It had seemed like an invitation. Lom had turned him down without a thought.
"But you must know this already," said Mikkala. "Everyone here knows about the resurrectionists."
"Not me. I"m just a grease monkey. Rivets and bolts. I do what I"m told. I haven"t been here long. Still learning the ropes."
Mikkala got up from the bed and moved to the chair at the desk.
"I shouldn"t talk so much," she said. "I feel giddy. I"ve had a lot to drink."
"It"s fine, Mikkala," said Lom. "You"re fine. That thing with Sergei was a shock, but you"ll be OK."
"I"m sorry," she said, "I can"t remember your name. I don"t know what you do. I"ve never seen you before."
"Vissarion. I"m a construction engineer."
"What are you working on?"
Lom thought fast. "Prototype a.s.sembly."
"Yes? Really? Then maybe you can tell me about the-"
She stopped.
"I don"t think I"m supposed to ask," she said. "I ought to know, for my work, but n.o.body will say. They don"t trust me; they keep me in the dark and they expect me to work alone. I don"t like it. I don"t feel comfortable here; it doesn"t feel right."
"I"ll tell you what I can, Mikkala. We"re all in this together. Working for the common purpose. That"s what Vitigorsk is all about. What do you want to know?"
"Oh, nothing."
"What?"
"It"s just... the vessels, the planetary s.h.i.+ps... I"m supposed to be working on launch calculations, only there are two kinds, and one kind is meant to leave this planet and make the long voyages, but the other only needs to reach a low orbit, and I think there are going to be more of those. But that makes no sense, does it? It doesn"t fit in and I don"t know why. Which kind is it you"re building? I"ve never even seen it."
She was looking at him, hot and staring eyes. He could see the wildness there. She was on the edge.
"I don"t know," said Lom.
"Oh."
"Like I said, I just build what I"m told."
"You mean you wouldn"t tell me," she said fiercely, "even if you knew."
"Of course I would."
Her shoulders slumped.
"I don"t feel well," she said. "I"d like to sleep now."
"I would tell you if I knew, Mikkala. I tell you what: I"ll help you to find out."
She got up unsteadily from the bed.
"I think you should go," she said. "You"re not meant to be here, you know."
"Of course." Lom stood and started putting on the truck driver"s coat. There was blood soaked into the sleeve.
"Who would know?" he said.
"Know what?"
"Who knows about the plans for the different s.h.i.+ps? Where could we find out about that?"
"Some people know, but they won"t say."
"So who knows? Who could we ask, if we wanted to?"
"I... Oh, lots of them know. The von Altmann programmers, the supervisor of mathematics, the chief designer. And the Director of course. Khyrbysk knows everything."
"Khyrbysk? Yakov Khyrbysk?"
"Of course."
"Khyrbysk is here? Where?"
"What do you mean, where?"
"I mean where"s his office?" said Lom.
"Why?"
"We"re old acquaintances. I"d like to go and see him. Where"s his office?"
Mikkala slumped down again on the bed.
"In the Administration Block," she said. "But..." She stared up at him. Her face was drawn and chalky. Dark tears behind her eyes. "Oh G.o.d. I"ve made another mistake. I thought you were my friend."
"I am your friend. Of course I am."
"I don"t think so."
"You"re a good person, Mikkala. I don"t mean you any harm. I"m glad we met."
"Please go now."
"Get some sleep," said Lom. "Everything"ll be fine."
5.
It was almost 2.30 a.m. when Lom found the Administration Block. Parallel Sector security patrols had slowed him up.
The building was dark and locked. He took a small torch and the roll of lock-picking tools from his bag, let himself in and locked the door behind him. Made his way up the stairs and started from the top. Fifteen minutes later he was in Khyrbysk"s office. He extinguished the torch, drew the curtains and switched the desk lamp on.
He should have at least three hours before someone found the driver in the cab of his truck. Unless Mikkala raised the alarm, but he didn"t think she would.
He felt bad about Mikkala.
There was a row of steel cabinets along the wall of Khyrbysk"s office. Locked, but the locks were flimsy. No obstacle at all. He went through them methodically one by one, taking the most promising files across to the desk to read.
Piece by piece the story came together. Some of it he knew, but the rest... There were plans within plans. The ambition. Some of it was flat-out insane. He thought about trying to take photographs of the doc.u.ments, but the light was poor and he had the wrong kind of lenses. He"d seen too many blurred and badly exposed copies of doc.u.ments. He started pulling out pages and stuffing them into his bag. Whole files if need be. It wasn"t idealKhyrbysk would know he"d been burgledbut it couldn"t be helped.
By 4.30 a.m. he had the whole picture. It was lethal. All that Kistler needed to work with, and more. Except that nothing tied it for certain to Rizhin, and he was running out of time.
There was a green steel safe behind the door. He hadn"t touched it yet because of the combination lock. He didn"t know how to open those. But everyone wrote their combination somewhere.
Lom went through the drawers of Khyrbysk"s desk. Nothing. Checked the blotter but it was no help. Looked inside the covers of the books on his shelves. There was nothing that looked remotely like a combination to a safe.
Think. Think.
He went out into the corridor. There was a card on the door of the next office, tucked into a holder by the handle: a.s.sISTANT TO THE DIRECTOR.
