Face Me When You Walk Away

by Brian Freemantle

  Because he had known Josef for so long and was aware of the standards to which he aspired, only Devgeny, who sat smiling, smugly, might have been aware that Josef’s edited account of his meeting with Count von Sydon was below his usual standard. They would have debated his recorded reports from Stockholm, so tonight’s meeting was largely unnecessary, suspected Josef, staged for Devgeny’s satisfaction.

  ‘You didn’t get a positive assurance?’ demanded Devgeny. His confidence was making him careless.

  ‘You knew that would be impossible before I went,’ rejected Josef.

  ‘But you made it quite clear how anxious we were for the nomination?’

  Careless again.

  ‘That was the point of the visit,’ reminded Josef, sarcastically.

  ‘We seem to be repeating ourselves,’ came in Illinivitch.

  Josef looked at him, surprised. It was unlike Illinivitch to criticize the way Devgeny was conducting a meeting, he thought. He could hardly ever recall Illinivitch speaking.

  The Minister frowned, with matching astonishment.

  ‘I’m sorry if we’re boring you, Comrade Illinivitch,’ said Devgeny, heavily.

  ‘We’re busy men, Comrade Devgeny,’ replied the deputy. These meetings might proceed more quickly if there were less personal animosity.’

  It was an amazing challenge to make in open committee, decided Josef, bewildered. An uncertain silence settled in the room. Devgeny broke it, as he had to.

  ‘Animosity?’ he queried, the feigned surprise too obvious. He turned to Josef. ‘Are you aware of any feeling?’

  Josef’s thoughts were way ahead, assessing what was happening. Incomprehensibly, Illinivitch was announcing public opposition to the Minister, which was very stupid or, depending on the support he had from other members of the Ministry and the larger Central Committee, very clever. At last, thought Josef, Illinivitch was declaring himself. He found the timing odd. But it could be to his advantage, he realized. If Devgeny were deposed, the constant threat would disappear. And Pamela would be safe. Obviously, reasoned the negotiator, Illinivitch would not have made his challenge without the expectation of success and the man was now inviting Josef to join him. A power struggle, with all its blood letting, appeared underway. With Josef in the middle.

  ‘The Minister asked you a question, Comrade Bultova,’ prompted Illinivitch.

  Both men stared at him, waiting. It was too soon, decided Josef. By failing him now, Josef could alienate Illinivitch and make an enemy in the future. But Illinivitch might lose. And if Devgeny successfully resisted the challenge, then those who supported the deputy Minister would disappear with him. The risk, to himself and to Pamela, was too great.

  ‘No,’ responded Josef, at last. ‘I have not been aware of any animosity.’

  Devgeny smiled, like a man whose pet dog had just performed a trick. His teeth were disgusting, thought Josef. Illinivitch stayed completely expressionless.

  ‘So,’ said Devgeny, both hair-matted hands palm down on the table. ‘Some of us have been imagining things.’

  Was the relief too obvious in his voice? Josef couldn’t be sure.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Illinivitch, ‘some of us have not been imagining enough.’

  The statement was made directly to Josef. He had been warned, Josef decided.

  ‘Has anyone else any views?’ demanded Devgeny. He was moving quickly to thwart the challenge, thought the negotiator. Battle-lines were being formed.

  ‘What? What?’ bumbled Ballenin. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve lost the thread of the conversation.’

  ‘Has there been any animosity between members of this Ministry since Nikolai Balshev’s possible Nobel prize nomination?’ urged Devgeny, formally, staring at the white-haired man.

  Still Ballenin frowned, unsure. ‘Don’t think so,’ he said, genuinely trying to contribute. ‘Seems pretty straightforward to me.’

  He doesn’t understand, thought Josef, sadly.

  ‘Comrade Korshunov?’ continued Devgeny, contemptuously discarding Ballenin.

  Throughout all the exchanges, Korshunov had sat quite still, only his eyes shifting to follow the conversation. He was as unsure as Josef which way to go.

