repetition - to relive the reaction that had caused him to sag against a shop window in the Kirov Street, so that Pavel had hurried to catch him up, and hold his shaking body until the epilepsy of reaction passed.
Gant climbed to his feet, and tried to put the vivid images from his mind. As he clambered and squeezed his way out of the back of the truck, he tried to consider the future, the hours ahead, to help drive away the past. He knew now that he could rely completely on Pavel Upenskoy.
In any and every word that the big man had spoken, Gant had sensed the contempt in which he was held by the Russian. It was as if, Gant admitted, he had been insulted with the company of a weekend flyer in the cockpit of the Firefox, Pavel having to tag him along until he could dump him outside Bilyarsk. Gant understood the ruthless professionalism of the big Russian. Where and how British Intelligence had recruited him, he did not know, but the old man, the night watchman at the warehouse, had muttered through his gums something about Pavel having had a Jewish wife, who was still in prison or labour camp tor having demonstrated against the Russian invasion of Czechoslovakia, twelve years before. That had been when Pavel had left him briefly alone with the old man who had tried to soften Pavel’s harsh treatment of the American. Apart from that fact, Gant knew nothing about Pavel Upenskoy. Yet, strangely, he accepted the big man’s contempt, and brusque manner with equanimity. The man was good.
Pavel and the old man were sitting at a small, bare table in the despatch-office of the warehouse. As yet, none of the day-staff had reported for work. Pavel intended to be long gone before they arrived. He looked up as Gant shut the flimsy door behind him, as if inspecting the American critically in the light of the naked bulb suspended from the ceiling. The room, like the warehouse, was cold and Gant rubbed his hands together for warmth. Pavel indicated the coffee pot on the ancient electric ring plugged into the wall, and Gant collected a chipped mug from the table and poured himself some black coffee. Without sugar, the drink was bitter, but it was hot. Uneasily, as if uninvited, he settled himself at the table. The old man, as if at a signal, finished his coffee, and left the room.
‘He goes to see if we are under surveillance here,’ Pavel explained without looking at Gant.
‘You mean they…?’ Gant began quickly.
‘No - I do not mean they know where you are,’ the Russian replied. ‘These will not be the men who followed you last night, or that gang at the station - but the department of the KGB that is concerned with the security of the airplane knows who I am, and who the others are - they will be watching, no doubt, since the weapons-trials are in,” he looked at his watch, ‘less than thirty hours’ time!’
‘Then - they’ll know I’m on my way?’
‘Not necessarily. They will merely be watching us.’
‘If they stop us?’ Gant persisted. ‘It’ll all be blown to hell, before I can leave Moscow!’
‘No! If we are stopped, there are other arrangements.’ Pavel seemed to be battling with some doubt in himself.
‘What other arrangements?’ Gant said scornfully.
‘I’ve got to get six hundred miles today, man! How do I do it?’ - Gant laughed, a highpitched sound.
Pavel looked at him in contempt.
‘I am ordered to - die, if necessary, to ensure that you get away free,’ Pavel said softly. ‘It is not what I would consider a willing or worthwhile sacrifice … However, if we get out of here safely, then we shall not be stopped again until we reach the circular motorway where another vehicle will be waiting, in the event of trouble, to collect you. If there is no trouble, then you continue with me. Understood?’
Gant was silent for a time, then said: ‘Yes.’
‘Good. Now, go and shave, in the next room - clean yourself up, a little, yes?’ Gant nodded, and crossed the room. Just as he was
Gant climbed to his feet, and tried to put the vivid images from his mind. As he clambered and squeezed his way out of the back of the truck, he tried to consider the future, the hours ahead, to help drive away the past. He knew now that he could rely completely on Pavel Upenskoy.
In any and every word that the big man had spoken, Gant had sensed the contempt in which he was held by the Russian. It was as if, Gant admitted, he had been insulted with the company of a weekend flyer in the cockpit of the Firefox, Pavel having to tag him along until he could dump him outside Bilyarsk. Gant understood the ruthless professionalism of the big Russian. Where and how British Intelligence had recruited him, he did not know, but the old man, the night watchman at the warehouse, had muttered through his gums something about Pavel having had a Jewish wife, who was still in prison or labour camp tor having demonstrated against the Russian invasion of Czechoslovakia, twelve years before. That had been when Pavel had left him briefly alone with the old man who had tried to soften Pavel’s harsh treatment of the American. Apart from that fact, Gant knew nothing about Pavel Upenskoy. Yet, strangely, he accepted the big man’s contempt, and brusque manner with equanimity. The man was good.
Pavel and the old man were sitting at a small, bare table in the despatch-office of the warehouse. As yet, none of the day-staff had reported for work. Pavel intended to be long gone before they arrived. He looked up as Gant shut the flimsy door behind him, as if inspecting the American critically in the light of the naked bulb suspended from the ceiling. The room, like the warehouse, was cold and Gant rubbed his hands together for warmth. Pavel indicated the coffee pot on the ancient electric ring plugged into the wall, and Gant collected a chipped mug from the table and poured himself some black coffee. Without sugar, the drink was bitter, but it was hot. Uneasily, as if uninvited, he settled himself at the table. The old man, as if at a signal, finished his coffee, and left the room.
‘He goes to see if we are under surveillance here,’ Pavel explained without looking at Gant.
‘You mean they…?’ Gant began quickly.
‘No - I do not mean they know where you are,’ the Russian replied. ‘These will not be the men who followed you last night, or that gang at the station - but the department of the KGB that is concerned with the security of the airplane knows who I am, and who the others are - they will be watching, no doubt, since the weapons-trials are in,” he looked at his watch, ‘less than thirty hours’ time!’
‘Then - they’ll know I’m on my way?’
‘Not necessarily. They will merely be watching us.’
‘If they stop us?’ Gant persisted. ‘It’ll all be blown to hell, before I can leave Moscow!’
‘No! If we are stopped, there are other arrangements.’ Pavel seemed to be battling with some doubt in himself.
‘What other arrangements?’ Gant said scornfully.
‘I’ve got to get six hundred miles today, man! How do I do it?’ - Gant laughed, a highpitched sound.
Pavel looked at him in contempt.
‘I am ordered to - die, if necessary, to ensure that you get away free,’ Pavel said softly. ‘It is not what I would consider a willing or worthwhile sacrifice … However, if we get out of here safely, then we shall not be stopped again until we reach the circular motorway where another vehicle will be waiting, in the event of trouble, to collect you. If there is no trouble, then you continue with me. Understood?’
Gant was silent for a time, then said: ‘Yes.’
‘Good. Now, go and shave, in the next room - clean yourself up, a little, yes?’ Gant nodded, and crossed the room. Just as he was
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