‘That’s because we’re ultra-cautious. We never let anyone see us together.’
‘That being the case, there’s no danger in people knowing that you and I are friends.’
She was not sure. ‘Maybe. So what?’
Vasili tried a roguish smile. ‘You once told me you’d go to bed with me if I would give up the rest of my harem.’
‘I don’t believe I ever said that.’
‘Perhaps you implied it.’
‘And anyway, that must have been eighteen years ago.’
‘Is it too late now to accept the offer?’
She stared at him, speechless.
He filled the silence. ‘You’re the only woman who ever really mattered to me. Everyone else was just a conquest. Some I didn’t even like. If I had never slept with her before, that was enough reason for me to seduce her.’
‘Is this supposed to make you more attractive to me?’
‘When I got out of Siberia I tried to resume that life. It’s taken me a long time, but I’ve realized the truth at last: it doesn’t make me happy.’
‘Is that so?’ Tania was getting angrier.
Vasili did not notice. ‘You and I have been friends for a long time. We’re soulmates. We belong together. When we sleep together, it will just be a natural progression.’
‘Oh, I see.’
He was oblivious to her sarcasm. ‘You’re single, I’m single. Why are we single? We should be together. We should be married.’
‘So, to sum up,’ Tania said. ‘You’ve spent your life seducing women you never really cared for. Now you’re pushing fifty and they don’t really attract you – or perhaps you no longer attract them – so, at this point, you’re condescending to offer me marriage.’
‘I may not have put this very well. I’m better at writing things down.’
‘You bet you haven’t put it well. I’m the last resort of a fading Casanova!’
‘Oh, hell, you’re upset with me, aren’t you?’
‘Upset comes nowhere near it.’
‘This is the opposite of what I intended.’
Over his shoulder, she caught the eye of Daniil. On impulse she left Vasili and crossed the room. ‘Daniil,’ she said. ‘I’d like to go abroad again. Is there any chance I could get a foreign posting?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You’re my best writer. I’ll do anything I can, within reason, to keep you happy.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And, coincidentally, I’ve been thinking that we need to strengthen our bureau in one particular foreign country.’
‘Which one?’
‘Poland.’
‘You’d send me to Warsaw?’
‘That’s where it’s all happening.’
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Poland it is.’
*
Cam Dewar was fed up with Jimmy Carter. He thought the Carter administration was timid, especially in its dealings with the USSR. Cam worked on the Moscow desk at CIA headquarters in Langley, nine miles from the White House. National Security Advisor Zbigniew Brzezinski was a tough anti-Communist, but Carter was cautious.
However, it was election year, and Cam hoped Ronald Reagan would get in. Reagan was aggressive on foreign policy, and promised to liberate intelligence agencies from Carter’s milk-and-water ethical constraints. He would be more like Nixon, Cam hoped.
Early in 1980, Cam was surprised to be summoned by the deputy head of the Soviet Bloc section, Florence Geary. She was an attractive woman a few years older than Cam: he was thirty-three, she was probably about thirty-eight. He knew her story. She had been hired as a trainee, used as a secretary for years, and given training only when she kicked up a stink. Now she was a highly competent intelligence officer, but she was still disliked by many of the men because of the trouble she had caused.
Today she was wearing a plaid skirt and a green sweater. She looked like a schoolteacher, Cam thought; a sexy schoolteacher, with good breasts.
‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘The House Intelligence Committee thinks our information out of Poland is poor.’
Cameron took a seat. He looked out of the window to avoid staring at her chest. ‘Then they know who to blame,’ he said.
‘Who?’
‘The Director of the CIA, Admiral Turner, and the man who appointed him, President Carter.’
‘Why, exactly?’
‘Because Turner doesn’t believe in Humint,’ he said. Human Intelligence, or Humint, was what you got from spies. Turner preferred Sigint, Signals Intelligence, obtained by monitoring communications.
‘Do you believe in Humint?’
She had a nice mouth, he realized; pink lips, even teeth. He forced himself to concentrate on answering the question. ‘It’s inherently unreliable, because all traitors are liars, by definition. If they’re telling us the truth, they must be lying to their own side. But that doesn’t make Humint worthless, especially if it’s assessed against data from other sources.’
‘I’m glad you think so. We need to beef up our Humint. How do you feel about working overseas?’
Cameron’s hopes leaped. ‘Ever since I joined the Agency, six years ago, I’ve been asking for a foreign posting.’
‘Good.’
‘I speak Russian fluently. I’d love to go to Moscow.’
‘Well, life’s a funny thing. You’re going to Warsaw.’
‘No kidding.’
‘I don’t kid.’
‘I don’t speak Polish.’
‘You’ll find your Russian useful. Polish schoolchildren have been learning Russian for thirty-five years. But you should learn some Polish too.’
‘Okay.’
‘That’s all.’
Cameron stood up. ‘Thanks.’ He went to the door. ‘Could we discuss this some more, Florence?’ he said. ‘Maybe over dinner?’
‘No,’ she said firmly. Then, just in case he had not got the message, she added: ‘Definitely not.’
He went out and closed the door. Warsaw! On balance, he was pleased. It was a foreign posting. He felt optimistic. He was disappointed she had turned down his invitation to dinner, but he knew what to do about that.
He picked up his coat and went outside to his car, a silver Mercury Capri. He drove into Washington and threaded through the traffic to the Adams Morgan district. There he parked a block away from a storefront massage parlour called Silken Hands.
The woman at the reception desk said: ‘Hi, Christopher, how are you today?’
‘Fine, thanks. Is Suzy free?’
‘You’re in luck, she is. Room Three.’
‘Great.’ Cam handed over a bill and went farther inside.
He pushed aside a curtain and entered a booth containing a narrow bed. Beside the bed, sitting on a plastic chair, was a heavy-set woman in her twenties reading a magazine. She wore a bikini. ‘Hello, Chris,’ she said, putting down the magazine and standing up. ‘Would you like a hand job, as usual?’
Cam never had full intercourse with prostitutes. ‘Yes, please, Suzy.’ He gave her a bill and started taking off his clothes.
‘It’ll be my pleasure,’ she said, tucking the money away. She helped him undress then said: ‘You just lie down and relax, baby.’
Cam lay on the bed and closed his eyes while Suzy went to work. He pictured Florence Geary in her office. In his mind, she pulled the green sweater over her head and unzipped her plaid skirt. ‘Oh, Cam, I just can’t resist you,’ she said in Cam’s imagination. Wearing only her underwear, she came around her desk and embraced him. ‘Do anything you like to me, Cam,’ she said. ‘But please, do it hard.’
In the massage parlour booth, Cam said aloud: ‘Yeah, baby.’