Yes. Im Head of Station for GRU at the London Embassy.
Thats good. Ill like that. I had an old comrade in Chechnya who transferred to the GRU when I was coming to the end of my army time. Yuri Bounine. Could you find him and bring him in on this?
Im sure that will be possible.
Excellent. So if youre available, lets get out of here and go and get something to eat.
An excellent idea. Luzhkov led the way and said to the lieutenant, The limousine is waiting, I presume? Well go back to my hotel.
Of course, Colonel.
They followed him along the interminable corridors.
They seem to go on forever, Luzhkov observed. A fascinating place, the Kremlin.
A rabbit warren, Kurbsky said. A man could lose himself here. A smiler with a knife could do well here. He turned as they reached the door. Perhaps the Prime Minister should consider that.
He followed the lieutenant down the steps to the limousine, and Luzhkov, troubled, went after them.
OVER THE THREE weeks that followed, things flowed with surprising ease. They moved into a GRU safe house outside Moscow with training facilities. On the firing range, Kurbsky proved his skill and proficiency with every kind of weapon the sergeant major in charge could throw at him. Kurbsky had forgotten nothing of his old skills.
Yuri Bounine, by now a GRU captain, was plucked from the monotony of posing as a commercial attaché at the Russian Embassy in Dublin, where he was promoted to major and assigned to London, delighted to be reunited with his old friend.
Kurbsky embraced him warmly when he arrived. Youve put on weight, you bastard. He turned to Luzhkov. Look at him. Gold spectacles, always smiling, the look of an aging cherub. Yet we survived Afghanistan and Chechnya together. Hes got medals.
Again he hugged Bounine, who said, And you got famous. I read On the Death of Men five times and tried to work out who was me.
In a way, they all were, Yuri.
Bounine flushed, suddenly awkward. So whats going on?
Thats for Colonel Luzhkov to tell you.
Which Luzhkov did in a private interview. Later that day, Bounine found Kurbsky in a corner booth in the officers bar and joined him. A bottle of vodka was on the table and several glasses in crushed ice. He helped himself.
Luzhkov has filled me in.
So what do you think? Kurbsky asked.
Who am I to argue with the Prime Minister of the Russian Federation?
You know everything? About my sister?
Bounine nodded. May I say one thing on Putins behalf? He wasnt responsible for what happened to your sister. It was before his time. He sees an advantage in it, thats all.
A point of view. And Vronsky?
A pig. Id cut his throat myself if I had the chance.
And you look like such a kind man.
I am a kind man.
So tell me, Yuri, hows your wife?
Ah. Bounine hesitated. She died, Alex. Leukemia.
Im so sorry to hear that. She was a good woman.
Yes, she was. But its been a while now, Alex, and my sister has produced two lovely girls-so Im an uncle!
Excellent. Lets drink to them. And to New York. They clinked glasses. And to the Black Tigers, may they rest in peace, Kurbsky said. Were probably the only two left.
NEW YORK CAME and New York went. The death of Igor Vronsky received prominent notice in The New York Times and other papers, but in spite of his books and his vigorous anti-Kremlin stance, there was no suspicion that this was a dissidents death. It seemed the normal kind of mugging, a knife to the chest, the body stripped of everything worth having.
On the day following his death, Monica Starling and George Dunkley flew back to Heathrow, where Dunkley had a limousine waiting to take them back to Cambridge. She hadnt breathed a word about what had happened between her and Kurbsky, but Dunkley hadnt stopped talking about him during the flight. It had obviously affected him deeply. She kissed him on the cheek.
Off you go, George. Try and make it for High Table. Theyll all be full of envy when they hear of your exploits.
There was no sign of her brothers official limousine from the Cabinet Office or of Dillon. She wasnt pleased, and then Billy Salters scarlet Alfa Romeo swerved to the curb and he slid from behind the wheel, and Dillon got out of the passenger seat.
He came around and embraced her, kissing her lightly on the mouth. My goodness, girl, theres a sparkle to you. Youve obviously had a good time.
Billy was putting her bags in the trunk. A hell of a time, from what I heard.
You know? she said to Dillon. About my conversation with Kurbsky?
What Roper knows, we all end up knowing. He ushered her into the backseat of the Alfa and followed her. Dover Street, Billy.
It was the family house in Mayfair where her brother lived. Is Harry okay? she asked as they drove away.
Nothing to worry about, but hes been overdoing it, so the doctor has given him his marching orders. Hes gone down to the country to Stokely Hall to stay with Aunt Mary for a while. Anyway, this Kurbsky business has got Ferguson all fired up. Hed like to hear it all from your own fair lips, so were going to take you home, wait for you to freshen up, then join Ferguson for dinner at the Reform Club. Seven-thirty, but if were late, were late.
