Goodbye to an Old Friend Page 8

  Immediately the attitude of the mercurial Russian changed. He struggled up from the deep couch, his face tight with anger.

  ‘Still you doubt me,’ he said. ‘Me, Alexandre Gregorovich Bennovitch, one of Russia’s leading space scientists. I have co-operated, I have told you all you wanted to know and you treat me like a child …’

  He stopped, searching for invective.

  ‘I go,’ he announced. ‘I will stay here no longer. America wants me, America can have me. I will go today, now.’

  ‘Alexandre,’ soothed Adrian. ‘Come back here and sit down.’

  ‘I will not. You are no longer my friend.’

  ‘Alexandre,’ repeated Adrian. ‘Come here. I have some astonishing news. News that you’ll find hard to believe. Come here.’

  Suspiciously, Bennovitch came back to the couch and wedged himself in a corner, determined to show his displeasure.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  Direct or indirect? Adrian juggled the two approaches, uncertain which to employ. What would Ebbetts do? An unnecessary doubt. The Prime Minister would have shown his legendary bluntness within seconds of entering the room. And caused Bennovitch God knows how much mental harm.

  Adrian started carefully. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘what is your greatest regret at leaving Russia?’

  Bennovitch remained suspicious. ‘You know. I’ve already told you.’

  ‘That it means you’ll never see Viktor again?’

  Bennovitch nodded.

  ‘Had it ever occurred to you that Viktor might think of defecting?’

  Adrian suddenly realized that he was conducting the interview in such a way as to support his own doubts. The Prime Minister would hear the tape and recognize it. He shrugged, mentally. So what?

  ‘Viktor, defect!’ said Bennovitch. ‘Never.’

  ‘Why are you so sure?’

  Bennovitch swept out his hand, as if the reasons were too many to list.

  ‘Why should he? He’s dedicated, for a start. I think he believes in the system. And he’d gain nothing. I was accorded great honour in my country, but nothing compared to Viktor. His own apartment, chauffeur car, dacha, whatever and whoever he wants in his department …’

  ‘But he’s lost something now that he can’t replace. You.’

  Bennovitch considered the remark, nodding. ‘That’s true. We were a team and now that team no longer exists.’

  Unexpectedly, Bennovitch disclosed a sudden modesty. ‘But Viktor is good by himself,’ he said. ‘What we were doing will be weakened by our being split, but Viktor is brilliant enough to compensate.’

  ‘But his work will suffer,’ pressed Adrian. ‘It could be that he could feel his work is all-important and worth sacrificing everything for.’

  ‘Ah, you don’t know Viktor,’ Bennovitch said. ‘He’s dedicated, I’ll agree. And I’ve never known a more painstaking man, not just with his work, but with everything. But there’s one more thing, more important to Viktor than the moon or Mars or space exploration.’

  ‘His family?’

  Bennovitch nodded. ‘I’ve never known anyone like Viktor,’ said the scientist. ‘In the evening, after work was finished, he’d go home and I’d drop by for supper sometimes. There he would be, listening to young Valentina play or perhaps there would be a record on. And by his side would be my sister. And do you know what they’d be doing?’

  Adrian shook his head.

  ‘Holding hands, like young lovers. They have a special expression for each other. She calls him her best friend: he says she’s his dear friend and they say the thing they have between them is deeper than any love and I believe it …’

  He stopped, scrubbing his hand across his eyes, and then went on, ‘He can hardly bear to be away from her. Even when she’s cooking, he moons around the kitchen, not wanting to be in another room, just watching. A little before I went to Helsinki, when I had made up my mind to defect, I visited the flat. I was actually thinking of telling Viktor, but I decided against it. He was crying and I asked him what was the matter. He smiled and said, “I’m crying in gratitude because I can’t believe anyone can be as lucky as I am.” And then he said, “Nothing can shatter this happiness.” ’

  Adrian found his concentration slipping. When had he and Anita ever sat alone at home, hand in hand, thinking how lucky they were? When had Anita ever called him a dear friend? When had she uttered anything but abuse, for that matter? ‘For Christ’s sake, Adrian, why are you such a bloody fool? For Christ’s sake, Adrian, why don’t you stick up for yourself … for Christ’s sake, Adrian, don’t you know people think I’m stupid for marrying you in the first place … for Christ’s sake … for Christ’s sake … for Christ’s sake …’

  He came back to the interview with difficulty.

