Goodbye to an Old Friend Read Free Page A

left eye, something which only occurred in moments of crisis.
    For several moments after replacing the receiver, Binns did not speak.
    â€˜What is it?’ asked Adrian.
    â€˜There’s been another defection,’ said Binns, and so confused was he that he continued stuttering. ‘From the show … the Paris Air Show … a man surrendered himself to our embassy there and demanded asylum.’
    â€˜What nationality?’ asked Adrian and Binns stared at him, as if it were a stupid question.
    â€˜Why, Russian, of course.’ Then, realizing he alone had the details, he said, ‘I’m sorry. It’s so incredible … unbelievable almost …’
    â€˜But who is it?’ demanded Adrian, impatiently.
    â€˜Viktor Pavel,’ replied Binns, quietly.
    At the back of the Kremlin complex, away from Red Square and the onion domes of the tourist pictures, three men of an inner committee sat in a windowless room. It was starkly functional, just fifteen chairs for when the full committee sat, grouped around a rectangular table, without note pads. There was no secretary or minute clerk because every word was automatically recorded and transcribed within thirty minutes, for instant reference by the Praesidium or any security division.
    Because they were all aware of the recording devices the committee spoke in stilted, carefully considered sentences, with long pauses for mental examination of every phrase, like school children reciting the previous night’s homework, the conversation always in a monotone and devoid of any emotion.
    â€˜Pavel’s gone over,’ announced the chairman, Yevgeny Kaganov. The other two nodded, rehearsing their reaction.
    â€˜Are the French implicated?’ asked the deputy, Igor Minevsky.
    â€˜No,’ said Kaganov. ‘He went straight to the British embassy.’
    â€˜We’ll have to discipline security,’ said the third man, a Ukrainian named Josef Heirar. He smiled to himself, pleased with the safe response.
    â€˜Already done,’ said Kaganov, briskly. ‘Two men were flown home from Paris within two hours of the British leak.’
    â€˜Publicly?’ queried Heirar.
    â€˜Very,’ replied the chairman. ‘There was a struggle at Orly. One actually tried to escape, pleading for asylum as well. The French were within inches of intervening. The newspapers in the West are full of it.’
    Minevsky and Heirar nodded, in unison, as if sharing a secret agreement.
    â€˜What about protests?’ asked Minevsky.
    â€˜Already made,’ said the chairman. ‘In Paris and London. The British ambassador is being called to our Foreign Ministry, as well. We’re also summoning the American ambassador here, secretly, and asking for background pressure to be brought from Washington on the British.’
    â€˜It won’t do any good …’ began Heirar and then stopped, aware of the indiscretion.
    â€˜That’s not the point,’ snapped Kaganov, immediately. ‘And you know it. The Washington protest is important at this stage.’
    â€˜Of course,’ admitted Heirar, recovering. ‘I’d forgotten the point, momentarily.’
    It was a bad mistake and the other two stared at him, aware of how it would sound on the recording. Heirar knew, too, and began sweating.
    â€˜What now?’ asked Minevsky, after sufficient time had elapsed to embarrass the third man completely.
    â€˜We wait,’ said Kaganov. ‘We just sit and wait.’
    The three nodded, content, except for Heirar, with the recording.

Chapter Two
    â€˜I’m bored.’
    Adrian smiled at the immediate greeting from the plump, sparse-haired Russian who sat hunched in the armchair, his glasses reflecting the exhausted sun collapsing over the Sussex Downs.
    â€˜Good afternoon,’ he began, politely.
    â€˜I said I’m bored,’ repeated Bennovitch, petulantly. ‘Bored and lonely. How much longer