So go on, tell us all about it, Billy said over his shoulder.
Alexander Kurbsky was one of the most fascinating men Ive ever met, she said. End of story. Youll have to wait.
Get out of it. Youre just trying to make Dillon jealous.
Just carry on, driver, and watch the road. She pulled Dillons right arm around her and eased into him, smiling.
IT WAS A quiet evening at the Reform Club, the restaurant only half full. Ferguson had secured a corner table next to a window, with no one close, which gave them privacy. Ferguson wore the usual Guards tie and pin-striped suit, his age still a closely kept secret, his hair white, face still handsome.
The surprise was Roper in his wheelchair, wearing a black velvet jacket and a white shirt with a knotted paisley scarf at the neck.
Well, this is nice, I must say. She kissed Roper on the forehead and rumpled his tousled hair. Are you well?
All the better for seeing you.
She wore the Valentino suit from New York, and Ferguson obviously approved. My word, you must have gone down well at the Pierre. He kissed her extravagantly on both cheeks.
Youre a charmer, Charles. A trifle glib on occasion, but I like it.
And youll like the champagne. Its Dom Pérignon-Dillon can argue about his Krug another time.
The wine waiter poured, remembering from previous experiences to supply Billy with ginger ale laced with lime. Ferguson raised his glass and toasted her. To you, my dear, and to what seems to have been a job well done. He emptied his glass and motioned the wine waiter to refill it. Now, for Gods sake, tell us what happened.
WHEN MONICA WAS finished, there were a few moments of silence and it was Billy who spoke first. Whats he want, and I mean really want? This guys got everything, Id have thought. Fame, money, genuine respect.
But is that enough? Dillon said. From what Monica says, hes lacking genuine freedom. So the systems different from the Cold War days, but is it really? I liked his description of himself to you, Monica, about being like a bear on a chain. In Russia hes trapped by his fame, by who he is. In the cage, if you like. The Ministry of Arts controls his every move because they themselves are controlled right up to the top. From a political point of view, hes a national symbol.
Ferguson said, Obviously, Ive read his work and Im familiar with his exploits. It all adds up to a human being who hasnt the slightest interest in being a symbol to anyone.
He just wants to be free, Monica agreed. At present, every move he makes is dictated by others. Hes flown privately when visiting abroad, hes carefully watched by GRU minders, his every move is monitored.
So let him claim asylum here, Billy said. Would he be denied?
Of course not, Ferguson said. But hes got to get here first. This Paris affair, the Legion of Honor presentation, presents an interesting possibility.
Theyd be watching him like a hawk, Dillon said. And theres another problem. You know what the French are like. Very fussy about foreigners causing a problem on their patch, and that applies big-time to Brit intelligence.
Still, it looks to me like a straightforward kidnap job with a willing victim, Billy said. Its once hes here that hed need looking after. Theyd do something even if they couldnt get him back. How many Russian dissidents have come to a bad end in London? Litvinenko poisoned and two cases of guys falling from the terraces of apartment blocks, and that was in the same year.
Roper beckoned the wine waiter. A very large single-malt. I leave the choice to your own good judgment. He smiled at the others. Sorry, but the joys of champagne soon pall for me.
Feel free, Major, Ferguson said. I notice that you havent made a contribution in this matter.
Concerning Kurbsky? Roper held out his hand and accepted the waiters gift of the single-malt. He savored it for a moment, then swallowed it down. Excellent. Ill have another.
Dont you have any comment? Monica asked.
Oh, I do. Id like to meet his aunt, this Svetlana Kelly. Yes, thats what Id like to do. Chamber Court, a late-Victorian house on Belsize Park. I looked it up.
Any particular reason? Ferguson said.
To find out what hes like.
Dont you mean was like? Monica asked. As I understand it, she last saw him in 1989. When you think of what hes gone through since then, Id suppose him to be completely different.
On the contrary. Ive always been of the opinion that people dont really change, not in any fundamental way. Anyway, Ill go to see her tomorrow, if you approve, General?
Whatever you say.
Monica jumped in. Would it be all right if I came with you? I dont need to be back in Cambridge till Friday.
No, thats fine. I dont think we should overwhelm her.
Dillon said, Old Victorian houses arent particularly wheelchair friendly.
Ill phone in advance. If theres a problem, perhaps we can meet somewhere else.
Fine. Ill leave it in your hands, Ferguson said. Now, I dont know about you lot, but Im starving, so lets get down to the eating part of the business.
LATER, THEY WENT their separate ways. Sergeant Doyle had waited for Roper in the van that held the rear lift for the wheelchair. Ferguson had his driver, and Billy gave Dillon and Monica a lift to Dover Street in the Alfa.