Free Russian Roulette by Bernard Knight Page A

the woman would take his accent to be German, like Pabst’s.
    â€˜Ah, I was trying to find the apartment of my friend Gustav Pabst – I think he lives in Number 12.’
    The woman’s suspicious face relaxed – perhaps she thought me a prowler or thief , thought Simon.
    â€˜He’s still at work … at the Likachev factory,’ she said.
    Simon’s heart sank – it was gone five o’clock now; he’d hoped that Pabst might have finished on a four p.m. shift. ‘What time will he be home, citizeness?’
    â€˜Usually about eighteen thirty – his wife comes at the same time, she works in the canteen there.’
    The young woman was very pretty, Simon realized suddenly. The libertine in him was unquenchable, even in times of stress like this. He shrugged the thought away. ‘I can’t wait … perhaps I could leave a note under his door.’
    The child began to wail and her mother bumped her down on to her feet.
    â€˜Go and see grandmother – go on!’
    She stood up, her figure straining against her blouse. Simon tore his gaze away.
    â€˜It’s his day off tomorrow – he’ll be home then,’ she volunteered.
    Simon shook his head ‘Thanks, I’ll have to leave a note – it’s too far to come again.’
    The woman pointed out the door to Number 12, further down the corridor, then ran into the kitchen to scold her daughter.
    Simon walked to Pabst’s door and saw a noticeboard just outside. It held a ragged cluster of pamphlets and notices exhorting the inhabitants to this and that extra effort for the State. He pulled down one which invited them to become voluntary bricklayers at a new sports stadium and used the back of it to write a short anonymous note to Pabst. He asked him to come to a certain rendezvous the next morning or, if that was impossible, at the same time the following day, bringing his ‘goods’ with him.
    Simon printed it in German, doing his best to disguise the lettering as much as possible. Slipping it under the door, he made his way out, smiling at the young woman with undisguised approval as he passed the kitchen door.
    The homecoming workers were crowding the streets and the Metro on the return journey. Relief at not being followed was tempered by the limited success of his mission. If the East German failed to keep his date the following day, Simon would have to decide whether to risk another delay until the alternative rendezvous on Wednesday … if he didn’t show up then, that was it as far as Simon was concerned; he had stuck his neck out far enough. As he went up the steps of the Metropol, he decided that if Pabst didn’t come up to scratch, his neck would suffer an acute relapse. With luck, he could be airborne on his way to Heathrow by Wednesday evening, and the tool steel could go to the devil.
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    4 Headquarters of the KGB.-
    5 Citizen

Chapter Six
    Dinner that evening was an enjoyable meal, as far as Simon Smith was concerned. His efforts to contact Pabst had at least given him the feeling that he was doing something, and he felt the better for it.
    The fifth floor members of the Trans-Europa party gravitated to the same table. The two old ladies went across to join some even more senile friends, so the group came to consist of Elizabeth, Simon, Gilbert, the benign, if inarticulate, priest, an already intoxicated Michael Shaw, the portly Fragonard and one of the Intourist guides, a pretty dark girl whom Gilbert had produced from the hotel bureau, with his international flair for obtaining attractive companions.
    The dining room, looking to Simon like a Victorian airship hangar lined with potted plants and be-flagged tables, was crowded. It was filled with the buzz of conversation and the excellent music from a six-piece orchestra. As the meal was again a prolonged affair, there was plenty of time for dancing between the courses. The cultural thaw was not so pronounced