Face Me When You Walk Away

by Brian Freemantle

  ‘It is fortunate that Russia is free of such filth,’ said Semyonov, disappointed that Josef had not risen to the bait.

  He was very clumsy, thought Josef. He stared at the ambassador, refusing him any satisfaction.

  ‘I’m sorry if this reception isn’t up to the usual standard to which you’re accustomed,’ the man blundered on, determined to extract some reaction from Josef.

  ‘Do you enjoy America?’ threw back Josef, irritated.

  ‘No,’ said the ambassador, immediately. ‘I judge my presence here necessary.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like me to recommend a transfer?’ suggested Josef.

  Concern etched Semyonov’s face, then cleared into a sneer. ‘You?’ he queried, contemptuous of Josef’s influence.

  ‘I think it’s time you had a change, ambassador. Your conversation is most strange for an event such as this,’ said Josef, happy at planting the seed of uncertainty.

  The reception became oppressive. Nikolai realized that Semyonov and the other Russians were studying him, like a laboratory experiment, and became nervous, and Josef’s exasperation grew. He rejected the traditional invitation of a tour of the building, careless of offence, pleading that they had a plane to catch to Washington. Semyonov’s reports would be devastating, Josef realized, as he hurried from the building.

  Their luggage was already packed in the waiting limousines, so they drove straight to La Guardia, Nikolai and Endelman slumped in their seats, hostile to everyone. The photographer was making Nikolai suffer for his brief moment of independence, decided Josef.

  *

  ‘Jimmy and I will be able to meet, won’t we?’ asked Nikolai, urgently, as the Grumman Gulfstream taxied towards the Washington terminal.

  ‘Of course,’ assured Josef. Sex or drugs, he wondered.

  ‘I mean …’ stumbled the writer.

  ‘There won’t be any difficulty. I promise you,’ said the negotiator. Drugs, he decided. Nikolai would have no other interest now.

  The cars were drawn up with diplomatic dispensation on the apron. Blyne and Endelman went to the second car and Josef ushered Nikolai into the leading vehicle. Nikolai stopped as he was entering the car, so that Josef collided with him, pushing him forward. Vladimirov, grey-haired and thinner than Josef recalled, was in the far corner. The ambassador stared unsmiling across at the man he had last seen standing in a court dock in Moscow, alongside a weeping old man. He said nothing. At least, thought Josef, he wasn’t a hypocrite. On the jump-seat, but smiling a welcome, sat Illinivitch.

  ‘Hello Josef,’ said the deputy Minister, extending his hand. Josef made difficulty of entering the car to avoid taking it

  ‘You know our ambassador, of course,’ Illinivitch said, unperturbed by the rudeness.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Josef. ‘He has a reputation for court appearances.’

  Illinivitch’s smile faded at the antagonism.

  Nikolai retracted tortoise-like into his shell, muttering one-word responses to the greetings of the two men, burrowing into the corner of the car. Josef sat opposite Vladimirov and stared at him, pointedly. Illinivitch kept the courtesy lights on in the car, the windows of which were curtained. The vehicle pulled out of the airport and began moving towards the city.

  ‘We’ve a lot to talk about, Josef.’

  ‘A great deal,’ agreed the negotiator. ‘Has Moscow been getting my reports?’

  ‘We’ve been getting a great many reports,’ returned the deputy Minister, enjoying himself. He turned to the writer. ‘Quite an historic speech you made at the Nobel ceremony,’ he said.

  Nikolai did not reply. Josef had noticed that his briefcase supply of drugs was again diminishing and assumed Nikolai was the thief. He wondered if his current behaviour were the result of librium or methalaquone mixing with heroin. Endelman might have given him some amphetamine, he thought.

  ‘How was it received?’ asked Josef. He saw Illinivitch and the ambassador exchange looks at the writer’s attitude.

  ‘Liked by some. Not by others,’ fenced the tall Russian, glibly.

  ‘Not approved,’ predicted Josef.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ protested the deputy Minister.

  ‘There aren’t many occasions, Comrade Illinivitch, when you actually do give an opinion,’ accused Josef. Vladimirov was shifting uneasily at the brittleness of the conversation. Josef was glad to disconcert the man. He remembered his father, dazed and bewildered, looking around the court, seeking friends and finding none. How easy it would be now, to seize him by the throat, judged Josef. All he would have to do was stretch forward and then grab and squeeze. The ambassador shifted under Josef’s unblinking attention.