  ‘As the chairman has just reminded us,’ said Korshunov, ‘we are preparing for one of Russia’s leading writers to be awarded the Nobel prize for literature.’

  He nodded towards Josef. ‘So far, it appears we could be moving towards such a nomination. No body of men, charged with something as important as this, can fail at times to become over-extended and behave in a manner that appears acrimonious. I don’t think we should lose sight of the responsibility with which we have been entrusted or become over-sensitive to an occasionally frayed temper.’

  Magnificent, analysed Josef, the cautious reaction of a man waiting to see which way the struggle would swing before committing himself. It meant that Illinivitch had spoken without Korshunov’s support. Did that mean his strength came from the Praesidium?

  ‘Points well made,’ said Devgeny. The Minister made much of looking at his watch. Then, to Josef, he said, ‘Is there anything else you had to tell us?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Josef quickly. ‘We haven’t discussed the film approaches and they will bring in more foreign exchange than any of the contracts so far agreed.’

  ‘Always a man with close regard to money, aren’t you, Comrade Bultova?’ sneered Devgeny.

  ‘A fact for which I have been praised on many occasions by the Praesidium and other Ministries for whom I have worked,’ retorted Josef. He waited, but the Minister abandoned the argument.

  ‘What is our feeling about the book being filmed by a Western company?’ he asked.

  ‘What’s wrong with it being made by our State-controlled industry?’ demanded Devgeny.

  ‘Nothing,’ agreed Josef, quickly, ‘but if we allowed an American company to make it on location here, we would gain an enormous propaganda bonus.’

  ‘An expert on the Western mind,’ said Devgeny … still mocking. He kept snatching looks at the deputy Minister, who appeared intent on papers he had taken from his briefcase.

  ‘What do you think, Comrade Illinivitch?’

  ‘I would prefer it made by Russia,’ replied the man.

  The answer created a dilemma for Devgeny. Either way he was committed to supporting an opponent.

  ‘I think Comrade Bultova has a good point,’ said the Minister, reluctantly opting for a known enemy against an unexpected challenger. ‘Anyone feel differently?’

  Ballenin and Korshunov shook their heads.

  ‘Nothing will be done without approval, of course,’ undertook Josef.

  Illinivitch was the first to leave the room. Quickly Korshunov and then Josef followed, each ensuring their departure was separate from anyone else. This was not a time to be seen in close contact with anyone.

  *

  The development pleased Josef. Certainly, he would be caught up in any struggle for power, but it meant that the immediate pressure would be off him. Now Devgeny’s overriding concern would be to protect himself against any intrigue and his determination to destroy Josef would hopefully be relegated in importance, to be achieved later.

  For the second time that day, Pamela was surprised when Josef entered the apartment. His mood had completely altered. He was gay, apologizing without offering an explanation for his curtness earlier and lavish with his praise of her meal, which was overcooked and uninteresting. With the memory of the previous night still painful, he was careful with the wine and limited his celebration to a single brandy.

  ‘What’s made you so happy?’ asked Pamela, as they sat after the meal, rotating brandy balloons in their hands.

  ‘I’m not sure I know myself,’ said Josef, unhelpfully. ‘It might not even be a reason for happiness.’

  Pamela was staring at him, bewildered, when the doorbell sounded. A flicker of uncertainty settled in Josef’s stomach. Illinivitch laughed at the look on Josef’s face when the negotiator opened
the door.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, immediately divining Josef’s thoughts. ‘No one saw me arrive.’

  Josef stood aside for the man to enter, the danger to Pamela rising in his mind. He ushered Illinivitch into the study. No later investigation should ever be allowed to establish the slightest connection between her and the man. Illinivitch stared contemptuously around the study.

  ‘I’d heard stories of how you lived, but I thought they were exaggerated,’ said the deputy Minister. He spoke in fluent French.

  Josef sat behind the desk, staring at him. Why was it necessary for the deputy Minister to show off another language? Illinivitch fingered one of the two Xerox machines, unsure of its use, then studied the large tape recorder.

