Archangel by Robert Harris Read Free Book Online Page B

Stalin's unpublished memoirs, that you'll rewrite history, millions of dollars will be yours, women will lie at your feet, Duberstein and Saunders will form a choir to sing your praises in the middle of Harvard Yard.
    All right, Frank.' Kelso leaned the back of his head against the wall. 'You've made your point. I don't know It's just -Maybe you had to be there with him -, He pressed on, reluctant to admit defeat. 'It's just it rings a bell with me somewhere. Does it ring a bell with you?'
    'Oh sure. It rings a bell, okay. An alarm bell.' Adelman pulled out an old pocket watch. 'We ought to be getting back. D'yoLI mind? Olga will be frantic.' He put his arm round Kelso's shoulders and led him down the corridor. 'In any case, there's nothing you can do. We're flying back to New York tomorrow. Let's talk when we get back. See if there's anything for you in the faculty. You were a great teacher.'
    'I was a lousy teacher.'
    'You were a great teacher, until you were lured from the path of scholarship and rectitude by the cheap sirens of journalism and publicity. Hello, Olga.'
    'So here you are! The session is almost starting. Oh, Doctor Kelso - now this is not so good - no smoking, thank you.' She leaned over and removed the cigarette from his lips. She had a shiny face with plucked eyebrows and a very fine moustache, bleached white. She dropped the stub into the dregs of his coffee and took away his cup.
    'Olga, Olga, why so bright?' groaned Kelso, putting his hand to his brow. The lecture hail exuded a tungsten glare.
    'Television,' said Olga, with pride. 'They are making a programme of us.'
    'Local?' Adelman was straightening his bow tie. 'Network?'
    'Satellite, professor. International.'
    'Say, now, where are our seats?' whispered Adelman, shielding his eyes from the lights.
    'Doctor Kelso? Any chance of a word, sir?' An American accent. Kelso turned to find a large young man he vaguely recognised.
    'I'm sorry?'
    'R. J. O'Brian,' said the young man, holding out his hand. 'Moscow correspondent, Satellite News System. We're making a special report on the controversy -'I don't think so,' said Kelso. 'But Professor Adelman, here
    - I'm sure he'd be delighted -'
    At the prospect of a television interview, Adelman seemed physically to swell in size, like an inflating doll. 'Well, as long as it's not in any official capacity. .
    O'Brian ignored him. 'You sure I can't tempt you?' he said to Kelso. 'Nothing you want to say to the world? I read your book on the fall of communism. When was that? Three years ago.
    'Four,' said Kelso.
    'Actually, I believe it was five,' said Adelman.
    Actually, thought Kelso, it was nearer six: dear God, where were all the years going? 'No,' he said, 'thanks all the same, but I'm keeping off television these days.' He looked at Adelman. 'It's a cheap siren, apparently.'
    'Later, please,' hissed Olga. 'Interviews are later. The director is talking. Please.' Kelso felt her umbrella in his back again as she steered him into the hall. 'Please. Please -'
     
    By the time the Russian delegates were added in, plus a few diplomatic observers, the press, and maybe fifty members of the public, the hall was impressively full. Kelso sank heavily into his place in the second row. Up on the platform, Professor Valentin Askenov of the Russian State Archives had launched into a long explanation of the microfilming of the Party records. O'Brian's cameraman walked backwards down the central aisle, filming the audience. The sharp amplification of Askenov's sonorous voice seemed to pierce some painful chamber of Kelso's inner ear. Already, a kind of metallic, neon torpor had descended over the hall. The day stretched ahead. He covered his face with his hands. Twenty-five million sheets... recited Askenov, twenty-five thousand reels ofmicrofilm. . . seven million dollars.
    Kelso slid his hands down his cheeks until his fingers converged and covered his mouth. Frauds! he wanted to shout. Liars! Why were they all just sitting