Cometh the Hour Read online

  “And so we come together this evening to honor a remarkable man, whose death will not diminish his life’s achievement, but will only help to ensure that it will endure. Anatoly Babakov possessed a gift that we lesser mortals can only aspire to. An author whose heroism will surely survive the whirligig of time, and who now joins his immortal fellow countrymen Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, Pasternak and Solzhenitsyn as their equal.”

  Harry paused, looked up at the audience, and waited for that moment before he knew the spell would be broken. And then, almost in a whisper, he said, “It takes a heroic figure to rewrite history so that future generations might know the truth and benefit from his sacrifice. Quite simply, Anatoly Babakov fulfilled the ancient prophecy: cometh the hour, cometh the man.”

  The whole audience rose as one, assuming that the speech had ended. Although Harry continued to grip the sides of the lectern, it was some time before they realized he had more to say. One by one they resumed their seats, until the acclamation of the throng had been replaced by an expectant silence. Only then did Harry take a fountain pen from an inside pocket, unscrew the cap and hold the pen high in the air. “Anatoly Yuryevich Babakov, you have proved to every dictator who ever ruled without the people’s mandate that the pen is mightier than the sword.”

  King Carl Gustaf was the first to rise from his place, take out his fountain pen and hold it high in the air before repeating, “The pen is mightier than the sword.” Within moments, the rest of the audience followed suit, as Harry left the stage and returned to his seat, almost deafened by the prolonged cheers that accompanied him. He finally had to lean forward and beg the King to sit down.

  A second cheer, every bit as tumultuous, followed when Yelena Babakova stepped forward on her husband’s behalf to accept the Nobel medal and the citation from the King.

  Harry hadn’t slept the night before because of the fear of failure. He didn’t sleep that night because of the triumph of success.

  50

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Harry, Emma and Yelena joined the King for breakfast.

  “Last night was a triumph,” said Carl Gustaf, “and the Queen and I wondered if you’d like to spend a few days in Stockholm as our guests. I’m assured this is the best hotel in town.”

  “That’s very kind of you, sir,” said Emma, “but I’m afraid I have a hospital to run, not to mention the family business.”

  “And it’s time I got back to William Warwick,” said Harry. “That is, if I’m still hoping to meet my deadline.”

  There was a gentle tap on the door and a moment later the equerry appeared. He bowed before he spoke to the King.

  Carl Gustaf raised a hand. “I think, Rufus, it might save time if you were to speak in English.”

  “As you wish, sir.” He turned to Harry. “I’ve just had a call from Sir Curtis Keeble, the British Ambassador in Moscow, to say that the Russians have relented and granted you, your wife and Mrs. Babakova twenty-four-hour visas so you can attend Laureate Babakov’s funeral.”

  “That’s wonderful news,” said Emma.

  “But as always with the Russians, there are caveats,” the equerry added.

  “Like what?” said Harry.

  “You will be met off the plane by the ambassador and driven directly to St. Augustine’s church on the outskirts of Moscow, where the funeral will take place. Once the service is over, you must go straight back to the airport and leave the country immediately.

  Yelena, who hadn’t spoken until then, simply said, “We accept their terms.”

  “Then you’ll need to leave now,” said the equerry, “because the only flight to Moscow today departs in an hour and a half.”

  “Have a car ready to take them to the airport,” said Carl Gustaf. Turning to Yelena, he added, “Your husband could not have been better represented, Mrs. Babakova. Please return to Stockholm as my guest whenever you wish. Mr. Clifton, Mrs. Clifton, I will be eternally in your debt. I would make a speech, but as you have a plane to catch, it would be neither adequate nor appropriate. Hang not a thread on protocol, and be gone.”

  Harry smiled and bowed for a different reason.

  The three of them returned to their rooms to find their cases already packed, and a few minutes later they were being escorted to a waiting car.

  “I could get used to this,” said Emma.

  “Don’t,” said Harry.

  When Yelena walked into the airport on Harry’s arm, passengers took out their pens, biros, pencils and held them in the air as she passed by.

  During the flight to Moscow, Harry was so exhausted he finally fell asleep.

  * * *

  Virginia wasn’t surprised to receive a call from Adrian Sloane. He didn’t waste any time getting to the point.

  “You probably know that the board have asked me to take over as chairman of Mellor Travel while Desmond is … away, if you’ll forgive the euphemism.”

  Not with his blessing, Virginia was about to say, but she kept her counsel.

  “Miss Castle tells me you’re the only other person who knows the code to Desmond’s safe.”

  “That is correct.”

  “I need to get hold of some papers for the next board meeting. When I visited Desmond last week at Ford, he told me that they were in the safe and you could give me the code.”

  “Why didn’t he give it to you himself?” asked Virginia innocently.

  “He didn’t want to risk it. Said there were listening devices in his cell that could pick up every word we said.”

  Virginia smiled at his simple mistake. “I’ll be happy to give you the code, Adrian, but not until you’ve paid me the twenty-five thousand pounds you promised to help cover my legal bills when I sued Emma Clifton. A drop in the ocean, if I recall your exact words.”

  “Give me the code, and I’ll transfer the full amount to your account immediately.”

  “That’s very considerate of you, Adrian, but I don’t think I’ll risk it a second time. I’ll tell you the code, but only after you’ve transferred twenty-five thousand pounds to my account at Coutts.”

  When the bank confirmed that the money had been transfered, Virginia kept her side of the bargain. After all, it was no more than Desmond Mellor had instructed.

  * * *

  How different it all was from the last time Harry had visited the Russian capital, when they didn’t want to let him in, and couldn’t wait to throw him out.

  On this occasion, when he stepped off the plane he was met by the British Ambassador.

  “Welcome home, Mrs. Babakova,” said Sir Curtis Keeble, as a chauffeur opened the back door of a Rolls-Royce to allow Yelena to get in. Before Harry could join her, the ambassador whispered, “Congratulations on your speech, Mr. Clifton. But be warned, they’ve only granted you a visa on condition there will be no heroics this time.”

  Harry was well aware what Sir Curtis was referring to. “Then why are they allowing me to attend the funeral?” he asked.

  “Because they consider it the lesser of two evils. If they don’t let you in, they’re afraid you’ll say Babakov was never released, but if they do, they can claim that he was never in jail, always a schoolteacher and is being buried at his local church.”

  “Who do they expect to fool with such blatant propaganda?”

  “They don’t care what the West thinks, they’re only interested in how it plays out in Russia, where they control the press.”

  “How many people are expected to attend the funeral?” asked Emma.

  “Only a few friends and relations will have the courage to turn up,” said Yelena. “I’d be surprised if it was more than half a dozen.”

  “I think it may be a few more than that, Mrs. Babakova,” said the ambassador. “All the morning papers are carrying photographs of you receiving the Nobel Prize on your husband’s behalf.”

  “I’m surprised they allowed that,” said Harry.

  “It’s all part of a carefully orchestrated campaign known as ‘overnight history.’ Anatoly Babak