  ‘It isn’t often there is love like that,’ agreed Adrian.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Bennovitch. ‘And Viktor’s no fool, believe me. He knows what happens to defectors’ families. Leaving them would be like being a judge, sentencing them to jail. Viktor would never do that.’

  ‘Alexandra,’ began Adrian and the Russian looked at him, accepting from the tone of his voice that the Englishman was about to say something important.

  ‘… A little over a week ago, Viktor Pavel slipped away from the Russian delegation at the Paris Air Show and applied for political asylum at our embassy there. He was flown to this country four days ago. I have had a series of interviews with him, which is why our meetings have been interrupted. He has repeated to me his desire to leave Russia and has made an official application to be given asylum in this country.’

  Adrian had spoken in a flat monotone, like a public announcement.

  Bennovitch looked at him, his pudgy face creased with frowns, shaking his head like a boxer trying to clear his brain after a flurry of punches. Twice he opened his mouth to speak and twice closed it again, unable to translate his thoughts into words.

  ‘No … it’s not … I can’t believe it … you’re lying, trying to trick me. Why are you saying this? I’ve helped you all I can. Why are you saying this to me?’

  ‘Alexandre, I’m not lying. And I’m not trying to trick you either. Viktor says he had been thinking for some time of defecting … that he even considered telling you but he was not sure of your attitude. He says he was being crushed by the regime and needed room to continue his work in freedom.’

  Still Bennovitch shook his head, disbelievingly. ‘No. It’s not like that … it’s not true …’

  ‘He’s being kept in a country house like this, about twenty miles away …’

  ‘Then let me see him. Let me meet him, right away. Then I’ll believe you. But not until I see him, face to face. Until then, I know you’re lying to me.’

  ‘Alexandre, believe me, I’m not. I’ll arrange a meeting for you, tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow? I’ll see him tomorrow?’

  ‘On my honour.‘

  The Russian’s attitude wavered.

  ‘Oh my God,’ he said. ‘Poor Valentina … poor Georgi …’

  The security men guarding Pavel had grown so concerned that they had telephoned London and spoken with Sir Jocelyn. London had got Adrian before he left Bennovitch, and when he arrived at Pulborough, he was given a full briefing. He supposed that Binns would have already told the Premier and that he would be blamed for what had happened. It ceased to matter.

  Despite the warning, Adrian was still shocked when he went into the spacious room, overlooking the clipped, tiered lawns, in which the Russian was hunched, as if he were in pain.

  Pavel half turned, saw it was Adrian and then looked away again, disinterestedly. His eyes were sore from crying and there were still traces of tears on his face, so white it appeared almost artificially made up.

  Although there had been assurances from the security men of room and body searches, Adrian’s first thought was that Pavel had taken poison. It had happened once before and security had been as insistent then. The inquiry had shown they
’d missed the hollowed-out cross the defector had worn around his neck, a thing they should have checked within the first hour.

  ‘Viktor …?’

  The Russian ignored him, staring out into the garden.

  ‘Viktor … what’s wrong?’

  Adrian moved nearer, going around in front of the other man. He had both hands in front of him and at first Adrian thought he was holding his stomach and that his fear of poison was correct, but then he saw Pavel was clutching the photograph wallet against him, as if he were afraid someone was going to snatch it away.

  ‘Viktor … tell me. What is it?’

  The Russian looked up at him, distress leaking from him. Adrian saw his nose was running and realized he wasn’t going to do anything about it. The Englishman felt slightly disgusted.

  ‘Are you ill …? Do you want a doctor?’

  Pavel shook his head.

  ‘I didn’t sleep,’ he said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I forgot. I’m watched pretty well.’

  Adrian said nothing.

  ‘All I could think about was them …’ He gestured towards the pictures in his lap. ‘Do you realize what I’ve done to them, to my children and my wife?’

