chain. No, not tonight. If they disappear with almost forty-eight hours to go, then Lansing may discover that fact, and warn off our friends at Bilyarsk. No! Tomorrow will do, giving us perhaps twenty-four hours to find out what they know! You will take care of that, Dmitri?’
‘Yes, Colonel. I shall have the warehouse they use as a cover watched from tonight - and move in on your orders.’
‘Good. I would like to see them before - before I myself fly down to Bilyarsk tomorrow. Yes. Ask for surveillance by the 7th Directorate, Dmitri, on the warehouse. We - need not spare too many of our own men, and they are in business to watch people. They can be replaced by our team when I give the word.’
‘Very well, Colonel.’
‘Very well? Yes, Dmitri - I begin to feel that it may indeed be very well!’ Kontarsky laughed. Priabin watched the Adam’s apple bob up and down in the turkey-throat, hating his superior’s overconfidence more” than he feared his lapses of nerve.
The black saloon had eased itself into a convenient parking-place opposite the portico of the Moskva Hotel. As Gant had passed into the hotel foyer, and had patted his pockets as if to ensure he still had his papers, he had observed that the two men inside the saloon had made no move to follow him. One was already reading a newspaper, while the other, the driver, had just lit a cigarette. Warned by their inactivity, Gant surveyed the foyer from the vantage point of the hotel desk, and picked out the man who was waiting to identify him. His picture must have been transmitted via wireprint from Cheremetievo to Dzerzhinsky Street.
Had he not been thoroughly briefed by Aubrey as to what to expect, Gant might have been left breathless by such efficiency; the intrusive, dogged pursuit of himself. As it was, the realisation of the degree and intensity of the security with regard to himself, merely as a suspected ‘economic criminal’, though deadened, still caused him a momentary feeling of wateriness in the pit of his stomach.
The man watching for him. masked by his copy of Pravda, showed no sign of interest. He was seated in one of the many alcoves off the central foyer, overcoat thrown over a chair, apparently at his ease. If, and when, Gant left the Moskva, that man would follow him. Probably already, the car outside had been relieved by another, operating under the auspices of the same Directorate of the KGB as the man behind the newspaper.
Once in his room, Gant removed the clear-glass spectacles, ruffled his hair deliberately, and pulled off his tie. It was as if he had released himself from a strait-jacket. He opened his suitcases, then slipped off his shoes. The room was a small suite, with the tall windows looking out over the windswept expanse of Red Square. Gant ignored the window, and helped himself to a Scotch from the drinks trolley placed in one corner of the room. He seated himself on a low sofa, put his feet up, and tried to relax. He had begun to realise that his attempted indifference would not work, not even in the apparent, luxurious safety of his centrally-heated, double-glazed hotel room. He had been instructed not to look for bugs, since he couldn’t be sure that he was not being observed through some two-way mirror device.
He glanced in the direction of the huge mirror on one wall, and then dragged his eyes away from it. He began to experience the hypnotic effect of KGB surveillance. It was too easy - it required a real effort of mind to avoid doing so - to imagine himself pinned on a card, naked and exposed, with a bright white light beating down upon him. He shivered involuntarily, and swallowed at the Scotch. The liquor, to which he had become used merely as a part of his general training to assume the mask of Orton, warmed his throat and stomach. He inhabited a landscape of eyes.
It was difficult to consider, coldly, objectively, the Russian defence system, the hours of the flight in the Firefox, the training on the
‘Yes, Colonel. I shall have the warehouse they use as a cover watched from tonight - and move in on your orders.’
‘Good. I would like to see them before - before I myself fly down to Bilyarsk tomorrow. Yes. Ask for surveillance by the 7th Directorate, Dmitri, on the warehouse. We - need not spare too many of our own men, and they are in business to watch people. They can be replaced by our team when I give the word.’
‘Very well, Colonel.’
‘Very well? Yes, Dmitri - I begin to feel that it may indeed be very well!’ Kontarsky laughed. Priabin watched the Adam’s apple bob up and down in the turkey-throat, hating his superior’s overconfidence more” than he feared his lapses of nerve.
The black saloon had eased itself into a convenient parking-place opposite the portico of the Moskva Hotel. As Gant had passed into the hotel foyer, and had patted his pockets as if to ensure he still had his papers, he had observed that the two men inside the saloon had made no move to follow him. One was already reading a newspaper, while the other, the driver, had just lit a cigarette. Warned by their inactivity, Gant surveyed the foyer from the vantage point of the hotel desk, and picked out the man who was waiting to identify him. His picture must have been transmitted via wireprint from Cheremetievo to Dzerzhinsky Street.
Had he not been thoroughly briefed by Aubrey as to what to expect, Gant might have been left breathless by such efficiency; the intrusive, dogged pursuit of himself. As it was, the realisation of the degree and intensity of the security with regard to himself, merely as a suspected ‘economic criminal’, though deadened, still caused him a momentary feeling of wateriness in the pit of his stomach.
The man watching for him. masked by his copy of Pravda, showed no sign of interest. He was seated in one of the many alcoves off the central foyer, overcoat thrown over a chair, apparently at his ease. If, and when, Gant left the Moskva, that man would follow him. Probably already, the car outside had been relieved by another, operating under the auspices of the same Directorate of the KGB as the man behind the newspaper.
Once in his room, Gant removed the clear-glass spectacles, ruffled his hair deliberately, and pulled off his tie. It was as if he had released himself from a strait-jacket. He opened his suitcases, then slipped off his shoes. The room was a small suite, with the tall windows looking out over the windswept expanse of Red Square. Gant ignored the window, and helped himself to a Scotch from the drinks trolley placed in one corner of the room. He seated himself on a low sofa, put his feet up, and tried to relax. He had begun to realise that his attempted indifference would not work, not even in the apparent, luxurious safety of his centrally-heated, double-glazed hotel room. He had been instructed not to look for bugs, since he couldn’t be sure that he was not being observed through some two-way mirror device.
He glanced in the direction of the huge mirror on one wall, and then dragged his eyes away from it. He began to experience the hypnotic effect of KGB surveillance. It was too easy - it required a real effort of mind to avoid doing so - to imagine himself pinned on a card, naked and exposed, with a bright white light beating down upon him. He shivered involuntarily, and swallowed at the Scotch. The liquor, to which he had become used merely as a part of his general training to assume the mask of Orton, warmed his throat and stomach. He inhabited a landscape of eyes.
It was difficult to consider, coldly, objectively, the Russian defence system, the hours of the flight in the Firefox, the training on the
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