Secretaries always knew the combinations to their boss"s safe. Lom went into the room. There was an appointments diary next to the telephone. He flicked through the pages rapidly. On the inside back cover was a sequence of numbers. Four groups of four. In pencil.
Why would pencil be more secure than pen?
So you could erase it later.
He took the diary back into Khyrbysk"s office and tried the numbers, but they didn"t work. The safe didn"t open.
s.h.i.+t.
Then he tried them backwards.
The tumblers fell into place and he heard the lock click open.
On the bottom shelf of the safe was a small stack of brown folders. Not official files. t.i.tles printed carefully in ma.n.u.script. Black ink.
Private Correspondence.
ConferenceByelaya Posnya.
There was no time to look inside: grey light was beginning to show behind the curtains in the window. Lom pushed the folders into his overloaded bag and switched off the desk lamp.
When he came out of the Administration Block there was a dull band of light across the eastern sky. Dawn came late and dark to Vitigorsk under the livid permanent cloud. In the plush quiet of Khyrbysk"s office Lom had forgotten how the air stank. His bag was bulging. The sleeve and lapels of his coat were stained with his own dried blood. He looked a mess.
There was another truck loading bay a few blocks away. He"d noticed it in the night. He hustled, half-walking, half-running. The alert could come any moment now. He had to get clear of the checkpoints and on the road.
The gate of Bay Nineteen was open. An early driver unlocking his containerless cab. Lom circled round behind it.
The driver was lean, compact, energetic; long nose, flas.h.i.+ng white teeth, thick black moustache; glossy black curls under a s.h.i.+ny leather cap. The kind of fellow that carried a knife. Bright black eyes narrowed viciously when he saw Lom"s gun.
"Keep your hands out of your pockets," said Lom. "I"ll be in the back of the cab. All I want is a ride out, no trouble for you at all. But I"ll be watching you. I"ll have the gun at your head. You say anything at the checkpoint, you make any move, any sign at all, and there"ll be shooting. Lots of it. And you"ll be caught in the crossfire, I"ll make sure of that. You"ll be first. I"ll splatter your brains on the windscreen."
The driver spat and stared at him. Said nothing. Didn"t move.
"And I"ve got five hundred roubles in my pocket," said Lom. "It"s yours when we"re fifty miles from here."
"Show me."
Lom reached into his inside pocket with his left hand. Showed him the thick sheaf of Kistler"s money.
"Pay now," the driver said.
"f.u.c.k you," said Lom. "We"re not negotiating. It"ll be like I say. Nothing different. Move. Quickly."
The driver spat again and nodded. Stood back to let Lom climb aboard.
"You first," said Lom The driver swung up and slid across behind the wheel. Lom followed and squeezed into the sleeping compartment. Crouched down behind the driver"s seat.
The engine roared into life.
6.
Investigator Gennadi Bezuhov of the Parallel Sector, Vitigorsk Division, arrested Engineer-Technician 1st Cla.s.s Mikkala Avril at three the next afternoon, less than ten hours after the discovery of the intrusion into Director Khyrbysk"s office. Bezuhov presented her with his evidence: the statement of a.s.saulted truck driver Zem Hakkashvili; the accusation of a.s.saulted chemist Sergei Varin; the reports of communications operatives Zoya Markova and Yenna Khalvosiana, who overheard a male voice in Avril"s room in the small hours of the night; the damp towel under her desk, stained with blood and engine oil. Suspect descriptions provided by witnesses Hakkashvili and Vrenn were undoubtedly of the same person.
The interrogation was brief. Suspect Avril, in a condition of marked emotional distress, immediately made a full confession and provided a detailed account of her encounter with the terrorist spy, whom she knew as "Vissarion". She admitted discussing with him restricted information concerning the work of Project Continual Sunrise. She had provided guidance and a.s.sistance in breaking into the Director"s office and stealing Most Secret papers.
Engineer-Technician Avril"s att.i.tude under interrogation demonstrated poor social adjustment, psychological disturbance and instability, personality disorder, pathologically exaggerated feelings of personal importance, severe criticism of senior personnel and opposition to the purposes of her work and deep-seated internal deviation from the norms, aims and principles of the Vlast. Investigator Bezuhov permitted himself to observe that the subject had been promoted to her current rank without pa.s.sing though normal processes of a.s.sessment, and had been allowed to work unsupervised on tasks for which she lacked the necessary intellectual capacities and technical credentials.
Bezuhov"s superiorsMajor Fritjhov Gholl, commander, Parallel Sector, Vitigorsk, and Director Yakov Khyrbysk himselfsaw the broader perspective. They were acutely aware that Mikkala Avril was a Hero of the New Vlast, recruited and promoted on the instruction of Osip Rizhin himself, and she was in possession of information which must not be permitted to escape the confines of the project. Also they were not blind to the fact that the supervision of Mikkala Avril at Vitigorsk was not above criticism.
In the light of these additional considerations it was clear to Bezuhov"s superiors that the Avril case required sensitive and flexible treatment. Embarra.s.sment must be avoided. Their own careers were at stake, and surely Rizhin himself would prefer to know nothing of this. A judicial trial followed by a period in a labour camp was out of the question.