  Seats had been installed in the bay window of the room: Pavel sat at one end and Adrian sat at the other, studying the man, dismissing his fear of poison.

  The breakdown of a man known to adore his wife and family, judged Adrian. A man facing complete realization of the terror he’d left behind. Sincere? Or phoney?

  ‘Do you know what I’ve done?’ repeated Pavel, a man whose mind is blocked by one thought and cannot progress beyond it. ‘Do you know they could actually be put to death?’

  Adrian nodded, slowly.

  ‘But you knew that, Viktor,’ he said, pointedly. There was no reaction at the use of the Christian name. ‘You must have considered that. It must have been one of the first things that occurred to you.’

  Pavel made an uncertain movement.

  ‘Of course I thought about it,’ he said. ‘But I thought … Oh, I don’t know what I thought …’

  ‘Really?’ queried Adrian. ‘That’s not like you, Viktor. You’re not the sort of man who shuffles a problem aside and hopes some solution will appear, out of the sky.’

  The conversation was being recorded, of course. And it would show him to be pressuring a man on the point of collapse. But what if he collapsed? Would anyone sympathize about that?

  Pavel began crying, quite quietly, just sitting there with tears making tiny rivers down his face. He looked at Adrian, pleadingly.

  Adrian felt embarrassed. And guilty. Bullying did not fit him as easily as it did Ebbetts.

  ‘Don’t you know what it’s like to love someone?’ asked Pavel. The sobs edged into his voice.

  Yes, thought Adrian. Yes, I know what it’s like. And I cried, he remembered.

  ‘But why did you defect, Viktor?’

  ‘I told you I’d thought about it for some time,’ said Pavel. ‘I didn’t think I’d really get the exit dossier for Paris. Even when it was granted, I pushed the idea to the back of my mind. It was only in the last day or two that I thought, well, it’s now or never. Even in Paris, I was undecided. I thought of Valentina … of Georgi. And the girl. And then I convinced myself that my reputation would still protect them.’

  He looked at Adrian, finally moving his hand across his face. Adrian was glad his nose was clean.

  ‘I was God in Russia,’ he said. ‘Whatever I said was accepted. I was never questioned or opposed. I thought of what had happened to some of our writers, like Yevtushenko and Solzhenitsyn. They’ve gone against the regime and stayed in the country and because of the fear of world reaction nothing much has happened to them. I knew my defection would cause a tremendous uproar, especially so close after Alexandre’s. I figured that once here, I could give press conferences, make demands and put the spotlight on Moscow, so that no harm would come to my family. I thought that there would be so much publicity about me that the Russians wouldn’t be able to make any move against them, put them on trial even. I even day-dreamed that perhaps I’d be able to insist that they come and join me.’

  Adrian frowned at the naivety. Perhaps a spoiled man who had had every wish granted for nearly twenty years might think like that, he conceded. Suddenly a flicker of doubt vibrated in his stomach and Adrian realized he could be wrong and that Pavel’s defection could be genuine.

  ‘Press conferences could still be arranged,’ said Adrian. ‘Not yet, but they could be set up.’

  Pavel snorted a laugh, dismissing the statement.

  ‘Let’s be serious, shall we?’ he said. ‘Remember how we began our meetings? In complete honesty. I’ve had nearly eight days to review what I’ve done. I’m a traitor now, one of the worst there’s ever been. They’ll do anything, anything to get me. It’s insane for me to compare what I’ve done with what the writers did. And insane, too, to think I can bring any influence against the Soviet Union. Now now. Not any longer. Publicity won’t help now. It’ll cause more harm, in fact.’

  He paused, picking at the photograph. ‘They never give up, you know,’ he said, quietly. ‘They consider abandoning the Soviet Union one of the most serious crimes a Russian can commit. There’s actually provision in our criminal statute to try a person who applies for an exit visa to leave permanently.’

  Adrian thought of the pressures brought against the Jewish community in Russia in 1970. ‘I know,’ he said.

  ‘They’ll keep on. They’ll harm me however they can and they know that the most damaging way would be to hurt my family. They know how much that would hurt me. But even that won’t be enough. They’ll keep on, for me. Even if it takes years.’

