Legacy (31 page)

‘Shouldn’t think so.’

‘Very odd. I’d better talk to him before you do anything.’

‘And I’d better get there. You can get in touch with SV if Hookey has anything to say.’

‘I’m sure he’ll think it extremely odd. Extremely. I’ll ring him when I’ve dropped you off.’

‘Hugo, you can’t possibly drive, you’re drunk.’ Anna stood with folded arms in the kitchen doorway.

‘I’ll get a taxi,’ said Charles.

‘That will take ages. You can’t get them round here unless you ring for them. It’s quicker if I take you.’

‘If I’m drunk, you are,’ said Hugo.

‘I’ve had less than a glass.’ She took the car keys from a hook on the pine dresser. The others sat in silent disunity as they left, with Hugo standing in the corridor,
frowning.

‘D’you think it’s awful of me to leave them all like that?’ asked Anna, as she started the Austin Maxi. It was a wide car but they were close enough for him to catch her
perfume. One of the Chanels, he thought.

‘Don’t answer,’ she continued. ‘It is awful, no matter what you think. But it’s such a relief, I can’t tell you. I’ve had to do it for years, week in,
week out. Hugo insists. It’s worse when you’re abroad, of course. But this one was particularly awful. I’m so sorry. Real suet pudding evening. I don’t think anyone wanted
to be there. Damn these gears, they’re so awkward.’

‘They’ve got a funny sort of cable link on this model.’

‘Oh dear, you’re not a car bore as well, are you?’

‘As well as what?’

She smiled. ‘As well as most of the men I meet. One thing you can say for Hugo: he’s got not the slightest interest in cars. Where are we going, by the way?’

She drove quickly. Neither spoke. He tried to focus upon Viktor, to work out what he might be doing, anticipate every eventuality, but the silence was distracting. It was not an uneasy silence,
but complicitous. Once he caught her eye in the driving mirror.

‘Nearly there,’ he said gratuitously as they headed along Stamford Street from the Westminster Bridge end. ‘I wish we weren’t.’ His words hung in the air. She
glanced at him but said nothing.

A Saab was parked in the appointed spot. She pulled up behind it, keeping the engine running. ‘Shall I wait for you?’

‘You shouldn’t. Anyway, I’ve no idea how long I’ll be.’

‘Good luck.’

‘Thanks for dinner.’ As he opened the door he leant over and kissed her on the cheek. She made no response.

Jim, the team leader from the Beaconsfield trip, was in the Saab with a man and a woman, who was not Sue. Charles got in the back, next to the man. ‘He came out the embassy at a hell of a
lick,’ Jim said. ‘Turned right where he shouldn’t, driving careless, came over here, three times round the Elephant and Castle then up towards Borough, parked and wandered about
as if he was lost, then back in the car and up this way, parking on double yellows behind the theatre, wandered about a bit more and finally went down this dark alley towards the river. We
didn’t follow him in because you’d know if a mouse was behind you in there, even though it is as black as pitch. No idea what he’s up to but he looked ragged, uncertain, not
careful and controlled like he usually is. Static OP is sure no one followed him out and we’re pretty sure he’s still down there. There’s no other way out. Unless he’s
donated his body to the fishes.’

‘Is that what he looked like doing?’

‘Looked pretty desperate to me, to be honest. Didn’t you think?’ The others agreed. ‘Don’t know what you want to do with him, Charles, but thought you ought to
know. Orders were, if in doubt, call you in. Sorry to mess up your evening.’

‘You haven’t, don’t worry. You did right.’

‘We can take you to the alley, the entrance to it. Rest of the team’s on it now.’

‘I know it. I know where he’ll be.’ Charles made his decision. ‘I’ll walk down to it. If I don’t soon come back it means I’ve found him.’

‘Want someone with you?’

‘No.’

‘We’ll stick around, anyway.’

He walked around the bomb-site car park towards the river. Not far from the alleyway, where the road became partially cobbled, there was an abandoned, wheel-less Ford with broken windows and one
door hanging open. The rest of the SV team were presumably in the car park. There was enough street light to make out puddles on the uneven ground of the alley; the crumbling, weed infested walls
on either side appeared to lean in towards each other even more than he remembered. The river wall at the far end was distinguishable as a darker patch of dark.

