Kedrov flushes and stutters. Claire says, in a small voice, “Is Mama all right?”
“She’s fine now, darling. It was just very hard work.” I look straight at Kedrov and say fiercely, “That’s why they call it labor, you know.”
Well, he’s set back on his heels by this assertion of moral authority, which just goes to show that there’s humanity in everybody. He leads us back to the reception area and speaks to the nurse at the desk and, a moment later, ushers us down the hall to Iris’s room, led by the nurse. The nurse opens the door. Iris lies in her bed, propped up by pillows, looking remarkably more cheerful than I left her a few hours ago. She holds the baby in her arms. A man rises from the chair next to the bed.
And I’ll be damned, but it’s Sumner Fox.
Lyudmila
July 1952
Moscow
Lyudmila’s waiting for Vashnikov when he crashes into his office at a quarter past nine. He’s so startled, he drops the cigarette he was lighting and leans down, swearing, to pick it up from the floor.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing with my operation?” she demands.
He stands up again and looks innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You sent men to search Digby’s apartment yesterday, while he was at the hospital attending his wife’s labor.”
Vashnikov walks to his desk, sets down his briefcase and cigarette, and hangs up his coat. “Where did you hear this?”
“It doesn’t matter where I heard it. You wish to sabotage my operation, and for what? For what possible purpose would you let the man know he was under suspicion? Unless you wanted him to know it?”
Vashnikov sits back in his chair and smokes his cigarette, though she notices his hand trembles a little as he puts it to his mouth. “That’s ridiculous. If I’d wanted to warn him, I would have done so in a more sensible manner.”
“Then you were trying to find something. What did you find?”
He spreads his hands. “Nothing.”
“So you admit you sent the men?”
“I admit nothing. But whether his apartment has been searched or not, I am absolutely certain that nothing exists to implicate Mr. Digby as this phantom mole of yours. Your entire operation is a farce, Ivanova.”
“Oh? Kedrov tells me he was given orders to cease surveillance until further notice. Whose orders? And why?”
“Mine. I’ve encountered unanswerable evidence that Mr. and Mrs. Fox are, as they claim, an ordinary married couple of decidedly amorous inclination.”
“What business do you have listening to surveillance recordings of my operation?”
“Why, I was called over by the specialists themselves to have a listen. You should endeavor to exert better control over your subordinates, Ivanova. This is basic KGB training.”
Lyudmila stares at him a moment. He stares back with his dark, piggy eyes. But he’s not unmoved. The tip of his nose turns an even brighter shade of red than usual, and his fingers flick the cigarette spasmodically above the brass ashtray on the corner of his desk. Lyudmila remembers—not altogether inconsequentially—what a terrible lover he was. Even in a convenient and merely physical transaction, the man should have some regard for his partner’s pleasure, and he had none. After a couple of meetings, she rebuffed him. It simply wasn’t worth the trouble of taking your clothes off, to sleep with a man like that.
“Tell me something, Comrade Vashnikov,” she says, in a pleasant voice, “wasn’t it you who put together that ring in Rome, during the thirties? You sent in ROSEBUD to recruit and handle agents.”
For an instant, he looks stricken. “Yes. What of it?”
“You were the one who gave ROSEBUD permission to recruit HAMPTON. Now, ordinarily a handler is not supposed to sleep with her agent, but for some reason you allowed ROSEBUD and HAMPTON to develop a sexual relationship alongside the professional one.”
Vashnikov shrugs. “It was a stroke of genius, actually. It was the perfect way to run HAMPTON. He was young and sexually inexperienced, he lacked confidence. She gave him what he needed, and in return, he gave her everything she asked for, and more. He was our most productive agent in Italy. He wanted to impress her, you see.”
“But then he outgrew her. He met Mrs. Digby, married her, had children with her.”
“ROSEBUD is a professional,” Vashnikov says. “She made adjustments. She ran him effectively, even after his marriage.”
“They resumed their sexual relationship in Zurich, however.”