  Illinivitch laughed. ‘There’s great value in vagueness, Josef.’

  ‘Do you prefer vagueness, Comrade Vladimirov?’ demanded Josef, determined to create the maximum discomfort. ‘Or do you find it easy to be dogmatic and accurate in everything you say?’

  ‘The question is difficult to understand, Comrade Bultova,’ replied the ambassador, seeking help from Illinivitch.

  ‘The last time we encountered each other,’ jabbed Josef, viciously. ‘You found questions only too easy to follow.’

  The ambassador was spared by the arrival at 16th Street.

  ‘I would like to talk to you, tonight,’ announced Josef, looking straight at the deputy Minister.

  Illinivitch consulted his watch, which showed eleven forty-five.

  ‘It’s important,’ stressed Josef, delaying his exit from the stationary car.

  ‘Thirty minutes,’ agreed Illinivitch.

  Josef shepherded Nikolai into the embassy and took him immediately to his bedroom. The writer appeared whiter than usual, the negotiator thought, as he undressed. Nikolai had no embarrassment about nudity, decided Josef. He was remarkably small, like a young boy.

  ‘Want a sleeping pill?’

  The writer nodded.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I’ve made a mess of it, haven’t I?’ blurted Nikolai, suddenly.

  ‘No,’ contradicted Josef. ‘It only becomes a disaster when lots of people know. So far we’ve only harmed each other.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Josef,’ said Nikolai. ‘About … about everything. I’ve betrayed you in every way possible. But you stayed my friend. There can’t be any forgiveness for what I’ve done, but I’m truly sorry.’

  Did he mean it, wondered Josef. Or was this another performance? Genuine, determined the negotiator. Nikolai’s period of performances was over.

  ‘You’ll get something from Jimmy for me, won’t you?’ asked the writer.

  ‘Yes,’ undertook Josef.

  ‘I’m desperate, Josef.’

  ‘I know.’

  Illinivitch and Vladimirov were waiting in an upstairs study, but the deputy Minister turned to the ambassador as Josef entered.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said gently. ‘You would excuse us …’

  ‘This is my embassy …’ the ambassador began, but Illinivitch raised his hand, almost wearily. Illinivitch was practising sinister behaviour, thought Josef. He wasn’t very impressed. Devgeny was really much better.

  ‘Please,’ coaxed Illinivitch, his voice still very soft. ‘I’m sure you’ll understand.’

  Josef smiled as the man left the room, an exaggerated expression that Vladimirov saw.

  ‘I guessed you’d speak more freely without witnesses,’ said Illinivitch.

  Josef nodded. So, he thought, might Illinivitch.

  ‘Nikolai has become a drug addict. And he’s also a committed homosexual,’ proclaimed Josef, abruptly.

  ‘Really,’ said Illinivitch, smiling. So he already knew, decided Josef. The surveillance had been very good.

  ‘You knew that Endelman was a heroin addict when I telephoned from Stockholm, seeking Ministry approval, didn’t you?’ demanded Josef. ‘You knew from Semyonov and still approved his accompanying us, even though you guessed from Nikolai’s unstable behaviour in Moscow that there was a likelihood o
f his experimenting.’

  ‘That’s clever of you,’ praised Illinivitch.

  ‘Did you know?’ pressed Josef.

  ‘Of course. I knew he was a homosexual, too. But even I didn’t imagine he would seduce the man.’

  Illinivitch wouldn’t have cleared the permission to allow Endelman to accompany them on the trip, Josef decided. That meant that from Moscow’s point of view, the decision was Josef’s alone.

  ‘Why did you come to America?’ asked the negotiator. ‘It wasn’t necessary for the Presidential reception.’

  ‘The scandal I had created between the photographer and Balshev, to use against Devgeny, had been too well hidden,’ said Illinivitch, simply. ‘You were being far too successful in disguising what was going on. So I used the reception as an excuse to get here, to create a situation that you have been avoiding.’

  Josef ignored the last part of the sentence. ‘I have remained successful, haven’t I?’ he boasted.

