Legacy (21 page)

‘Given that you want to be put alongside him later,’ Sue continued, ‘we want to keep you out of sight, so we’re hanging right back. If we go near him you’ll have to
get down on the floor – there’s a blanket on the seat – but ideally you won’t set eyes on him until you want to get out and be seen. We certainly don’t want him to
spot us.’

Jim drove swiftly, making it look easy. Red Four Three and Four reported that Foxtrot Alpha was alternately speeding and slowing. This made him a difficult quarry, Sue explained, because anyone
wanting to keep him in sight had to do the same, which made them stand out. It was a standard anti-surveillance trick, the sort of thing you did to check whether they were on you when you
didn’t mind them realising that’s what you were up to. If you were trying to look innocent, of course, you couldn’t draw attention to yourself in that way. But it was also the
sort of thing people did if they were trying to arrive somewhere at a precise time, or if they weren’t sure of their route.

As he left London Viktor did not take the first section of the new M40 but turned off, keeping to the old A40.

‘What’s the next place?’ asked Jim.

‘Beaconsfield,’ said Charles, before Sue could consult her map. ‘I was there recently on an exercise like this.’

‘Perhaps you can guess what he’s up to, then, because it doesn’t make sense, what he’s doing so far.’

‘He doesn’t often drive out of London,’ said Sue. ‘He may not be confident on motorways. Anyway, he can’t go much beyond Beaconsfield or he’ll be over the
limit.’

The limit was the thirty-five-mile radius from London beyond which Soviet officials could not travel without permission, imposed in response to a similar restriction on British diplomats in
Moscow.

‘He might just get as far as my home, my mother’s house,’ said Charles. ‘Perhaps he’s going to call on me.’ Or perhaps he, or someone else, used to meet my
father in Beaconsfield, he thought.

Foxtrot Alpha headed straight into Old Beaconsfield and parked near the tea shop Charles had used. Jim lingered before the town, waiting to be told where to park unseen. They were directed by
Red Four Four to a spot by a small garage at the start of the main street, shielded by a white builder’s van. Viktor was out of his car and looking in the window of a ladies’ dress
shop. One of the crew of Red Four Two, Julia, was already in the shop, in case he went in. A record of what he bought or, if a post office, where he sent letters, would be made. Two others had him
under observation from outside.

The white van drove off. ‘We’re in full view,’ said Jim. ‘Be ready to get on the floor if he comes this way.’

Viktor was about a hundred yards ahead, walking slowly. He wore the suit he had worn when they dined. He crossed the road unhurriedly, looking in their direction but focusing on an approaching
coach.

‘He’s either undecided or he’s playing for time or he’s not well,’ said Sue. ‘That’s not his usual walk. He’s usually brisker, more upright. Steps
out, lifts his toes more.’

‘Or he’s unhappy,’ added Jim. ‘You can tell if you see a target often enough, even tell if they’ve got a cold sometimes, just by their walk. I’ve not seen
much of him. Sue’s seen him more than me.’

Viktor entered an antiques shop after gazing in its window. A woman’s voice on the radio said that she thought she had been spotted and would have to pull out. ‘You go,’ said
Jim, going on air himself to tell the others. Sue got swiftly out of the car and, with the aid of headscarf, turned up collar and shopping-bag, instantly became a passing shopper. Her eye was
caught by something in the antique shop window and she went in. She did not come out until after Viktor had left and driven off towards New Beaconsfield.

‘Back to you?’ she asked on the radio, while apparently doing something with her bag.

‘Pick you up the other side of the roundabout,’ said Jim.

The other cars went with Viktor but Red Four One took the parallel A355 towards Amersham. ‘I think he’s trying to buy a present,’ said Sue, when she was back. ‘Is it his
wife’s birthday? He was interested in all the knick-knacks until he saw the prices. Didn’t speak and left without buying anything, which is less than I did. Look.’ She held up a
miniature Spode cup and saucer. ‘Don’t you think that’s sweet?’

‘All right for a thimble of gnat’s pee,’ said Jim. ‘Couldn’t get a decent cuppa out of it.’

‘Not the point, cretin.’

Jim grinned as they cruised the quiet tree-lined roads while Viktor went to a florist in New Beaconsfield. They parked in an avenue off an avenue. Viktor bought roses. ‘Told you,’
said Sue. ‘Wife or girlfriend.’