He entered slowly, looking down to avoid the puddles, and was still dry-footed when he reached the steps leading up the river wall. The sounds of lapping water, soft but distinct against the
background traffic of the city, indicated that the tide was in. He climbed the steps carefully. The water was near the top of the rickety wooden stairs the other side and two barges were moored
close in. Empty and high in the water, they made an occasional dull boom whenever the current knocked them together. Reflections of the Embankment lights rippled and waved in the river. There was
no Viktor sitting on the steps, staring into it, as Charles had confidently expected.

He felt at a loss, deflated, almost stupid. He had simply assumed that Viktor would be there, returning, for whatever reason, to that spot, there to – to what? Contemplate? Throw himself
in, as Jim had suggested? The water was eight or nine feet deep at the edge, at least, and the bank shelved steeply farther out. The tide was still coming in, so the body would have been washed
upstream. It took weeks for bodies to be washed downstream of London, since each incoming tide brought them seven-eighths of the way back again. If Viktor had jumped not long after arrival
he’d have been in at least half an hour, so that was that.

But if he hadn’t gone in, where could he have gone? The river wall of the upstream building was tall and unbroken. There were old windows high in the downstream wall, a former warehouse,
but too high to be climbed without equipment. There was also the rusting gantry used for loading and unloading barges. He looked up. Below it was a wooden platform, incomplete and lop-sided, too
far to climb, surely, but it was the only alternative to the river.

He called Viktor’s name. There was no answer. Disappointment, and the silence, made him nervous. He called again.

‘Hallo, Charles.’ Viktor’s voice was flat.

Charles grinned with relief. He could see nothing but the bottom of the platform. ‘Where are you?’ There was no answer. ‘Are you up there?’

‘What is it to you where I am?’

‘What are you doing?’ Again, no answer. He leant against the upstream wall, smiling to himself. ‘This is silly, Viktor. How did you get there?’

‘I flew. I have artificial wings. It is new Soviet technology. But it is secret. You must not know it. Therefore, I shall jump into the river and drown myself and it.’

‘What are you doing up there?’

‘I told you. Just now I told you. I am here to drown myself.’

‘Why?’ A breeze got up and the moored barges did a double, sepulchral boom. ‘Why don’t you come down and talk about it?’ There was no response. ‘It’s
difficult, having to shout. People might hear us.’

‘What people? Anyway, I don’t care.’

Charles was no longer smiling. If Viktor meant it, the best thing was to summon the river police or fire brigade, or whoever dealt with these things. If Viktor drowned and Charles had summoned
no help, he might be blamed. But if he did summon help the whole story would be bound to come out and the undrowned Viktor would be doomed. As usual when confronted by difficulties, he played for
time. ‘Tell me why, Viktor.’

There was another pause. ‘For my wife and child. I am killing myself for them. I am under investigation, I know that now. The two men I told you –’

‘Krychkov and Rhykov?’

‘You see, you know. You do not need me to tell you.’

‘Go on.’ He pictured Viktor squatting on the platform, arms resting on his knees, addressing the Thames. ‘Assume I am stupid, Viktor. I need convincing that it is not already
your immortal soul that is talking.’ He thought he heard a chuckle.

‘The reason of these two nice men is to make sure I don’t forget to return to Moscow at the end of the week. They keep me very busy with the delegation. I can do nothing else, go
nowhere else, see no one else. At least, that is part of their purpose. One at least is also interested in the anti-nuclear campaign here, which he supports. That is, the English anti-nuclear
campaign, not the Russian, which does not exist. If it did he would not support it. As for me, I think the Residency has become suspicious and probably they think that all the times I was with
Chantal I was doing something even worse, you know, like seeing you or your people. When I get home I shall be interrogated and I shall tell the truth. That is what most people do when they are
interrogated because of what they do to you. But probably they will not believe me. What I have done is bad enough but for political reasons they may like to believe the worst and will try to make
me confess to that. As you have said, I know their methods. Whatever happens, it is the end of my career, perhaps my life, and the end of my salary and pension for Tanya and Natasha. They will be
poor and will be expelled from our nice KGB flat and have nowhere to live and no one will wish to speak to them. They will be contaminated for life.

