‘There are several things I not liking here,’ Krakovitch told Quint in a little while. ‘At first I am thinking that fat man back there is simply stupid, but now not being so sure. And this business with the electricity — all very strange. Sergei finds and fixes that which they could not —and he does it quickly and without difficulty. Which would seem to make our fat friend at the checkpoint not only stupid but incompetent!’
‘You think we were deliberately delayed?’ Quint felt an uneasy, dark oppressiveness settling all around him, like a positive weight on his head and shoulders.
‘That telephone call he got just now,’ Krakovitch mused. ‘The Commissioner for Frontier Control, in Moscow? I never heard of him! But I suppose he must exist. Or must he? One commissioner, controlling all of the thousands of crossing points into the Soviet Union? So, I assume he exists. Which is meaning that Ivan Gerenko got in touch with him, in the dead of night, and that he then personally called up this little fat official in his stupid sentry-box of a control hut — all in ten minutes!’
‘Who knew we were coming through here tonight?’ Quint, in his way of going to the root of things, asked the most obvious question.
‘Eh?’ Krakovitch scratched behind his ear. ‘We knew it, of course, and —’
‘And?’
‘And my Second in Command at the Château Bronnitsy, Ivan Gerenko.’ Krakovitch turned to Quint and stared hard at him.
‘Then, while I dislike saying it,’ said Quint, ‘if there is something funny going on, Gerenko has to be your man.’
Krakovitch gave a disbelieving snort, shook his head. ‘But why? What reason?’
Quint shrugged. ‘You have to know him better than I do. Is he ambitious? Could he have been got at — and by whom? But remember, we did have that trouble in Genoa, and didn’t you remark how surprised you were that the KGB were trailing you? Your explanation was that they’d probably had you under constant surveillance
— until we put a stop to it, anyway. But just let’s suppose there is an enemy in your camp. Did Gerenko know you were meeting us in Italy?’
‘Apart from Brezhnev himself — through an intermediary who cannot be brought into question — Gerenko is the only one who knew!’ Krakovitch answered.
Quint said nothing, merely shrugged again and raised an eyebrow.
‘I am thinking,’ said Krakovitch slowly, ‘that from now on I tell no one how I moving until after the move is completed!’ He looked at Quint, saw his troubled frown. ‘Is there something else?’
Quint pursed his lips. ‘Let’s just say this Gerenko fellow is a plant, a spy in your organisation. Am I right in thinking he can only be working for the KGB?’
‘For Andropov, yes. Almost certainly.’
‘Then Gerenko must think you’re a complete fool!’
‘Oh? Why do you say so? In fact he thinks most men are fools. He fears no one, Gerenko, and so can afford to think so. But I? No, I believe I am one of the few men who he respects — or used to.’
‘Used to,’ Quint nodded. ‘But no more. Surely he must know you’ll work all of this out for yourself given a little time? Theo Dolgikh in Genoa, and now this shambles at the Romano-Soviet border? Unless he himself is an idiot,
Gerenko must know he’s for the high-jump as soon as you get back to Moscow!’
Sergei Gulharov had managed to understand most of this. Now he spoke to Krakovitch in a soft, rapid burst of Russian.
‘Hah!’ Krakovitch’s shoulders jerked in a humourless chuckle. For a moment he was silent, then he said, ‘Perhaps Sergei is smarter than all of us. And if he is, then we’re in for trouble.’
‘Oh?’ said Quint. ‘What did Sergei say?’
‘He said, perhaps Comrade Gerenko feels that he can now afford to be a little slipshod. Perhaps he isn’t expecting to see me again in Moscow! And as for you, Carl — we just crossed the border and you’re in Russia.’
‘I know,’ Quint quietly answered. ‘And I must say, I don’t exactly feel at home.’