doing such a thing?'
'No. It was just an example.'
'I see.' He studied his skeletonic hands. 'I don't think he's interested in Borodinski, but the rest of the picture you've given me ties in with the information we've received — that he means to assassinate the Chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet, Leonid Brezhnev.'
I got off the crate and on to my feet. Bracken came to help me but I said, 'No, I'm all right.' I took a few steps, keeping close to the wall, and began feeling stronger. The thing was, I couldn't just go on sitting there. Not now. I went on shuffling between the furniture, making quite a lot of progress, and when I turned round I saw that Croder was standing up now, watching me. He said thinly
'You think he can do it. Don't you?'
'Yes.'
'You didn't hesitate.'
'No.'
Croder looked at Bracken. 'What do you think?'
'I think this is all we needed.'
Croder said to me: 'I should explain that we've had various information coming in, some of it to Bracken, some of it by signal to London. That's why I decided to fly out.' He was standing perfectly still, I noticed, like a perched bird of prey; he didn't need to pace up and down or light a cigarette to transfer his tension: he could handle it internally. 'The information we had was from fairly reliable sources but the informants weren't close to Schrenk, as you have been. Frankly I was hoping you'd tell me that he was half out of his mind and a broken reed. Since your considered opinion is quite otherwise, then we shall have to take action.' He looked at me very directly, as he'd looked at me in the airport in Berlin. 'You say you tried to talk Schrenk into pulling out of Moscow and that he refused. Is that correct?'
'More or less.'
'Is it correct, or isn't it?' Stand
ing perfectly still, his shoulders hunched in his oversize military coat, his black eyes fixed on me.
'Yes.' And I waited for it.
'Then why didn't you follow my instructions?'
Bracken looked away.
I couldn't tell him the truth: that I'd been going to do it.
Three paces and a sword-hand to the larynx, a matter of four seconds. I couldn't tell him that because it'd sound like a lie.
'I still thought I could talk him into pulling out.'
'Did you indeed? And what happened?'
'He got to a gun.'
'You let him do that?'
The room had begun swinging slightly and I found my right hand on the back of a padded chair. Croder stood facing me with that eerie stillness of his, and I wanted to go and smash his face in.
'You weren't there,' I said to him, 'were you?'
'It makes no difference, surely.'
'Oh yes it does. If you want to know what the executives are up against why don't you come out and do their bloody job for them? You'd learn a lot.'
The echoes seemed to go on for a long time. In the silence I heard Bracken clearing his throat, but he didn't speak.
'The fault,' Croder said icily, 'is partly mine. I know your reputation. You're ready enough to do dangerous things, even foolhardy things; but you're not ready to do unpleasant things. When will you learn that in our trade a conscience is a luxury?'
I held on hard to the back of the chair, thinking out what I'd say, that Schrenk wasn't expendable, that in the army he would have got the VC for holding out as he had in Lubyanka, that killing in cold blood is not the same as killing in a rage. Other things crossed my mind, but in the end I said nothing, because I knew Croder was right in principle and was now proved right in fact: we hadn't got a crippled lunatic on our hands, we'd got a man perfectly capable of assassinating the head of the Russian state.