He then drove out of town in their direction, passing the end of their avenue and crossing the main Amersham Road as if heading for Chalfont St Peter. They remained where they were, listening to
reports of his slow progress which, once again, made it appear he was either looking for something or lost. He gave no sign of being aware of surveillance. Next he did a U-turn and left the road
for the small, secluded station car park of Seer Green, the halt at which railway, beechwoods and golf course coincided. Red Four Four sought instructions: should they join him at the station in
order to see what he did, after which they would have to be withdrawn for the rest of the day, or should they hang back?

‘The car park’s tiny,’ volunteered Charles. ‘I know it from the army. The wooded hill above backs onto the camp. I used to go for runs round here. He might know it, too.
There was a Russian Embassy car parked there a while ago when I came through on a train, before the case started. I reported it but never heard anything. Anyone who follows him in will be
blown.’

‘It’s not so much blowing a car I’m worried about,’ said Jim. ‘It’s more a question of what you think he’s up to in there and whether he’ll abort
if he suspects surveillance or whether you want to try to get alongside him now in case you don’t get a chance later.’

They assumed Charles wanted to speak to Viktor. He did not disillusion them. As they passed the station, Red Four Two cruised the other way. ‘What about that golf club?’ asked Jim.
‘Can we drive into it without being seen from the station?’

‘Possibly, if we’re lucky. Worth a try.’ Jim drew up by the verge.

‘Better if someone foots it,’ said Sue. ‘Courting couples are less suspicious.’ She looked at the wet grass and sodden trees. ‘Except that we’ve all got the
wrong clothes and shoes. Unless you’ve brought your wellies and golf clubs, Jim.’

‘Always forget something.’

‘I’m more dressed for it,’ said Charles. He was wearing jeans, blue Guernsey and a sports jacket, albeit with conspicuously polished army
veldskoen
. ‘I know the
country here, all the paths and tracks.’

‘You reckon you can keep out of sight?’ asked Jim. ‘Bit of a risk if you still want to get alongside him later.’

‘It should be possible to keep well back. We can let you know what’s happening if Sue’s wired up.’

‘I’m not going up there in these shoes,’ she said. ‘You’re on your lonesome. Take a flat hat.’ She handed him a green tweed cap from the glove compartment. He
had not brought his father’s, having resolved to stop wearing it after what Anna had said.

‘We’ll risk a car in the golf club to cover the entrances and one of us will pick you up when he’s gone,’ said Jim.

‘Suits you,’ said Sue as Charles got out onto the soggy verge. ‘Bring a black Lab next time.’

He crossed the verge and walked quickly through the trees until he could see the car park. The diplomatic-plated Escort stood out but there was no sign of Viktor, nor of anyone else. He advanced
cautiously to the parapet of the railway bridge, his cap pulled well down. A train was coming, so he leant against the brickwork to watch. A black Lab and a stick would have helped. He maintained
an imaginary debate with Anna on the subject of walking sticks and pipes. The train came but no one left and no one came on the bare platform.

He cut up the hill through the trees, keeping parallel to the track and stopping every so often to listen. The wet leaves that softened his footfalls would do the same for anyone else’s.
Glad of the exercise and with no serious hope of finding Viktor, he determined to walk to the top of the hill. He knew well enough what he would find there.

When he reached it he halted inside the wood, gazing across the open land of the army camp perimeter. There was a rusty, sagging wire fence and a broken stile for the little-used perimeter
footpath. Beyond were the goal posts of the sports fields, a few huts and a dilapidated watch-tower, remnants of the camp’s wartime role. The only nearby feature was a neglected firing range
for short-range weapons, with sandy butts and a high, pock-marked brick wall.

As Charles watched, Viktor walked out from behind the wall. He wore his bottle-green tracksuit, the trousers now mud-spattered, and looked in Charles’s direction. Charles stood exactly as
he was, breathing gently through his nose and trusting to stillness and the trees to protect him. Viktor’s glance was general rather than focused, as if he were trying to get bearings from
the stile or estimate distance from the wood. Then he put his hands behind his head and began slowly bending and stretching, dipping from side to side. Next he jogged to the stile some fifteen
yards to Charles’s left. Charles knew he would be clearly visible from the track if Viktor turned to look. His only hope lay in continued stillness. He moved neither his head nor his eyes as
Viktor squelched down the track and out of sight in his old-fashioned black plimsolls.

