Looking back on it afterwards Sculby was never quite sure how it happened. He had gone to the outer office to say goodnight to Betty and watched while she bundled up the last batch of post. As he went back to his own room he heard the outer door close and the night-latch click. He sat down at his desk and was collating the sheets of an affidavit when he heard the voice.
‘Don’t move.’
Something in the tone compelled obedience. A sheet of paper slipped from Sculby’s fingers; he sat rigidly, his head still bent downwards to the desk.
‘Place both hands on top of your desk… that’s right.’
Sculby noticed that his hands were shaking and pressed them firmly down on to the leather, deliberately tensing all his muscles. He had been wondering for a long time how he would react when this moment came. Now, looking at his hands, he knew.
The Soviet officer did not wear a uniform and the flashing silver-white sword had been replaced by a small gun. The face, so long concealed, had dark circles round the eyes, sunken cheeks, tousled, unkempt hair and at least a day’s growth of stubble. Kyril’s eyes were hard and flat, two bright shiny buttons sewn into the dark circles. Sculby knew that Royston had told him only the truth: from now on he was fighting for his life. And he was terrified.
Kyril walked across to the window and drew the curtains. To Sculby it was as though his office halved in size. It become very claustrophobic, very hot. The slightest movement by the Russian seemed to come within inches of Sculby’s face.
‘I’ve put off visiting you for too long, Sculby. I should have realised a long time ago that you weren’t just a meddler.’
The clipped, too-perfect English sounded coldly in the solicitor’s ears. Something was at work deep inside Kyril, a hard core of fission which bordered always on the critical. Sculby made himself concentrate on the man’s face, keeping his eyes off the gun.
‘Last night a woman was killed. A woman who was important to me. Vera Bradfield.’
Seeing Sculby’s involuntary start, Kyril raised the gun.
‘You didn’t know?’
Sculby shook his head.
‘I wonder if that’s true. You visited her two days ago. You talked about Loshkevoi. I want to know why, Sculby. Who put you up to it? Who are you working for, MI6?’
There was silence. Kyril slowly shook his head.
‘Don’t make me work for it. I’d enjoy it too much.’
‘Yes, I work for MI6. Department P.4.’
Sculby’s voice seemed to come from a great distance, perhaps deadened by the thick layer of fur which coated the inside of his mouth.
‘What is P.4? Be specific.’
‘P stands for professional. Doctors, lawyers, accountants. People who learn secrets about other people’s lives. Their finances. Their habits. Their crucial needs.’
Kyril’s eyes widened and narrowed again. ‘That is clever,’ he said softly. ‘In Russia that would not work, but here, in England… yes, I think I see the value of that.’
His face hardened once more.
‘So you were told to find about Loshkevoi’s secrets… and Vera’s.’
‘Loshkevoi’s, yes. I visited Vera Bradfield only because he mentioned her name.’
‘Why should he do such a thing?’
‘I don’t know.’
Kyril strove to assimilate this latest piece of information. He did not doubt that Sculby was telling the truth: the lawyer was obviously scared out of his wits. But why should Loshkevoi ever know about Vera? Only Stanov understood her significance. Stanov!
‘Tell me his exact words.’
Sculby did his best to remember. Kyril ran a hand over his face. As it brushed his mouth he became aware that his breath smelled terrible.
‘Were you followed to the house?’
‘I have no idea.’
Kyril bared his teeth in a snarl and restlessly took a few steps towards Sculby, who stayed motionless. The Russian wants information, he told himself, keep hold of that. As long as he thinks you have that information, he will not kill you.
‘This P.4…’ There was a sneer in Kyril’s voice. ‘Why do you do it, eh? You English lawyers, with your “ethics” and your “etiquette”. You’re not an agent, you’re a solicitor. What have they promised you, eh? What do they pay you? Is it worth it?’
‘I do it…’
Somewhere inside Sculby a great, billowing cloud of hot air was beginning to expand, buoying him up, making him heady with excitement.
‘…I do it for love of the Motherland.’
As he said it the balloon inside him collapsed. The absurd phrase made him sound like a brightly coloured figure in the ‘Boys’ Own Paper’. But the effect on Kyril was remarkable.
He froze in the act of raising the gun in Sculby’s direction and his lips parted. After a second of stillness he rubbed his hand across his face, as if trying to remove some tight, invisible mask, then repeated the gesture once, twice. He was sweating.
‘You’re lying.’
