been worried about his state of mind after they'd interrogated him but now I was worried about the things he'd been doing before his arrest. It was as if there were two people: Schrenk and this other man who'd been breaking all the rules. 'Do they always watch that cafe?' I asked the girl. She was keeping up with me now, and I could feel the tension in her, because I'd talked about Helmut. 'Not always. Tonight it's because of the trial; they think we might demonstrate, or make trouble. Most of the people who go there are Jews, and they want Borodinski released. It would be symbolic.' 'Of what?' 'Of the power of the dissidents. There've been many demonstrations all over the city. Don't you know that?' I felt a slight tug on my arm as she held back again, not trusting me, not knowing who I was, and not wanting to cause any harm to Helmut. She wasn't his type. His women had been dark, simmering, sensual. Corinne, Rebecca, Toni Alvirez. I couldn't see him with this fair-haired girl full of her fears and her extrovert dreams, the symbolic power of the dissidents, the effectiveness of demonstrations. Not his type: it was inconsistent again. 'What's your job?' I asked her. 'I'm a senior clerk, in the Kremlin.' Connection. 'Who's the man you were talking to?' 'Ivan? He's an engineer.' 'Did he know Helmut?' 'No. I don't understand,' she said tightly, 'you said you were looking for him. But he was arrested, didn't you know that?' 'He escaped.' 'Escaped?' Life came into her and her hand dug into my arm. 'You mean he's free?' 'I don't know.' Two more. 'I don't understand,' she said anxiously. 'If he escaped then he must be -' 'He managed to reach West Germany. Then they found him again. I think he's in Moscow.' Two more militia men. 'You mean in prison?' 'I don't know.' I began slowing our pace a fraction. 'If he is, there are certain friends who'll be trying to get him out.' 'By demonstrating?' It was all they could think about. They thought they could get Borodinski off a life sentence or a death sentence, just as they'd thought they could get Ginzburg off, and Pektus, and Shcharansky; but all they could ever get by demonstrating was a night in the cells and a roughing up and a new entry on their records in the KGB files. 'No,' I said. 'Not by demonstrating.' They were coming towards us from the other end of the street on this side. The Pobeda was on the opposite side and the distance at the moment was about the same. I could turn round now and take the girl with me and get her into the car and drive off but I didn't think I could do it without hurrying, without being seen to hurry. I might have done it alone, measuring my steps, walking indiscernibly faster and with a longer stride, getting my keys ready; but I couldn't do it with the girl: she was still frightened of me, frightened for him, because whatever I said to her it wouldn't convince her that I wasn't in the police and hunting for Schrenk and hoping she could lead me to him. 'Who was his best friend?' I asked her. 'You?' 'I love him.' Her voice faltered on it. It was over three months since she'd last seen him and she'd been starting to get over it and now I'd brought it all back. 'I'd do anything to see him again.' 'Then keep hoping. And trust me.' The two militia men were close now. There was no reason why they should stop us but there was always a risk and it worried me because yesterday I'd been hang-gliding over the Sussex cliffs trying to shake off the tensions of the last operation and then Croder had thrown me out here and this was alien soil, hostile and dangerous and unpredictable, and I didn't feel ready to take the risks and beat the odds and stay this side of survival. I wasn't sure of my cover or my accent: to be word perfect in the safe-