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acute, and apparently genuine, interest in the work on
view. Only when both men were satisfied that they
were not being watched did the Russian quit the
building and lead Ballard into the polite suburbs of
Dahlem to a mutually agreed safe house. There, in
a small and unheated kitchen, they sat down and
talked.
Mironenko's command of English was uncertain, or
at least appeared so, though Ballard had the impression
that his struggles for sense were as much tactical as
giammatical. He might well have presented the same
facade in the Russian's situation; it seldom hurt to
appear less competent than one was. But despite the
difficulties he had in expressing himself, Mironenko's
avowals were unequivocal.
'I am no longer a Communist,' he stated plainly,
'I have not been a party-member - not here -' he put his
fist to his chest'- for many years.'
He fetched an off-white handkerchief from his coat
pocket, pulled off one of his gloves, and plucked a bottle
of tablets from the folds of the handkerchief.
'Forgive me,' he said as he shook tablets from the
bottle. 'I have pains. In my head; in my hands.'
Ballard waited until he had swallowed the medication
before asking him, 'Why did you begin to doubt?'
The Russian pocketed the bottle and the handker-
chief, his wide face devoid of expression.
167
'How does a man lose his ... his faith?' he said. 'Is it
that I saw too much; or too little, perhaps?'
He looked at Ballard's face to see if his hesitant words
had made sense. Finding no comprehension there he
tried again.
'I think the man who does not believe he is lost, is
lost.'
The paradox was elegantly put; Ballard's suspicion
as to Mironenko's true command of English was
confirmed.
'Are you lost nozi>?' Ballard inquired.
Mironenko didn't reply. He was pulling his other
glove off and staring at his hands. The pills he had
swallowed did not seem to be easing the ache he had
complained of. He fisted and unfisted his hands like an
arthritis sufferer testing the advance of his condition.
Not looking up, he said:
'I was taught that the Party had solutions to every-
thing. That made me free from fear.'
'And now?'
'Now?' he said. 'Now I have strange thoughts. They
come to me from nowhere . . .'
'Go on,' said Ballard.
Mironenko made a tight smile. 'You must know me
inside out, yes? Even what I dream?'
'Yes,' said Ballard.
Mironenko nodded. 'It would be the same with us,'
he said. Then, after a pause: 'I've thought sometimes
I would break open. Do you understand what I say?
I would crack, because there is such rage inside me.
And that makes me afraid, Ballard. I think they will
see how much I hate them.' He looked up at his
interrogator. 'You must be quick,' he said, 'or they
will discover me. I try not to think of what they will
do.' Again, he paused. All trace of the smile, however
168
humourless, had gone. 'The Directorate has Sections
even I don't have knowledge of. Special hospitals, where
nobody can go. They have ways to break a man's soul
in pieces.'
Ballard, ever the pragmatist, wondered if Mironenko's
vocabulary wasn't rather high-flown. In the hands of the
KGB he doubted if he would be thinking of his soul's
contentment. After all, it was the body that had the
nerve-endings.
They talked for an hour or more, the conversation
moving back and forth between politics and personal
reminiscence, between trivia and confessional. At the
end of the meeting Ballard was in no doubt as to
Mironenko's antipathy to his masters. He was, as he
had said, a man without faith.
The following day Ballard met with Cripps in the
restaurant at the Schweizerhof Hotel, and made his
verbal report on Mironenko.
'He's ready and waiting. But he insists we be quick
about making up our minds.'
'I'm sure he does,' Cripps said. His glass eye was
troubling him today; the chilly air, he explained, made
it sluggish. It moved fractionally more slowly than his
real eye, and on occasion Cripps had to nudge it with
his fingertip to get it moving.
'We're not going to rushed into any decision,' Cripps
said.
'Where's the problem? I don't have any doubt about
his commitment; or his desperation.'
'So you said,' Cripps replied. 'Would you like
something for dessert?'
'Do you doubt my appraisal? Is that what it is?'
'Have something sweet to finish off, so that I don't feel
an utter reprobate.'
169
'You think I'm wrong about him, don't you?' Ballard
pressed. When Cripps didn't reply, Ballard leaned
across the table. 'You do, don't you?'
'I'm just saying there's reason for caution,' Cripps
said. 'If we finally choose to take him on board the
Russians are going to be very distressed. We have to be
sure the deal's worth the bad weather that comes with
it. Things are so dicey at the moment.'
'When aren't they?' Ballard replied. 'Tell me a time
when there wasn't some crisis in the offing?' He settled
back in the chair and tried to read Cripps' face. His glass
eye was, if anything, more candid than the real one.
'I'm sick of this damn game,' Ballard muttered.
The glass eye roved. 'Because of the Russian?'
'Maybe.'
'Believe me,' said Cripps, 'I've got good reason to be
careful with this man.'
'Name one.'
'There's nothing verified.'
'What have you got on him?' Ballard insisted.
'As I say, rumour,' Cripps replied.
'Why wasn't I briefed about it?'
Cripps made a tiny shake of his head. 'It's academic
now,' he said. 'You've provided a good report. I just
want you to understand that if things don't go the way
you think they should it's not because your appraisals
aren't trusted.'
'I see.'
'No you don't,' said Cripps. 'You're feeling martyred;
and I don't altogether blame you.'
'So what happens now? I'm supposed to forget I ever
met the man?'
'Wouldn't do any harm,' said Cripps. 'Out of sight,
out of mind.'
170
Clearly Cripps didn't trust Ballard to take his own
advice. Though Ballard made several discreet enquiries
about the Mironenko case in the following week it was
plain that his usual circle of contacts had been warned
to keep their lips sealed.
As it was, the next news about the case reached
Ballard via the pages of the morning papers, in an
article about a body found in a house near the station
on Kaiser Damm. At the time of reading he had no way
of knowing how the account tied up with Mironenko,
but there was enough detail in the story to arouse his
interest. For one, he had the suspicion that the house
named in the article had been used by the Service on
occasion; for another, the article described how two
unidentified men had almost been caught in the act
of removing the body, further suggesting that this was
no crime of passion.
About noon, he went to see Cripps at his offices in the
hope of coaxing him with some explanation, but Cripps
was not available, nor would be, his secretary explained,
until further notice; matters arising had taken him back
to Munich. Ballard left a message that he wished to
speak with him when he returned.
As he stepped into the cold air again, he realised
that he'd gained an admirer; a thin-faced individual
whose hair had retreated from his brow, leaving a
ludicrous forelock at the high-water mark. Ballard
knew him in passing from Cripps' entourage but
couldn't put a name to the face. It was swiftly
provided.
'Suckling,' the man said.
'Of course,' said Ballard. 'Hello.'
'I think maybe we should talk, if you have a moment,'
the man said. His voice was as pinched as his features;
Ballard wanted none of his eossip. He was about to
171
refuse the offer when Suckling said: 'I suppose you
heard what happened to Cripps.'
Ballard shook his head. Suckling, delighted to possess
this nugget, said again: 'We should talk.'
They walked along the Kantstrasse towards the Zoo.
The street was busy with lunchtime pedestrians, but
Ballard scarcely noticed them. The story that Suckling
unfolded as they walked demanded his full and absolute
attention.
It was simply told. Cripps, it appeared, had made
an arrangement to meet with Mironenko in order to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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