  ‘Is it really necessary?’ he asked. This time, the language was English.

  ‘All the equipment is functional,’ replied Josef. ‘Why all the languages?’

  Illinivitch shook his head in disappointment at the study and came to a chair bordering the desk.

  ‘I get such little opportunity to use them with anyone else,’ said Illinivitch, incongruously. Flatly, still in English, he said, ‘Devgeny hates you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He thinks the time you spent in Potma affected your mind.’

  Seeing the surprise on Josef’s face, Illinivitch hurried on, ‘Oh, he doesn’t say you’re insane. He means all this …’ Illinivitch swept his hand out to embrace the apartment. ‘… and that ridiculous dacha you maintain in the country.’

  Josef sat, waiting.

  ‘It’s a sign of manic depression,’ diagnosed Illinivitch. This need to remind people that you were wronged. And of the concessions the country now has to make to compensate you, because your function is unique …’ he paused, smiling. ‘… Quite a few people have a command of more than one language. And thousands of people suffered, Josef, not just you.’

  ‘If I wanted an historical discussion or psychoanalysis, I could obtain it elsewhere,’ sneered Josef.

  ‘I think you should,’ retorted Illinivitch, sincerely. ‘If you’re not careful, it’s going to become a problem for you.’

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Josef, rudely.

  Illinivitch smiled. ‘You see,’ he said, triumphantly, ‘you’re a negotiator, the man this country sends throughout the world on its behalf. There should be no better debater than you. Yet I criticize your attitude and immediately you relapse into rudeness, the reaction of an amateur. I said it was going to become a problem for you.’

  Through his anger, Josef accepted the point. He smiled, consciously controlling himself.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I apologize.’

  Illinivitch shrugged, dismissing the regret. The deputy Minister was tall, maybe six-foot-five, guessed Josef, and thin, so that his clothes never appeared to fit. They looked as though they had been handed down by an older, smaller brother. He was sure of himself, thought Josef, watching the man sit relaxed in the chair opposite. He’d always regarded Illinivitch during their rare, earlier meetings as the sort of man who saw safety in being the deputy, never the man in complete control who could be blamed for mistakes. The sudden change of character intrigued him.

  ‘You were frightened to support me this evening,’ accused Illinivitch, directly.

  ‘Support you?’ sidestepped Josef, cautiously.

  ‘Come,’ encouraged Illinivitch. ‘No one’s listening. You don’t have to consider every word.’

  ‘What have I to gain becoming embroiled in a struggle between you and Devgeny?’

  ‘There’s always got to be some personal gain, hasn’t there Josef?’ said Illinivitch, still contemptuous.

  ‘Well?’ prompted Josef.

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘You’re either a fool, or very sure of yourself. Which is it?’

  ‘It isn’t likely I’m going to disclose everything to someone who wouldn’t support me,’ rebuked the deputy Minister.

  ‘My support is obviously vital,’ pointed out Josef.

  Illinivitch nodded. ‘Devgeny is finished. He’s out of favour with the Praesidium, but he’s too stupid to see it. His determination to get you back into a labour camp is as stupid as yours to humiliate him. He’s got nothing else on his mind and he’s making too many mistakes in other things. His drinking is becoming excessive, too.’

  ‘So it’s been decided to replace him with you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Illinivitch.

  ‘Who are the others with you?’ demanded Josef.

  The deputy Minister laughed. ‘You don’t expect names, not at this stage.’

  ‘If he has to be purged, then the decision has been taken,’ pursued Josef. ‘Why try to involve me?’

  ‘There has to be some major disaster for which he can be held responsible,’ said Illinivitch, urgently.

  Josef felt the return of the uncertainty he had experienced when the door-bell had sounded. It had started like that, so innocently, all those years ago.

  ‘What sort of disaster?’ probed Josef, cautiously.

  Illinivitch smiled, confidently. ‘It would be a great shame if anything went wrong with this Balshev affair,’ he generalized. ‘You’re so engrossed in what might happen to you if problems arise that you’ve overlooked a major point.’

