‘What do you think will happen?’
‘She might be fired. More likely, she’ll be posted somewhere disagreeable, such as Kazakhstan.’ Daniil frowned. ‘I must think of some compromise that will satisfy Opotkin but not be too hard on Tania.’
Dimka glanced at the entrance door and saw a man in his forties with a brutally short military haircut, wearing the uniform of a Red Army general. ‘At last, Uncle Volodya,’ he said.
Volodya Peshkov had the same intense blue-eyed stare as Tania. ‘What is this shit?’ he said angrily.
Dimka filled him in. As he was finishing, Opotkin reappeared. He spoke obsequiously to Volodya. ‘General, I have discussed this problem of your niece with our friends in the KGB and they are content for me to deal with it as an internal TASS matter.’
Dimka slumped with relief. Then he wondered whether Opotkin’s entire approach had been to manoeuvre himself into a position where he could appear to do a favour for Volodya.
‘Allow me to make a suggestion,’ said Volodya. ‘You might mark the incident as serious, without attaching blame to anyone, simply by transferring Tania to another post.’
That was the punishment Daniil had mentioned a moment ago.
Opotkin nodded thoughtfully, as if considering this idea; though Dimka was sure he would eagerly comply with any ‘suggestion’ from General Peshkov.
Daniil said: ‘Perhaps a foreign posting. She speaks German and English.’
This was an exaggeration, Dimka knew. Tania had studied both languages in school, but that was not the same as speaking them. Daniil was trying to save her from banishment to some remote Soviet region.
Daniil added: ‘And she could still write features for my department. I’d rather not lose her to news – she’s too good.’
Opotkin looked dubious. ‘We can’t send her to London or Bonn. That would seem like a reward.’
It was true. Assignments in the capitalist countries were prized. The living allowances were colossal and, even though they did not buy as much as in the USSR, Soviet citizens still lived much better in the West than at home.
Volodya said: ‘East Berlin, perhaps, or Warsaw.’
Opotkin nodded. A move to another Communist country was more like a punishment.
Volodya said: ‘I’m glad we’ve been able to resolve this.’
Opotkin said to Dimka: ‘I’m having a party on Saturday evening. Perhaps you would like to come?’
Dimka guessed this would seal the deal. He nodded. ‘Tania told me about it,’ he said with false enthusiasm. ‘We’ll both be there. Thank you.’
Opotkin beamed.
Daniil said: ‘I happen to know of a post in a Communist country that’s vacant right now. We need someone there urgently. She could go tomorrow.’
‘Where’s that?’ said Dimka.
‘Cuba.’
Opotkin, now in a sunny frame of mind, said: ‘That might be acceptable.’
It was certainly better than Kazakhstan, Dimka thought.
Mets reappeared in the lobby with Tania beside him. Dimka’s heart lurched: she looked pale and scared, but unharmed. Mets spoke with a mixture of deference and defiance, like a dog that barks because it is frightened. ‘Allow me to suggest that young Tania stays away from poetry readings in future,’ he said.
Uncle Volodya looked as if he could strangle the fool, but he put on a smile. ‘Very sound advice, I’m sure.’
They all went out. Darkness had fallen. Dimka said to Tania: ‘I’ve got my bike – I’ll take you home.’
‘Yes, please,’ she said. She obviously wanted to talk to Dimka.
Uncle Volodya could not read her mind as Dimka could, and he said: ‘Let me take you in my car – you look too shaken for a motorcycle ride.’
To Volodya’s surprise, Tania said: ‘Thank you, Uncle, but I’ll go with Dimka.’
Volodya shrugged and got into a waiting Zil limousine. Daniil and Opotkin said goodbye.
As soon as they were all out of earshot, Tania turned to Dimka with a frantic look. ‘Did they say anything about Vasili Yenkov?’
‘Yes. They said you were with him. Is that true?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, shit. But he’s not your boyfriend, is he?’
‘No. Do you know what happened to him?’
‘He had five copies of Dissidence in his pocket, so he’s not getting out of the Lubyanka soon, even if he has friends in high places.’
‘Hell! Do you think they will investigate him?’
‘I’m sure of it. They’ll want to know whether he merely hands out Dissidence, or actually produces it, which would be much more serious.’
‘Will they search his flat?’
‘They would be remiss if they didn’t. Why – what will they find there?’
She looked around, but no one was near. All the same she lowered her voice. ‘The typewriter on which Dissidence is written.’
‘Then I’m glad that Vasili isn’t your boyfriend, because he’s going to spend the next twenty-five years in Siberia.’
‘Don’t say that!’
Dimka frowned. ‘You’re not in love with him, I can tell . . . but you’re not wholly indifferent to him, either.’
‘Look, he’s a brave man, and a wonderful poet, but our relationship is not a romance. I’ve never even kissed him. He’s one of those men who has to have lots of different women.’
‘Like my friend Valentin.’ Dimka’s room-mate at university, Valentin Lebedev, had been a real Lothario.
‘Exactly like Valentin, yes.’
‘So . . . how much do you care if they search Vasili’s apartment and find this typewriter?’
‘A lot. We produced Dissidence together. I wrote today’s edition.’
‘Shit. I was afraid of that.’ Now Dimka knew the secret she had been keeping from him for the past year.
Tania said: ‘We have to go to the apartment, now, and take that typewriter and get rid of it.’
Dimka took a step back from her. ‘Absolutely not. Forget it.’
‘We must!’
‘No. I’d risk anything for you, and I might risk a lot for someone you loved, but I’m not going to stick my neck out for this guy. We could all end up in fucking Siberia.’
‘I’ll do it on my own, then.’
Dimka frowned, trying to evaluate the risks of different actions. ‘Who else knows about you and Vasili?’
‘No one. We were careful. I made sure I wasn’t followed when I went to his place. We never met in public.’
‘So the KGB investigation will not link you to him.’
She hesitated, and at that point he knew they were in deep trouble.
‘What?’ he said.
‘It depends how thorough the KGB are.’
‘Why?’
‘This morning, when I went to Vasili’s flat, there was a girl there – Varvara.’
‘Oh, fuck.’