‘No one’s going to hurt you, Tassi,’ Harry told her. And then he made his mistake: ‘Your father sent me.’ Seeing her expression, he could have bitten his tongue through.
She shook her head and backed away from him. There were tears in her eyes now. ‘My father’s dead,’ she wept. ‘He’s dead! He couldn’t have sent you . . .’ And accusingly: ‘What are you going to do to me?’
‘I’ve told you,’ Harry answered, an edge of desperation in his tone, ‘I’m going to take you out of this place. Do you hear those alarms?’
She listened, and indeed she could hear the klaxons, sounding from deep down in the heart of the place. ‘Well,’ Harry continued, ‘I’m what those alarms are all about. They’re looking for me, and pretty soon they’ll be looking in here. So now I’m asking you to trust me.’
What he was saying was impossible. It was either a trick of Khuv’s or else this man was insane. No one could get out of this place, Tassi was sure. But on the other hand, how had he got in? ‘Do you have keys?’ she asked.
Harry could see he was making an impression. ‘Keys?’ he grinned, however tightly. ‘I have an entire door! Lots of doors!’
He was mad, surely. But he was different from the others here, totally different. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, still backing away. Her legs struck the edge of her bed and she flopped down on it again.
Running footsteps sounded, and the tight grin slipped from Harry’s face. ‘They’re coming,’ he said. ‘Get up.’ The sudden authority in his voice had her on her feet again in a moment.
There was shouting outside, the jangle of keys, Khuv’s voice hoarsely commanding: ‘Open it! Open it!’
Harry grabbed Tassi by the waist. ‘Put your arms round my neck,’ he said. ‘Quickly, girl. No arguments, now!’ She did it. She had no reason to trust him, but she had no reason not to. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said. ‘And keep them closed.’ Tightening one arm around her narrow waist, he grunted as he lifted her feet from the floor.
She heard the cell door grating open, then silence – but such absolute silence.
‘Wha – ?’ she commenced a question she couldn’t finish, and shrank from the booming of her own voice. Startled, she opened her eyes for a moment – but only for a moment. Then she snapped them tightly shut again.
‘There,’ said Harry, and he lowered her feet to a solid floor. ‘You can open your eyes now.’
She did, the merest slit . . . then opened them wide, wider – and sagged against him. Her eyes rolled up and she began to slide down his body.
Harry caught her up, lifted her, laid her on the Duty Officer’s desk. Behind his newspaper, the DO had just this moment realized that he had visitors. Then the girl’s arm and hand flopped into view under his open newspaper and he reared up and back with an inarticulate cry: ‘G-yahhh!’
‘It’s OK,’ said Harry, who was growing accustomed to excusing himself. ‘It’s only me, and the friend of a friend of mine.’
‘Jesus! Jesus! – oh, sweet Jesus!’ the DO clutched at his desk for support. Of all people, it was Darcy Clarke. Harry nodded the very briefest of greetings, began to massage the unconscious girl’s hands . . .
It had been 1:15 a.m. when Harry arrived at E-Branch HQ, and it was almost an hour later when he left. In between times he passed on some information, told Clarke all he had learned, and in return received a little information from the other. His instructions for the welfare of Tassi Kirescu were these:
She was to be given refuge, comforted as best the staff of E-Branch knew how, offered permanent political asylum. A Russian interpreter was to be provided for her, and she should be debriefed (but with a great deal of care and sensitivity) with regard to the Perchorsk Projekt. For the present she was to keep a low profile: her presence here in the West should be kept secret, and when she was released it must be with a new identity. Lastly, E-Branch was to use such usual and paranormal means as were required to discover the whereabouts in the USSR of her mother. Harry had made Kazimir Kirescu a promise and it was one he intended to keep – eventually.