  ‘New York was very close, wasn’t it?’ returned Illinivitch, swallowing the lure. He really was very stupid, thought Josef.

  ‘Semyonov has been very thorough,’ said the negotiator.

  ‘He’s a very able man,’ said Illinivitch. ‘Although we must be fair. In the beginning, Vladimirov helped with the investigation into Endelman. You’ve no idea how carefully we had the man investigated.’

  ‘Semyonov is a protégé of Devgeny’s,’ mused Josef. ‘How, I wonder, have you got his report of the drug party so quickly?’

  Illinivitch laughed at Josef’s suspicions. ‘Because he thinks I’m supporting Devgeny, not opposing him,’ explained the deputy Minister, convincingly.

  ‘You’ve done a great deal of planning,’ agreed Josef, returning to a familiar theme. ‘You must have powerful support in the Praesidium.’

  Illinivitch smiled again. ‘You’ll get the names when I get your unconditional support,’ he rejected. ‘Being the liaison man has enabled me to make many friends. So far you’ve shown no friendship, merely guarded interest.’

  The deputy Minister sat back, staring up at the ceiling, an artificial pose.

  ‘I can use that drug party,’ he said, after a long silence. He was like that Swedish count whose name he couldn’t remember, thought Josef, attempting something beyond his ability.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be embarrassing if there were newspaper leaks that Nikolai might have been a guest there?’ he asked, smiling. ‘Imagine that appearing in the Jack Anderson column on the very day of the Presidential reception. I wouldn’t be surprised if the President wouldn’t cancel the whole thing.’

  Josef looked at Illinivitch for several minutes. It was the moment of decision. He had to commit himself now, categorically. The risk, he thought, was appalling.

  ‘I will not sacrifice Nikolai,’ he announced. ‘Particularly to the detriment of my country, to settle an imagined score with anybody. If newspaper stories appear linking Nikolai with that party, I shall leave America immediately, fly back to Moscow before the Presidential reception and give to the Praesidium a full report of what you have been demanding that I should do throughout the tour.’

  For a moment, Illinivitch sat, completely still, robbed of any movement.

  ‘And whom do you imagine would believe you?’ he sneered, finally. ‘You’d need evidence to convince anyone. And at the moment, the only person who stands to be utterly disgraced on the evidence available is yourself. You don’t imagine Semyonov or Vladimirov would confirm what you say, do you?’

  He was right, thought Josef. Here at least the man had been clever. He wondered if Illinivitch were as frightened of an inquiry as he was.

  ‘You really are very immature,’ said Josef, sadly.

  Illinivitch glared, his face colouring.

  ‘Don’t you see how you’ve been outmanoeuvred?’ demanded Josef. ‘To be the danger that Devgeny suspects you of being, you would have to be in Moscow, where you can gain allies and alienate him away from his supporters. Here you’re just where he wants you, far away so he can whittle down whatever support you ever had. You’re dead, Illinivitch. You’ve been outwitted and you’ve lost. Utter one word of what happened in New York and I shall go back to Moscow and denounce you.’

  Illinivitch began to shake, but it was anger, not fear, Josef thought. He wasn’t prepared to call his bluff, Josef realized.

  ‘So we’ve both failed,’ conceded the deputy Minister, with difficulty. ‘But I remain on the Praesidium, which is something you have forgotten. I’ll make you a solemn promise, Bultova. If Devgeny fails to get you purged, and I don’t think he will after the disaster of this tour, then I’ll have you back inside a prison camp within a year.’

  Josef laughed, an uncaring sound, and for a moment thought the other man was going to hit him. His face suffused into a puce colour and his hands bellowed open and shut. If he hits me, thought Josef, it’ll hurt like hell and my eyes would probably water with the pain, which would be embarrassing, because Illinivitch would think I was crying. With great effort, the deputy Minister got himself under control.

  ‘You’ll regret this,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Josef.

  Later, as he undressed upstairs and took his customary sleeping pills, Josef found himself humming.