‘But if I kill myself first there is only minor investigation and Tanya will get the pension and privileges of being KGB widow. They will have a flat. You see, Charles, our system is very
legalistic. If I am not investigated and convicted, nothing bad will happen. The KGB will not wish to report to the Party that they have another traitor in London like Lyalin unless they can show
him admitting it and then shoot him, to show how watchful and vigorous is the Sword and Shield of the Party. So, because I have done this stupid thing with Chantal, it is better I die. It is my way
to make up for it.’

‘Tanya and little Natasha might not see it like that.’

‘Perhaps not, but still it is better for them.’

‘I am sure we can help you.’

‘Thank you, Charles, but I know what that means.’

‘You’re wrong. We’ll help anyway, any way we can. There’s no price.’

The platform creaked and Viktor’s pale face appeared over the edge, as if he were lying or kneeling. It was too dark to make out his expression. ‘Even if I was – were –
inclined to accept your kind offer, it is too late,’ he said. ‘I have come out without permission. They do not know where I am. If I go back they will believe I have been doing
something bad. It will seal my fate. So, you see, by coming here I have sealed my fate. For me, there is one way only now.’

‘Two ways.’

‘Of course, I was forgetting. I jump off forwards or backwards.’

‘Suppose you returned having found the site of the cache my father had found for them, the one at Beaconsfield. At least, its location. You could say you had a sudden inspiration, even a
dream, about where it must be, and tonight was the only time you had to check it before you leave. And you went without asking because you thought you would not get permission to search again on
the basis of a hunch or dream. But you did find it – I can tell you exactly where it is – so they will then think you were up to something good, not something bad. You broke the rules,
yes, but with good results and you could say that this was what you were doing on all your other absences. It had become an obsession for you, but finally it got them what they wanted. And you
might then be in less trouble when you go back to Moscow.’ Charles waited, prepared for rejection and ridicule. ‘Also –’

‘You really have found it? Really?’

‘I can tell you exactly where it is and describe the instruments inside. You could say you went out and found the box but thought you heard something, so covered it up and came back, not
wanting to be caught with the instruments on you. You tell them where it is and later they can send someone to retrieve it and find you are a loyal Soviet citizen after all.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Come down and I’ll tell you.’

‘Tell me now.’

Charles described it, quoting from memory the measurements from the wall of the firing butt.

‘Not feet and inches,’ interrupted Viktor. ‘Nor metres. We don’t measure like that. It has to be in paces, which a person can do without looking as if he is looking for
something.’

Charles translated into estimated paces, then, at Viktor’s request, described again what was inside. ‘Not that you could see much in the dark. Would you have a torch?’

‘I suppose so. It would be a risk.’

‘You’d have to. Have you one?’

He had, but he asked more questions before moving out of sight once more and not responding for a while. Eventually, he said, ‘Possibly I can escape with this ingenious plan, Charles. At
least for now. But when I am back in Moscow I am not sure it will be enough. These men will not like to have come all this way for nothing. To say, he is innocent, we have found no guilty men, is a
failure for them. They have to find someone.’

It was this that gave Charles his idea. However fantastical, it might at least get Viktor down. It might do more. ‘There’s another way we might be able to help with that. But this
time you must come down first.’ There was no response. ‘Viktor?’

‘In life, comedy holds the hand of tragedy. You have this saying in English, Charles?’

‘Don’t think so.’

‘It is not in Russian, either. But it is in my head at this moment. You see, I cannot get down. So I have to kill myself after all. Or wait for the river to diminish and be found
here.’

‘How did you get up there?’

‘I climbed along a ledge and then up the drainpipe before the river became so high. Now the ledge is gone. Inside these windows which have no glass there are no floors in the building,
just a great pit, as if a bomb has been here. So there is no way inside.’

It started to rain. Charles was reasonably confident that suicide was no longer a serious possibility, if it ever had been, though less confident of his claimed solution to Viktor’s
problems on returning home. There was no time to worry about that, though. He had to be got back to the embassy first, and fast. ‘Where is the ledge?’