The Russia House Page #3

If you've read anything about playing

the radio or running the taps, forget it.

That's right. The source

is the star of the show.

And the star decides

whether to make the meeting or abort.

This is fun. Is that why you keep it secret?

Did you spot our watchers?

The tramp raiding the dustbin,

the woman with the white shoes,

and, of course, the man with the tracksuit.

You scored nil. Out of a possible 1 2.

The lesson is

you'll never know who they are.

If you need to write something down, use

a single sheet of paper on a hard surface.

That leaves no impression.

How many such surfaces

can you see in this room?

Well, including the windowsill... four.

Seven.

This is often easiest.

Then wipe it clean - rubbing hard.

The issue is why.

That's what you're looking for all the time.

If we trust the motive, we trust the man.

Then we can trust the material.

Why did Dante pick on Katya?

Why does he put her life at risk?

Why does she let him?

Is she a spy?

- It's voice-activated, sir. You switch...

- I know all this. I've had it up to here.

I just want to get it done.

What's the hold-up?

It's everything we ever wanted to know

about Russia and were afraid to ask.

- Sounds like the pot of gold.

- Sounds like a crock of sh*t.

Some unidentified walk-in is telling us

the Russians are way behind,

they can't hurt us,

we can pull in our horns.

Who the hell is gonna

sell that story on the Hill?

Russell?

It could turn around

and bite us right in the ass.

Let the Brits run with it for a while.

Dante is their source,

and, uh... Scott Blair is their problem.

I'll go with that, Russell. But I want

Joe and Larry with him in London.

Friendly observers, OK?

You'll do us proud, Barley.

I've brought you a present.

It's not to keep. It's just to sniff.

- Am I supposed to offer to publish it?

- Offer him anything he wants.

Say anything you need to say

to keep him with us.

Except the truth?

Bon voyage, Barley.

Come back with the goods on Dante,

starting with his real name,

and I'll get you a knighthood for literature.

The Russia House.

Barley Scott Blair.

Abercrombie and Blair?

London. The publishers.

I believe you know Niki Landau.

Yes.

Well, Niki was very insistent that I should

give you a call. How do you do?

How do you do?

I'll tell you why I'm calling.

I'm here in Moscow.

And Niki's sent you about a ton of tea.

Well, a couple of pounds.

I hope you like tea.

I was wondering

if we could arrange a handover.

- A handover?

- Do you ever escape for lunch?

Yes. Of course.

Well, how about today?

I'm at the Ukraine Hotel.

- That would be convenient.

- Good. Marvellous.

Well, I'll be outside from 1 2.30 on.

- How will I know you?

- Oh, listen, I'm easy to recognise.

I look like a large, unmade bed

with a shopping bag attached.

We're off.

Hi. Hello.

You're Katya, of course.

Yes. And you must be Mr Barley.

Yes, indeed. The same. Well done.

Well, er... where shall we go?

I brought your stuff from Niki,

but I'll carry it.

How did you recognise me, Mr Barley?

Well, Niki said you were Russia's answer

to the Venus de Milo.

That is ridiculous.

I was nearly arrested here

three years ago.

They said I was photographing

a military subject.

- And were you?

- No. A soldier and his girlfriend.

They asked me to take their picture.

Obviously I received the manuscript.

I will take you to where

we can have lunch.

If you do not mind, I will first buy shoes.

Shoes?

Today there is a shipment of shoes.

With perestroika, there is

even less available than before.

- Really? I thought things were improving.

- Everything is corrupt and incompetent.

Perhaps different people

are now stealing. I don't know.

Keep your voice down.

Complaining is our new human right.

Glasnost gives everyone

the right to complain and accuse,

but it doesn't make more shoes.

Tell me about your new Russian book.

Oh, yes. The book.

Well, my problem is that, er,

I don't know the author's real name,

let alone where he gets

all his information from.

Learned his craft and so forth. Hm?

Such personal questions

are not appropriate.

Some writers can only work in obscurity.

But you know publishing, hm?

If a fella's written about

the hill tribes of northern Burma,

well, you're entitled to know if he's

ever been further south than Minsk.

Especially if it's a really important book.

Which this one is.

Dynamite, in fact.

The author was inspired by certain

opinions of a British publisher

concerning world peace.

Do you think he'd like

to meet that publisher again?

It is not known. This can be established.

The publisher would like

to meet him again.

How long are you staying in Moscow,

please, Mr Barley?

Seven days,... Mrs Katya.

- Where do you live?

- With my children.

Your children? How many?

I have a boy and a girl.

They are eight and nine years old.

It is not relevant.

What does your husband do?

It is not important.

- Is he a publisher too?

- No.

Is he a writer?

No.

A composer? A cook?

Is he a dressmaker in Vladivostok?

His factory prefabricates houses

for rural areas.

We are divorced.

Like everybody else in Moscow.

Unfortunately, I have

to return to my children now.

lsn't someone looking after them?

Well, ring up. Tell them

you've met a fascinating man

that wants to talk literature

to you all day.

I'm sorry. I cannot.

Oh, look, we've hardly met.

I need time.

I've got 10,000 enormously

serious things to discuss

with a beautiful Russian woman.

I don't bite, I don't lie...

Have dinner with me.

- At least show me something of Moscow.

- It is not convenient.

- Then give me your home number.

- It is not convenient.

- Will you call me, then?

- Perhaps.

When?

Perhaps I shall call you late tonight.

No, not ''perhaps''.

I shall call you.

You forgot to give her the tea.

- Mr Blair, sir?

- Wicklow.

Excellent morning's work, sir.

No problems.

Oh, by the way, you asked why so many

Russians use the word ''convenient''.

In Russian it's ''udobno''.

But it also means ''proper''.

- A bit confusing really.

- Yes, it is indeed.

We have an interim, sir.

Katya left her office, took a taxi,

unknown destination. We have it covered.

Da?

Da, eta Alina.

- Dobry dyen.

- Barley!

- Welcome to Moscow, my dear chap!

- Alik.

Why do you look so healthy? Why

have you no hangover? Are you in love?

How did you know, Alik?

Meet Leonard Carl Wicklow,

our new editor of Soviet books.

Alik Zapadny of VAAP,

the all-suffocating

Soviet Copyright Agency.

- How is Barley paying you, Mr Wicklow?

- Oh, Russia's top of the pops these days.

Mention to the money boys

that we want to build up a Russian list

and they throw money at us.

Have you a sales force, or are you

still relying on divine intervention?

And how about translators?

On fiction we will use our own

and take another 5% royalty. How's that?

- We'll consider it.

- No, I don't think so.

We don't have the margin.

Exactly.

Well done, Wickers.

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