  *

  There seemed no need, so Pamela hadn’t bothered to wash. Her hair was matted and unkempt and she ran her hands through it, grimacing at the tangles, pulling faces at her own reflection in the dressing-table mirror. Nikolai’s eyes had been red-veined and rheumy, like hers were now, she remembered, that night they got drunk at the dacha. She shuddered. The recollection still embarrassed her. She looked for her glass and found it on the bedside table. Funny. She couldn’t remember putting it there. She stared at its emptiness, like someone gazing stupidly into an empty wallet after encountering a pick-pocket. The bottle was on the lower table. She’d have to do something about the mess, she thought, before Josef returned. He had that fetish about tidiness. She shrugged. But he wasn’t returning for several days yet. She wondered why he hadn’t telephoned in the last few days. She stood at the window, watching the barbushkas far below chip and hack at the snow. She hoped Josef would be home by Christmas. Perhaps they could go to church. She’d like that, she decided. Perhaps, if she made a promise which God knew she meant, He’d listen. She really would keep her promise.

  ‘Honestly,’ she said, aloud, in the empty, dirty apartment. She heard the delivery flap click and turned, staring at the box. From her mother, she predicted. So there was no hurry. Time for another drink. Like a child saving the best part of a birthday trifle until last, she waited fifteen minutes before seeing what had arrived. It wasn’t from her mother, she realized, recognizing the Moscow franking and the officialdom of the envelope. Careful not to spill her drink, she opened it. It was a short letter. It had been impossible, it said, to guarantee a re-entry visa if she chose to leave Russia. She squeezed her eyes shut, then re-focused, reading the letter again to ensure she hadn’t misunderstood. She dropped the rejection on the hall table and went back into the sitting-room, refilling her glass from the emptying bottle. She wondered why she didn’t feel any disappointment.

  20

  It would have been easy for Endelman to have given him sufficient heroin the previous night, Josef realized, as he drove to the Hay Adams. He had even suggested it on the aircraft coming to Washington, but the photographer had lied about having to make contact with a Washington supplier, waiting for Josef to begin an argument he would have to lose. Why was it necessary, wondered Josef, for everyone to see him run errands? He felt a coldness, but no anger. Endelman was lounging in his room overlooking the White House. He’d regained some of his former elegance, thought the Russian.

  ‘How very prompt,’ said Endelman. He was enjoying the role of bully, thought Josef.

  The Russian put his briefcase by the chair and sat down. ‘I’ve got to be,’ replied the negotiator. ‘Have you any idea the state Nikolai is in?’

&n
bsp; Endelman made a careless gesture. ‘He’ll be better an hour from now. You know, Josef, you really are like a clerk. My memory of you will be of a fat little man with a briefcase welded to his arm.’

  ‘And my recollection of you will be of a man who knowingly set out to destroy someone with more talent than you could imagine.’

  ‘Nikolai knew what was happening,’ rejected Endelman.

  ‘How many times did you meet Semyonov before you came to Stockholm?’ asked Josef, unexpectedly.

  Endelman shrugged. ‘Two or three times,’ he confirmed. ‘A letter came from some Ministry in Moscow after Blyne had requested permission for me to accompany you, suggesting I call upon the guy.’

  ‘Did he know you were a heroin addict?’

  Endelman laughed at him. ‘I don’t wear a lapel badge.’

  ‘But you don’t go to much trouble disguising it.’

  ‘Why should I?’ asked Endelman, aggressively. ‘I’m not particularly ashamed. Or of being a fag. I can afford both.’

  ‘So it wouldn’t have been difficult for anyone to find out?’

  Again Endelman laughed, mocking him. He was excited at the confrontation, Josef knew.

  ‘Not employing the methods that you’re used to, no,’ agreed the photographer. ‘Are you trying to frighten me that there’s a dossier on me in Moscow, for seducing their favourite author?’

  Josef smiled and Endelman looked surprised. The Russian stood up, holding out his hand. Endelman shook his head.

  ‘What’s the matter now?’ asked Josef.

  ‘So far,’ said the photographer, ‘the exchange between Nicky and me has been, shall we say, for love. But we both know there isn’t any love left.’

  ‘How much?’ asked Josef, simply.

  ‘It’s not easy any more,’ said Endelman, wanting to prolong the meeting. ‘It’s getting tighter on the Mexican border. So the stuff’s scarce. It’s inevitable that the price will go up.’