12. Flight by Dave Rigby
Only a thin linen shirt – and it’s still unbearably hot and sticky. ‘R’ is one of those career spooks who insists on having his cake and eating it. He’s as Machiavellian as hell and you’re just supposed to roll with it. Well I’ve had enough. Yes I’ve said it before, countless times, but now I mean it. Dmitri assured me that the visa would be no problem. Normally getting into the Soviet Union at such short notice would be out of the question. Gazing out towards the Nile, I don’t want to move an inch – except to retrieve my Martini glass. Valerie – can’t get her out of my mind. Who is she? How is it that I can forgive her for the way she’s treated me? Where is she now? It’s far too hot to smoke I tell myself, lighting up yet again, absent-mindedly turning the cigarette case over and over on the table-top. This place has changed so much since I was last here. Well, after the debacle of ‘56, that was inevitable. When the man sits down on the seat at the other side of the table...