Wilde sat down again and poured himself a last whisky. ‘It’s your life, comrade. If I could take you with me tomorrow, I would. But I can’t. A flight out for you will have to be approved.’

Minsky grasped the bottle of vodka by the neck and stood up, knocking his chair over in the process. ‘I am going now. Helms doesn’t know about this, does he?’

‘No, I told you that. Only Eaton.’

‘So when you have fixed my exit and when you are back in Berlin, get Helms to make contact as before. This time he is to say that Professor Wilde sends his thanks to Colonel General Minsky for his assistance. That’s all. Then I will know and I will find my way to you.’

‘That could be a while.’

‘I know, but better to get it right.’

‘Good luck, comrade.’

Minsky snorted. ‘I don’t trust luck. I trust my pistol.’

*

Wilde watched him go, weaving his way through the tables, and wondered whether he was being taken for a fool. Something wasn’t right about Boris Minsky. His story made sense, of course; he knew only too well the callous disregard for life of men like Viktor Abakumov, the head of SMERSH, and Lavrentiy Beria, head of state security. Both loved the finer things in life, including women. Both distrusted everyone, including each other, and would put a bullet in the head of friends and enemies alike on the say-so of a solitary informant with a grudge.

The OSS lacked spies in Moscow, but word seaped through anyway, nuggets of gossip from diplomats about the peccadilloes of the senior men in the Kremlin. In the circumstances, Wilde knew all he needed to know about these men. So Minsky’s fear that his time was almost up sounded all too genuine. And if he had secrets to impart, well that was a major reason to assist him. Why then did Wilde have such doubts about the man?

As Minsky vanished from view, Wilde noticed another movement among the crowd. A small, slender man with slick hair was rising to his feet and making his way towards the door. From this distance he looked for all the world like Josef Goebbels, except younger and without the limp. So that was Colonel General Minsky’s tail.

The waitress came with the reckoning for two bottles of spirits. Wilde handed over a wad of dollars and poured himself another Scotch. He’d watch another dance and listen to a couple more songs. He’d paid enough for the pleasure.

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Wilde had parked the borrowed jeep directly outside the front of the hall, having secured a space among a group of twenty or more service vehicles scattered across the road with the arrogance of the conqueror. At the doorway, the comedian with the peg leg and the silver tie smiled broadly. ‘Going already, Yankee? Don’t like my jokes, huh?’