‘I’m sorry?’
Sculby raised his eyebrows and subjected Kyril to a long, wooden stare.
‘You’re not a schpick. You’re too… too…’
Kyril did not finish the sentence. Sculby was breathing more easily now. The intricate, precarious balance between the two men had shifted marginally in his favour.
‘You can always check with Centre. Do you mind if I smoke?’
On the last word he slowly reached out for the box with his right hand. If Kyril noticed he gave no sign. Keeping his movements calm and smooth, Sculby lit a cigarette. The first gulp of smoke tasted bilious, and for a vile second he wanted to be sick, but the sensation passed.
‘Tell me what to do,’ said Sculby. Kyril’s eyes had never left his face, and behind them the lawyer read doubt. The odd sensation of buoyant floating was coming back, aided by the nicotine. The room no longer seemed so hot. Only the gun remained to convince Sculby that this was real, everything Royston predicted had come to pass, his life was no longer guaranteed. From trying to ignore the gun Sculby had now started to concentrate on it as a reminder that this was actually happening, he was no longer dreaming.
‘Do…? Oh yes, I’ll tell you what to do.’
Kyril’s voice had recaptured its former note of resolve. Now he spoke like a man who chooses his words with care.
‘You’re Loshkevoi’s solicitor. You can get me an hour alone with him in prison.’
Sculby bit his lower lip. The initiative had shifted back again.
‘Difficult. Loshkevoi’s being held in Wandsworth jail. Some months back MI5 took over a cell block and transformed it into a top-security isolation centre. Loshkevoi’s in there. I can’t get in without a special pass. Besides, I’m no longer acting for Loshkevoi. Anyway, why do you want this?’
Kyril looked up furiously. ‘Sculby, it would give me a good deal of pleasure to kill you, right now. You with your lawyer’s questions… Just listen. Listen and do as I say.’
Sculby’s fingers involuntarily pinched the cigarette, giving it an almost flat waist. Kyril’s head was sunk on to his chest; he seemed to be lost in thought. When he spoke again Sculby had to strain to catch the words.
‘Then you must get him out of prison, mustn’t you?’
Sculby opened his mouth to protest but Kyril forestalled him. ‘No, you can do it. Don’t underestimate yourself. Tell whoever it is you tell these things that this is my price. I propose… a deal. On your side, one hour alone with Loshkevoi. On mine… I will come over to the British. Not the Americans… keep them out of my life, you hear!’
During this speech Sculby had been thinking furiously. Make friends, that’s what Royston had said. Win his confidence. The prize is worth having: a defector from Moscow. But his use of the coded phrase had done little more than temporarily faze Kyril. What he needed was something concrete and constructive, something real.
‘There might be a way,’ he began, almost reluctantly, and Kyril’s lips creased in a humourless smile.
‘What?’
‘Loshkevoi was booked on false charges. Five wanted to search his garage while he was out of the way. They found arms, grenades, all kinds of things. They decided to let it run, and turned him loose…’
‘Like hell!’ Kyril was almost spitting with rage. ‘He’s in prison, you told me so yourself. When I asked at the garage earlier they told me he could be gone months.’
‘It was nothing to do with us. I had firm instructions to look after him and see he got off. He chose different, don’t ask me why.’
‘What do you mean, he chose different?’
‘He sacked me and pleaded guilty. Threw in some other stuff as well, just to make sure he went inside. I told you earlier, I’m not acting for Loshkevoi any more.’
‘You mean… he planned this?’
‘Yes. Or someone planned it for him.’
It was obvious to Sculby that for reasons he didn’t understand this last remark stopped Kyril in his tracks. Every muscle in the man’s restless body suddenly became still. During the long silence which followed Sculby stubbed out his cigarette and dusted the ash off his suit. Kyril did not object to this succession of unauthorised movements. ‘What are you telling me? You said you had an idea…’ Sculby took his first tentative step across the abyss, teetering gingerly on a thin, taut wire of improvisation.
‘It was going to be part of my job to go to him after a while and say, look, we have the goods on you. The arms, we know about them. Do you want to come clean or do you want to rot in jail for the rest of your life? That was the pitch. It was up to me to say when the time was ripe.’ Sculby waited until he was sure that Kyril was looking at him directly before he spoke again. ‘I think maybe the time just became ripe.’
There was a long silence, broken by Kyril sitting down in the nearest chair and saying, ‘Give me a cigarette’.