  ‘What’s that?’ coaxed Josef.

  ‘Who is the person who argued before the Praesidium to allow Balshev to accept the award? And who is the person who originated the idea of letting him travel to the West? Devgeny is seen by everyone in the Ministry and in the Praesidium as the man responsible.’

  Josef felt relief flood through him. Suddenly something which had seemed so difficult became so easy.

  ‘What could go wrong with Balshev’s tour?’ he asked.

  Illinivitch adopted a look of innocence.

  ‘We’re only talking hypothetically,’ he said.

  ‘No we’re not,’ corrected Josef, definitely. ‘We are talking specifically about manoeuvring a completely unworldly man who stands a more than reasonable chance of being awarded the greatest literary recognition into a position where he and Russia will be disgraced. And through that disgrace, Devgeny can be toppled.’

  ‘You’ve set it out in great detail,’ complained Illinivitch.

  ‘Have I misunderstood you?’

  ‘That’s more or less it,’ conceded the deputy Minister.

  ‘Balshev and Russia have to be embarrassed, just to remove Devgeny?’ reiterated Josef.

  Illinivitch stared at him, curiously. ‘I’ve said “yes”,’ he replied.

  ‘And you have the complete backing of the entire Praesidium to embark upon this course?’

  ‘Those that matter.’

  Josef looked sceptical.

  ‘There’s no risk,’ insisted Illinivitch, encouragingly.

  ‘Many times in the past,’ said Josef, speaking carefully, ‘I have sacrificed people, to achieve an aim I judged worthwhile. But the people were always expendable. In my opinion, Nikolai Balshev is not. We have tried to exert pressure to ensure his final nomination, but I don’t think that was necessary. Certainly his work was not chosen initially because of pressure. It was selected because it was outstanding. If he wins, he will win because he is a remarkable writer. I think it is wrong to consider abandoning him, just so that another man can be removed from a position he can no longer satisfactorily fill. I know there always has to be a justification for these purges. It would be wrong to manipulate Balshev in this way. I think it is an even greater wrong to consider it, knowing the embarrassment it will cause Russia.’

  Illinivitch laughed at him, unconvinced. ‘After what Russia did to you?’

  ‘It was you who reminded me earlier that others suffered as much as I have done,’ said the negotiator.

  ‘But you still suffered,’ maintained the deputy Minister.

  ‘Yes,’ said Josef, keeping his careful delivery, anxious the other man should completely absorb what he was saying. ‘But I’m still a good Russia
n. I returned to Moscow when I was twenty-one, having lived all my adult life in embassies throughout the world with my father, who was probably one of the greatest ambassadors this country ever had. And we were arrested. We had spent years in the West … in London … Washington … Paris. And so we were suspect in the climate that existed in this country at that time. We were tried. The charges were ridiculous, blatantly false. It didn’t matter. We were convicted. I spent my twenty-fifth birthday burying my father at Potma. The guards thought it was funny. They stood around, laughing, while I had to scratch with my bare hands into ground solidly frozen and bury without a coffin a man who had never, for a moment, lost his love of his country. Or even considered the behaviour for which he was imprisoned. I was another three years in that camp before the need was realized for common sense in dealing with the rest of the world. I spend five months of the year outside the Soviet Union. I have large sums of money on deposit in Switzerland, in New York and London. I could have defected a hundred … no, a thousand times, to a life of luxury that would make even these surroundings seem spartan. There have been approaches even … hints of how easy it would be for me, should I want another life. I have a great deal to offer any one of a number of countries …’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ broke in Illinivitch. ‘I know your history.’

  ‘I’m telling you to make one point indelibly clear. Despite what has happened, I remain a good Russian. I won’t do anything to damage my country.’

  ‘You’re a fool,’ said Illinivitch, without rancour. ‘And you haven’t really any choice. Devgeny is determined that this operation will end with you and your wife back in a labour camp. You buried your father in one. Do you want to bury your wife there, too?’