Confessional. Part 32

Kim opened the door at that moment and ushered in Tanya Voroninova. Her eyes were slightly hollowed, but she looked surprisingly well, the general effect enhanced by the blue cashmere sweater and neat tweed skirt she had purchased at Harrods. Fox made the introductions.

'Miss Voroninova. A great pleasure,' Ferguson said. 'You've certainly had an active time of it. Please sit down.'

She sat on the couch by the fire. 'Have you any idea what's happening in Paris?' she asked.

'Not yet,' Fox said. 'We'll find out in the end, but if you want an educated guess, the KGB never care for failure at the best of times and if we consider your foster-father's special interest in this case...' He shrugged. 'I wouldn't care to be in Turkin or Shepilov's shoes.'

'Even such a shrewd old campaigner as Nikolai Belov will have difficulty surviving this one,' Ferguson put in.

'So, what happens now?' she asked. 'Do I see Professor Devlin again?'

'Yes, but that means flying over to Dublin. I know your feet have hardly touched the ground, but time is of the essence. I'd like you to go later on this afternoon if that's all right. Captain Fox will escort you and we'll arrange for Devlin to meet you at Dublin Airport.'

She was still on a high, and somehow it seemed a part of what had already happened. 'When do we leave?'

'The early evening plane,' Devlin said. 'Sure, I'll be there. No problem.'

'You'll make your own arrangements about the necessary meeting with McGuiness so that she can look at whatever photos or other material they want to show her?'

Til take care of it,' Devlin said.

'Sooner rather than later,' Ferguson told him firmly.

'I hear and obey, O Genie of the lamp,' Devlin said. 'Now let me talk to her.'

Ferguson handed her the phone. Tanya said, 'Professor Devlin? What is it?'

'I've just heard from Paris. The Mona Lisa is smiling all over her face. See you soon.'

And in Moscow important things had been happening that morning. Events that were to affect the whole of Russia and world politics generally, for Yuri Andropov, head of the KGB since 1967, was named Secretary of the Communist Party Central Committee. He still inhabited his old office at KGB headquarters at Dzerhinsky Square and it was there that he summoned Maslovsky just after noon. The General stood in front of the desk, filled with foreboding, for Andropov was possibly the only man he had ever known of whom he was genuinely afraid. Andropov was writing, his pen scratching the paper. He ignored Maslovsky for a while, then spoke without looking up.

'There is little point in referring to the gross inefficiency shown by your department in the matter of the Cuchulain affair.'

'Comrade.' Maslovsky didn't attempt to defend himself.

'You have given orders that he is to be eliminated together with Cherny?'

'Yes, Comrade.'

'The sooner the better.' Andropov paused, removed his gla.s.ses and ran a hand over his forehead. 'Then there is the matter of your foster-daughter. She is now safely in London due to the bungling of your people.'

'Yes, Comrade.'

'From which city Brigadier Ferguson is having her flown to Dublin, where the IRA intend to give her any help she needs to identify Cuchulain?'

'That would appear to be the case,' Maslovsky said weakly.

'The Provisional IRA is a fascist organization as far as I am concerned, hopelessly tainted by its links with the Catholic Church, and Tanya Voroninova is a traitor to her country, her party and her cla.s.s. You will send an immediate signal to

the man Lubov in Dublin. He will eliminate her as well as Cherny and Cuchulain.'

He replaced his gla.s.ses, picked up his pen and started to write again. Maslovsky said in a hoa.r.s.e voice, 'Please, Comrade, perhaps...'

Andropov glanced up in surprise. 'Does my order give you some sort of problem, Comrade General?'

Maslovsky, wilting under those cold eyes, shook his head hurriedly. 'No, of course not, Comrade,' and he turned and went out, feeling just the slightest tremor in his limbs.

At the Soviet Emba.s.sy in Dublin, Lubov had already received a signal from Paris informing him that Tanya Voroninova had slipped the net. He was still in the radio room digesting this startling piece of news when the second signal came through, the one from Maslovsky in Moscow. The operator recorded it, placed the tape in the machine and Lubov keyed in his personal code. When he read the message he felt physically sick. He went to his office, locked the door and got a bottle of Scotch from the cupboard. He had one and then another. Finally he phoned Cherny.

'Costello, here.' It was the code name he used on such occasions. 'Are you busy?'

'Not particularly,' Cherny told him.

'We must meet.'

'The usual place?'

'Yes, I must talk to you first. Very important. However, we must also arrange to see our mutual friend this evening. Dun Street, I think. Can you arrange that?'

'It's very unusual.'

'As I said, matters of importance. Ring me back to confirm this evening's meeting.'

Cherny was definitely worried. Dun Street was a code name for a disused warehouse on City Quay which he had leased under a company name some years previously, but that wasn't the point. What was really important was the fact that he, Cussane and Lubov had never all met together in the same

place before. He phoned Cussane at the cottage without success, so he tried the Catholic Secretariat offices in Dublin. Cussane answered at once.

'Thank G.o.d,' said Cherny. 'I tried the cottage.'

'Yes, I've just got in,' Cussane told him. 'Is there a problem?'

'I'm not sure. I feel uneasy. Can I speak freely?'

'You usually do on this line.'

'Our friend Costello has been in touch. Asked me to meet him at three-thirty.'

'Usual place?'

'Yes, but he's also asked me to arrange for the three of us to meet at Dun Street tonight.'

'Thatis unusual.'

'I know. I don't like it.'

'Perhaps he has instructions for us to pull out,' Cussane said. 'Did he say anything about the girl?'

'No. Should he have done?'