Chapter 25
Straker awoke and groaned. His head ached. He really should not have drunk so much but his hosts had been insistent and as a good and now, honoured, guest, how could he have refused. Garvey had warned him that making a scene would not be diplomatic…
He had hazy memories of being put to bed by a pair of burly soldiers.
He looked around. The room was simply furnished in a pleasingly simple Scandinavian style. Although the window was shuttered against the Ukrainian winter, sunlight filtered through the louvres. On either side of the room was a door. Presumably, one led into a bathroom.
Apart from the bed, the only other furniture consisted of a simple desk and chair, a small chest of drawers and a single wardrobe. He threw the duvet to one side, revealing that someone had taken the trouble to undress him, then redress him in his own pyjamas.
He swung his legs off the bed and gingerly stood.
His luggage had been unpacked and neatly stored in the drawers; his shirts neatly hung in the wardrobe. His Dress Uniform, however, was missing. At that moment, there was a knock on one of the doors, which opened. A batman marched in carrying Straker's uniform on a hanger, which he proceeded to hang up in the wardrobe. He nodded acknowledgement, snapped his heels together then left, closing the door behind him.
Straker reached into the wardrobe and pulled out his Uniform. It had been expertly cleaned and the tears from the previous night had been expertly stitched.
Only a close inspection would betray the damage yet to Straker's eye there was something different. Then he spotted it; alongside his medal ribbons was a new addition; a small, blood-red, rectangle; the Soviet medal had been expertly added at the end of the lower row.
.
Freeman had followed the ambulance to the Hospital. Satisfied his quarry wasn't going anywhere in a hurry, he found a payphone and called Henderson.
Despite the lateness of the hour, Henderson seemed as alert as ever: He made a few notes as Freeman reported in.
"Very well, Freeman, You may as well call it a night".
"Right. Good Night, General"
On arrival at the hospital, Ford had been taken to the Accident and Emergency Department. Closer examination revealed a fractured clavicle. The surgeon had quickly found the break but the anaesthetist was seriously concerned;
"I'm not happy with his colour" I don't want him under longer than necessary"
"I'm doing the best I can. This is a bad break.
Several times during the operation, Ford's heart had shown signs of distress.
Finally, the surgeon declared himself satisfied and the houseman moved in to close up the incision. Eventually, the trolley was wheeled into the recovery room.
The anaesthetist continued to monitor the patient's condition, His was the most responsible job; during the operation, he had to keep the patient alive but deeply unconscious. A moment's inattention and the patient would be lost forever; dead or, perhaps worse, in a persistent vegetative state, body alive but forever without that vital spark of humanity.
Instinctively, he increased the oxygen being piped to the patient. The readings on his instruments improved.
Finally, Ford regained consciousness, long enough to satisfy the anaesthetist and could be released to the Ward.
After a breakfast, that could at a different time, have passed for a banquet, followed by an almost interminable series of goodbyes, Straker and Garvey had been conducted to a large black Zil Limousine, the Chairman's official car. The vehicle sped away from the Dacha.
Straker wiped the condensation from the car window and peered out. The snow had finally stopped. The monochrome world of black trees against the blue-whiteness of the snow was starkly beautiful.
He was roused from his private reverie by Garvey's observation;
"They will never believe this in The Foreign Office"
"The Foreign Office can never know." Straker reminded him.
"Well, I have to report something. I can't just report that we had tea with Brezhnev"
"Tell them that we uncovered a plot to depose Brezhnev and start a War between East and West'
"But…"
"But nothing!" Straker was insistent. "They can never know what happened here"
"But Brezhnev…"
"Brezhnev will carry the secret." Straker assured him. "To the grave"
The airliner lifted into the sky. Garvey waited until it had shrunk to a tiny speck and disappeared into the murk of the lowering clouds before turning away and walking back to the official car. There was no point avoiding the KGB 'tail', they almost certainly knew where he had been and most of what he had done. What they didn't know was what he was going to tell the Foreign Office. But then, at the moment, he didn't know himself.