talking to someone whose experience and opinions I respect,” said Bundy.
Bollocks, dismissed Charlie. “Been away too long myself to get up to speed yet.”
“You certainly hit the ground at a busy time.”
“Maybe one that talking about on an open-line telephone isn’t such a good idea, unless you’re equipped with an intercept white noise cutout at your end.”
Bundy laughed. “You’re not trying to tell me you’re calling on a phone that hasn’t been swept clean enough to shine in the dark?”
I’m not but someone else already has, decided Charlie. And it was all too easy to decide who that person was. “I’m still uncomfortable after an episode like this.”
“You wouldn’t be on top of your job, which you always have been, if you weren’t more than uncomfortable,” overflattered the American. “We talked the other night about lunch. How about it?”
Charlie’s instinctive inclination was to make an excuse, just as quickly discarded. Charlie was as much a learn-everything Russophile as Bill Bundy and wanted very much to discover the reason for Bundy’s inexplicable interest in him. He was also anxious to get off the telephone and out of the embassy to make contact with Natalia. “Lunch would be good.”
“How about tomorrow? The Pekin on the ring road?”
He now had Bundy’s direct line to cancel if the mortuary visitwent on longer than he expected. “One o’clock unless I have to cry off.”
“I hope you don’t cry off,” said the American.
To make what he judged the far more important call Charlie used the same telephone kiosk farther along Smolenskaya from which he’d rearranged his dinner date with Paula-Jane, with whom he guessed he was going to have a confrontation the following day.
“How about the Botanical Gardens?” he suggested, when she answered.
He heard—or hoped he heard—her faint laugh at the venue: the gardens, with their huge cultivation greenhouses, had been one of their tryst locations when he’d first maneuverd the posting to Moscow after learning of Sasha’s existence. “How long will you need to be sure?”
“Two hours should be more than enough,” said Charlie, knowing Natalia wouldn’t require the same amount of time to ensure she wasn’t under surveillance. He also knew that she would still take every precaution.
“Eight then,” accepted Natalia. “The tropical plant greenhouse, as always.”
She’d even remembered the specific meeting spot, Charlie recognized, encouraged.
8
Natalia was waiting on the seat he’d expected, partially hidden beneath an overshadowing cedar but with an unobstructed view of his approach to establish for herself that he was not under any surveillance. This was where—and how—she’d expertly waited in those initial days that now seemed so long ago: it had been summer then, too, and although it would have been impossible for it to have been the same one, she was even wearing a matching light coat that Charlie remembered her wearing then.
She would have seen him enter, of course, but she didn’t look up from her book and Charlie made no acknowledgement as he continued past to a seat closer to their chosen glassed exhibition hall where he sat and opened that day’s
Pravda
. His position gave Natalia an even more extensive view from which surveillance could have been established if any pursuers entered through other gates; Charlie was sure there was no one after the precautions he’d taken over the preceding two hours. The Moscow Metro, with its eight separate but interlinked, people-jammed underground lines, was an espionage Olympics training ground for trail clearing, and that evening Charlie had used it like the gold medalist he was.
He’d been alert to everything and everyone around him when he’d left the embassy, deep within as big a departing group as he could find among which to hide himself from the remainingalthough slightly smaller media melee, knowing there would still be FSB cameramen
Bollocks, dismissed Charlie. “Been away too long myself to get up to speed yet.”
“You certainly hit the ground at a busy time.”
“Maybe one that talking about on an open-line telephone isn’t such a good idea, unless you’re equipped with an intercept white noise cutout at your end.”
Bundy laughed. “You’re not trying to tell me you’re calling on a phone that hasn’t been swept clean enough to shine in the dark?”
I’m not but someone else already has, decided Charlie. And it was all too easy to decide who that person was. “I’m still uncomfortable after an episode like this.”
“You wouldn’t be on top of your job, which you always have been, if you weren’t more than uncomfortable,” overflattered the American. “We talked the other night about lunch. How about it?”
Charlie’s instinctive inclination was to make an excuse, just as quickly discarded. Charlie was as much a learn-everything Russophile as Bill Bundy and wanted very much to discover the reason for Bundy’s inexplicable interest in him. He was also anxious to get off the telephone and out of the embassy to make contact with Natalia. “Lunch would be good.”
“How about tomorrow? The Pekin on the ring road?”
He now had Bundy’s direct line to cancel if the mortuary visitwent on longer than he expected. “One o’clock unless I have to cry off.”
“I hope you don’t cry off,” said the American.
To make what he judged the far more important call Charlie used the same telephone kiosk farther along Smolenskaya from which he’d rearranged his dinner date with Paula-Jane, with whom he guessed he was going to have a confrontation the following day.
“How about the Botanical Gardens?” he suggested, when she answered.
He heard—or hoped he heard—her faint laugh at the venue: the gardens, with their huge cultivation greenhouses, had been one of their tryst locations when he’d first maneuverd the posting to Moscow after learning of Sasha’s existence. “How long will you need to be sure?”
“Two hours should be more than enough,” said Charlie, knowing Natalia wouldn’t require the same amount of time to ensure she wasn’t under surveillance. He also knew that she would still take every precaution.
“Eight then,” accepted Natalia. “The tropical plant greenhouse, as always.”
She’d even remembered the specific meeting spot, Charlie recognized, encouraged.
8
Natalia was waiting on the seat he’d expected, partially hidden beneath an overshadowing cedar but with an unobstructed view of his approach to establish for herself that he was not under any surveillance. This was where—and how—she’d expertly waited in those initial days that now seemed so long ago: it had been summer then, too, and although it would have been impossible for it to have been the same one, she was even wearing a matching light coat that Charlie remembered her wearing then.
She would have seen him enter, of course, but she didn’t look up from her book and Charlie made no acknowledgement as he continued past to a seat closer to their chosen glassed exhibition hall where he sat and opened that day’s
Pravda
. His position gave Natalia an even more extensive view from which surveillance could have been established if any pursuers entered through other gates; Charlie was sure there was no one after the precautions he’d taken over the preceding two hours. The Moscow Metro, with its eight separate but interlinked, people-jammed underground lines, was an espionage Olympics training ground for trail clearing, and that evening Charlie had used it like the gold medalist he was.
He’d been alert to everything and everyone around him when he’d left the embassy, deep within as big a departing group as he could find among which to hide himself from the remainingalthough slightly smaller media melee, knowing there would still be FSB cameramen
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