  ‘He’ll only go out for exercise at night’ – Sir Jocelyn’s words that morning echoed in Adrian’s mind. And the doubt about his impressions registered again.

  ‘I was wrong,’ said Pavel. ‘I’ve lived in cotton wool for too long. All right, I consider what I do. “The original methodical man” my students used to call me. But I got conceited. I thought that I could do anything and not be questioned …’

  He began to cry again. ‘What am I going to do?’ he sobbed. ‘Oh God, what am I going to do?’

  For the first time since they had met, three days before, Adrian felt pity for the man.

  ‘I’ve condemned them to death,’ said Pavel. He stared up at Adrian, who saw his nose was running again. ‘To death, do you hear me? They’re going to die because of me.’

  It sounded convincing. Weighed against his conviction that Pavel would not have left his family behind, Adrian admitted to himself that the man’s account of why he had crossed to the West sounded genuine. So he was wrong.

  ‘Viktor,’ he said. ‘Your embassy have applied for permission to see you.’

  Pavel jerked up, away from the photographs he had been studying again, alarm on his face.

  ‘What is it?’ he began, talking quickly. ‘What’s happened to them? Are they on trial already?’

  ‘Wait,’ said Adrian, holding 6ut his hand to stop the runaway fears. ‘It’s routine in cases of defection. Your people always make a formal application to be allowed to interview their nationals.’

  ‘Why?’ Pavel was still suspicious.

  ‘To try and persuade them to go back, of course.’

  Pavel sat very quietly for several moments. ‘But you’ll stop me, of course,’ he said.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Adrian, quickly. ‘If we objected, then we wouldn’t have told you of the request, would we?’

  Pavel nodded, accepting the honesty.

  ‘Whether or not you see them is entirely for you to decide. If you agree to the meeting, then we’ll assist you. It will be in London, at our Foreign Office, and we’ll put people with you, if you want us to, so that you’ll not be alone during the meeting.’

  ‘Did they ask to see Alexandre?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what happened?’

/>   ‘He refused to meet them.’

  Pavel smiled, wanly. ‘Poor Alexandre. He always was nervous. Not like his sister …’

  His voice broke at the reminiscence.

  ‘Will they threaten me?’ he asked, suddenly.

  ‘Probably,’ said Adrian, honestly.

  ‘Will they tell me what’s happened to Valentina and the children?’

  Adrian shrugged. ‘I can’t answer that, can I?’

  ‘No, of course not. I’m sorry.’

  Pavel lapsed into silence and Adrian looked beyond him, over the lawns which descended in steps to the river which formed a barrier at the back of the house. With fishing rights at about £150 a rod, the Home Office were losing a fortune closing off this much ground, he thought.

  Pavel was sitting with his head drooping forward on his chest, breathing deeply. So quiet was he that at one stage Adrian suspected he had fallen asleep through the exhaustion of staying awake the previous night and he actually bent forward, until he could see that Pavel’s eyes were open. He was staring, almost unblinkingly, at the pictures. It was nearly thirty minutes before Pavel spoke and when he snapped up, suddenly, there was just a trace of the command which had been so evident at their earlier meetings.

  ‘I want to see them,’ he announced.

  Expecting the decision, Adrian nodded.

  ‘How soon could it be arranged?’ asked the Russian.

  ‘Tomorrow morning,’ replied Adrian. ‘We’d thought that some time tomorrow you could meet Alexandre, too.’

  Pavel smiled, suddenly, at the invitation.

  ‘Alexandre,’ he said. ‘Yes, that would be good.’

  The smile disappeared. ‘But I want to see the embassy people before tomorrow morning.’

  ‘But that’s not possible,’ protested Adrian.

  ‘Why not?’ queried Pavel, looking at his watch. ‘It’s only two-thirty. What’s wrong with this evening? Are their dinners more important than me, Viktor Pavel?’

  The recovery improves by the minute, thought Adrian. He said, ‘That’s not it. You’ve got to be taken to London …’

  ‘If it only took an hour by helicopter from Brussels to England, it can’t take longer to get to London by the same transport, unless we’re in the far reaches of Scotland and I know we’re not.’