He heard a groggy mutter and finally the door opened just a crack and a suspicious eye glared at him.

“I’m sorry to wake you. It’s important.” He had chosen the hour deliberately because Oleg’s defenses would be down.

“Well come in then.” Oleg stepped back ungraciously, walking away from him in a satin dressing gown that flapped around his calves-a curiously elegant garment for a workingman’s politician.

It was one of the smaller bedchambers in the south wing of the villa but it was nonetheless a spacious room, richly furnished and carpeted. A valise lay carelessly open on the floor and last night’s suit was strewn in rumpled disorder across a chair; Oleg had no valet. The room stank of strong pipe tobacco; moths crashed around the lamp.

Oleg sat down on the edge of the bed and lowered his face, grinding knuckles into his eye sockets. “Time is it?”

“Half-past five.”

“In God’s name, what is it you want at this hour?” Then he looked up, bloodshot but suddenly alert. “You have been fool enough to accept the job.”

“Yes. There’s something I need to know. This contact of yours in the Kremlin. How much can we count on him for? How highly placed is he?”

“Highly enough. The man is General Vlasov.”

It took Alex completely by surprise and he made no effort to conceal it.

“Vlasov has been one of us since Stalin began the purges eight years ago. Actually his sympathies were always with us. By ‘us’ of course I mean the exiled democratic Socialist wing. Vlasov is far too liberal to suit most of my colleagues in this venture. That is one reason I did not expose his name in the meeting. Anatol-to him the difference between Socialists and Bolsheviks is not a centime’s ”

Alex knew of Vlasov; the Soviet general had been recently in the news. A wirephoto came to mind: a great slab of a man-very big ears and thick eyeglasses, heavy nose and jaw. He’d had a Red Army in the Kiev sector when the Soviets were trapped there by German armor and Vlasov was the only commander to fight his way out of the trap: he’d used a clever tactic, a planned retreat in the center to draw the panzers in and then a flanking movement, snapping both wings shut behind the Germans to trap them inside the circle. Vlasov had kept his army intact while Budyenny had given up and now, a month ago, Stalin had appointed him Commandant of the Moscow Army. Vlasov had been described as Stalin’s favorite general; he shared responsibility for the defense of Moscow and he was regarded as Zhukov’s most likely successor.

Alex said, “How do you maintain contact with him?”

“The usual thing. A series of drops. Couriers-blind exchanges. There is no way for anyone to trace the chain.”

“That’s too clumsy-too slow. I’ll need direct contact.”

“My dear Alex, I am your only means of communication with him and the only one you are going to have.”

“That’s no good. Suppose you’re arrested by the Spanish police? It could happen at any time.”

“I am prepared to take that risk.”

“I’m not.”

“You have little choice.”

“Vlasov’s security is expendable.” Alex spoke harshly for effect. “If the operation succeeds his cover won’t matter; if it doesn’t he’ll probably be found out anyway. I’ve got to have direct contact with him. Not through you-not through anyone.”

“Impossible. I am the only one he trusts.”

“Then tell him he’s got to trust me as well. Or doesn’t he trust you enough to believe that?”

“Well riposted, Alex, but I have given him my word.”

“Ask him to release you from it.”

Oleg tried to argue wordlessly but it was the easiest thing in the world to meet and hold a man’s stare until he got tired of the game. Finally Oleg went to the dresser where the contents of his pockets were strewn; opened a pouch and spooned his pipe into it, tamping with his thumb. “Does it matter that much-or are you only trying to prove who is in command now?”

“I’ve got to work directly with Vlasov.”

“If you prefer not to work through me then perhaps you had better work out a scheme that excludes Vlasov.”

It had always been exasperating to deal with Oleg; he fought out of stubbornness more than conviction.

Oleg said, “The reason Vassily is dead is that too many people learned about it. I cannot put Vlasov in that jeopardy.”

“He’s already in jeopardy. I can’t do the job without him,” Alex said. “Your loyalty to the idea-the coalition-is it a sham?” He maintained an impassive facade and watched the determined resistance in Oleg’s eyes change to sardonic self-deprecation when he saw he was going to have to surrender his control.

Finally with grudging logic Oleg said, “I suppose your intransigence is more reasonable than my own. Very well. But you must let me do it my way. I shall advise you when you may approach him. Do not attempt it until you have my clearance.”

“It’s got to be done quickly.”

“It will be. We haven’t much time, have we-or the Fuehrer will do our job for us.”

He had got what he’d come for; he turned to go but Oleg’s voice arrested him. “You need men-I can provide them. If I ask them a thousand men will enlist with you.”

“I won’t need a thousand.”

“Vassily wanted a regiment…”

“We’re not using Vassily’s plan.”

The room began to stink of Oleg’s pipe. He gave Alex a long scrutiny. “I see. But you still need people. My offer is genuine.”

Alex supposed his hesitation was obvious. After a moment Oleg said, “You are afraid of an imbalance in your force-too many rabid young Socialists-that would displease our conservative friends. But there is a risk in neutrality, young Alex-if things go awry you will have no strong allies among us. I know the hardships of working alone, remaining aloof from all the rest. Often it is the best way but it is never easy.”

“I haven’t heard anybody suggest the job’s easy.”

“Of course. All right-tell me how many of my people you can absorb without incurring the anger of Anatol and the others. Give me a number and that many young men will be on whatever doorstep you wish on the appointed date.”

“They’d want training. It’s better to use professional soldiers.”

“You may find that the professional soldiers of the world are otherwise occupied at the moment.”

“Then keep the offer open.”

“Of course. But for your own sake do not take too much time-it is the one thing you haven’t got.”

At noon he waited in the garden for Irina. The others hadn’t yet finished lunch and Prince Leon was on a trunk call to Zurich, something to do with the Romanov finances, the sort of call you had to make cryptic and reserved because the lines passed through Vichy France.

A rickety airplane stuttered along the horizon to the south, possibly carrying mail to Barcelona. When Irina appeared on the terrace he climbed the steps and took her hand.

She looked wan but self-possessed. She pushed her hair back from her temples. “You’re leaving right away then.”

“As soon as a few things have been signed.”

“I’ll go with you to Madrid,” she said. “I’ll bring Felix back if he agrees to come.”

“How much have they told you?”

“I’ve made a few surmises.” She had one of her Du Mauriers going; she coughed on the smoke. “I’m very glad you’ve taken it on. Vassily still had all his respect for you in spite of what happened between you.”

She’d given him the opening but he didn’t take it and he felt the distance grow: the violence of Vassily’s death had estranged them. He didn’t know what it meant-what could be done about it.

She said, “I just want to ride to Madrid with you. We’ll sit together and you’ll hold my hand.”

18

The day was blazing hot and tinder dry on the two-kilometer Madrid course. Felix swept his left hand from the wheel to downshift before going into the turn. His eyes judged the banked edge. He allowed himself a quick glance over his shoulder at the Alfa Romeo: it was gaining. Felix’s grip whitened on the wooden wheel and he cut across the turn, wheels skittering, running in second with his foot flat down on the hard-sprung metal plate of the accelerator and the tachometer needle beyond the red line.