Charles followed downhill, keeping well to the side of the track. When the railway footbridge was in sight he stopped and listened. Hearing nothing, he walked casually to the bridge and leant
against it in time to see Viktor, dressed in his suit again, roll up his plimsolls inside his tracksuit, put them in the boot of his car and drive off.

Jim and Sue turned into the car park at speed a few minutes later. ‘He’s gone belting off towards the motorway,’ said Jim. ‘Different man now.’

It was a rapid journey back to London and Jim had to do ninety to stay in touch. He speculated aloud about what Foxtrot Alpha might have been up to. Had he had a clandestine meeting, emptied or
filled a DLB, recce’d something or been part of a plan, with the three others who had left the embassy at about the same time, to draw off surveillance? Or had he genuinely been using some
free time to look for a present and go for a run? He did go for occasional runs, they told Charles, but usually in the mornings. The fact that something had happened excited them. It made the shift
worthwhile.

‘Now he’s running for home as fast as his legs will carry him,’ said Jim.

‘It may not be home,’ said Charles.

Viktor cut south onto the M4 via Slough, then crawled through the rush-hour traffic towards Belgravia. Charles told them where he thought they were going. ‘You’ll need someone on
foot before he parks so that we can see whether he goes into his girlfriend’s flat. Also, there’s a Greek restaurant opposite. Useful to know if it’s open.’

The crew of Red Four Three went on foot in Claire’s street before Viktor reached it. There were no free parking places so he had to drive round to an adjoining street just, unfortunately,
as Jim was entering it. ‘Down,’ said Sue sharply. Charles ducked beneath the seats. Viktor, protected by his diplomatic plates, parked in a residents’ parking bay. They were past
him before he got out.

A minute or two later they heard from Red Four Three that, clutching the flowers, he had been let into Claire’s flat. The Greek restaurant was open but empty.

‘He’ll be some time,’ said Charles. ‘I’ll go and sit in the restaurant window. We’ll see each other when he comes out.’ The sight of himself sitting
watching Claire’s door should be sufficient to make the point. ‘It’ll probably be a long evening. You can knock off if you like. I’ll sit it out.’

He didn’t really anticipate a long wait because Viktor would have to account for his time, to his wife as well as to his colleagues. Yet he obviously felt he had time to visit Claire,
which suggested that the afternoon’s excursion had been official. He would doubtless say it had taken longer than it had. Charles wondered whether Claire had rung in to say Viktor was coming,
as she was supposed to do. It must have been arranged, if it was arranged, before he left the embassy, since he had made no calls while out.

He bought a classic car magazine in the newsagent’s, took a window table in the restaurant and ordered the first of a number of Greek coffees, medium sweet and with the consistency of
silt. Later he supplemented them with pitta bread and taramasalata. It was too early for dinner but he wanted to give the impression he would become a serious customer. His position was prominent,
directly opposite Claire’s door. If she came to it, or looked out of her window, she would probably see him; but there was likely to be no better chance of silently making the point to
Viktor.

An hour and fifty minutes later her door opened and Viktor came out alone. He looked preoccupied, as if emerging from the dentist and feeling with his tongue for the absent tooth. Claire was not
at her window. Viktor turned in the direction of his car. Charles hesitated between tapping on the window and going out, leaving his jacket over the chair to show that he intended to return and
pay. Either could precipitate the forbidden conversation, but with Viktor at last within reach, he didn’t care.

Before he could move Viktor looked directly across. Charles raised his hand, palm outwards, his elbow still on the table, careful now to show no sign of getting up. Viktor stood facing the
restaurant, hands by his side. Charles lowered his hand and nodded, unsmiling. For a few seconds they stared at each other across the road. It was exactly as the office required: Viktor knew that
they knew, no words exchanged, and Claire, to judge by her window, seeing nothing. Nevertheless, it was with relief rather than concern that Charles watched Viktor advance slowly across the road.
They would have the conversation he wanted and he could honestly say it was at Viktor’s initiative, not his.