Sculby obliged, remembering to keep all his movements nice and slow. Kyril smoked half of the cigarette in total silence, continually running the fingers which held the stub across the line of his lips. Sometimes he looked at Sculby, as if trying to gauge his sincerity; mostly he stared at the floor.
‘But would your bosses buy that?’ he said at last. ‘After he sacked you…?’
‘They might. They don’t know how he sacked me, remember. Or what was said. Then I throw you into the scale. You and he together add up to something pretty big, I’d say. Especially if they think you’re connected in some way. They’re bound to be curious, and that’s all you’ll need to persuade them to give you an hour alone with Loshkevoi.’
This time the silence seemed to go on for ever. Sculby was uncomfortably aware of smoke-induced nausea, coupled with a burning desire to urinate. Something must snap soon. The initial floating feeling had worn off, to be replaced by a grey, dead weight around his heart and stomach.
‘All right.’
Kyril had finished the cigarette. He ground it into Sculby’s carpet and looked up with a smile.
‘This is one total agreement. SIS must assent to all or none, you understand?’
Sculby nodded.
‘One. Time alone with Loshkevoi. Two. Immunity for all crimes I may have committed against English laws, ever. Three. A new identity and maximum protection. Four, I’ll give everything I know except what would endanger agents working in the field at this moment.’ His lips curled. ‘That includes you, Sculby. You’re part of this agreement. And you come in on a side-deal, too. It goes like this. You fix up the main trade and get SIS to agree to it. I won’t betray you. And I won’t kill you. But Sculby…’
Again the curl of the lips.
‘…If you don’t succeed in persuading your bosses to make the main trade, P.4 is going to need another solicitor. I mean it.’
‘I know you do.’ The words were wrung out of Sculby against his will. He couldn’t help it. He knew that Kyril was sincere.
‘Now listen. They will ask you many questions, probing to see what is in this agreement for SIS. I understand that. Do you know anything about the art of defecting, Sculby? What you are, you sell. I am carrying with me the plan which the Chairman of the KGB calls “Sociable Plover”. It contains details of the KGB’s contacts with world terrorism. In the right hands it could blow the KGB apart for years to come. It is my passport… my deposit. It guarantees that I am who I say I am. Have you got that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Repeat it then.’
Sculby did as he was told. When he had finished the Russian grunted.
‘Tell them also that I will be on the main drive at Crowden at three o’clock in two days’ time.’
‘Crowden?’
‘Never mind. The people you report to will understand. They have used this place for similar meetings before and I know it. Tell them that.’
Kyril stood up and Sculby resisted the urge to cry out. The room had shrunk again. The intruder seemed to fill every available square inch, blocking off any chance there might be of escape.
‘I’ll contact you after noon tomorrow. Stay here, by the phone. I won’t have much time, so be quick. When I ring, say “Yes” or “No”, that’s all. This is strictly take-it-or-leave-it trade. You understand?’
Sculby nodded, and Kyril smiled. It did not extend to his eyes.
‘Get them to tell you what happened to Vera Bradfield, Sculby. Read the pathologist’s report. Then see what I did to the man who killed her. Stay still.’
As he moved round behind Sculby’s chair the lawyer involuntarily squirmed away, raising his arms to protect his head in a primeval, instinctive gesture of defence.
‘I’m not going to hurt you… not yet. But if you double-cross me… if you’re not a genuine sleeper…’
Sculby waited in vain for the rest of the sentence. He did not hear the street door open and close. When he finally looked round, unable any longer to bear the sinister silence which followed Kyril’s last words, he was alone.
Sculby held his hands to his eyes. He was shivering, his skin felt clammy. It was several minutes before the worst of the tension wore off. His vision was blurred: a curious medley of wheels and chains ground before his eyes until he shook his head roughly a couple of times and it cleared.
Kyril had come and gone unheard, unseen. That terrified Sculby. If the Russian called for him again there would be no warning, no chance of self-defence. Until this nightmare was over, Sculby would be alone. No matter where he was or what he was doing, irrespective of who was with him, he would be a target. An accessible target…
Running through his brain were the digits of a phone number. He had been warned never to use it except as a last resort, a matter of life and death.
‘P.4 is going to need a new solicitor…’
Sculby dialled. There was a long wait while the ‘hams’ at London Station tracked down their quarry. Then – ‘Royston,’ said Sculby. ‘I want to see you. Now.’