Edge of Eternity by Ken Follett

annoyance.
    â€œI’m sorry she was here,” Vasili said, though he did not look very sad about it.
    â€œYou knew I was coming today.”
    â€œI thought you’d be later.”
    â€œShe saw my face. No one is supposed to know there is a connection between you and me.”
    â€œShe works at the GUM department store. Her name is Varvara. She won’t suspect anything.”
    â€œPlease, Vasili, don’t let it happen again. What we’re doing is dangerous enough. We shouldn’t take additional risks. You can screw a teenager any day.”
    â€œYou’re right, and it won’t happen again. Let me make you some tea. You look tired.” Vasili busied himself at the samovar.
    â€œI am tired. But Ustin Bodian is dying.”
    â€œHell. What of?”
    â€œPneumonia.”
    Tanya did not know Bodian personally, but she had interviewed him, before he got into trouble. As well as being extraordinarily talented, he was a warm and kindhearted man. A Soviet artist admired all over the world, he had lived a life of great privilege, but he was still able to get publicly angry about injustice done to people less fortunate than himself—which was why they had sent him to Siberia.
    Vasili said: “Are they still making him work?”
    Tanya shook her head. “He can’t. But they won’t send him to hospital. He just lies on his bunk all day, getting worse.”
    â€œDid you see him?”
    â€œHell, no. Asking about him was dangerous enough. If I’d gone to the prison camp they would have kept me there.”
    Vasili handed her tea and sugar. “Is he getting any medical treatment at all?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid you get any idea of how long he might have to live?”
    Tanya shook her head. “You now know everything I know.”
    â€œWe have to spread this news.”
    Tanya agreed. “The only way to save his life is to publicize his illness and hope that the government will have the grace to be embarrassed.”
    â€œShall we put out a special edition?”
    â€œYes,” said Tanya. “Today.”
    Vasili and Tanya together produced an illegal news sheet called
Dissidence.
They reported on censorship, demonstrations, trials, and political prisoners. In his office at Radio Moscow, Vasili had his own stencil duplicator, normally used for making multiple copies of scripts. Secretly he printed fifty copies of each issue of
Dissidence.
Most of the people who received one made more copies on their own typewriters, or even by hand, and circulation mushroomed. This self-publishing system was called
samizdat
in Russian and was widespread: whole novels had been distributed the same way.
    â€œI’ll write it.” Tanya went to the cupboard and pulled out a large cardboard box full of dry cat food. Pushing her hands into the pellets,she drew out a typewriter in a cover. This was the one they used for
Dissidence.
    Typing was as unique as handwriting. Every machine had its own characteristics. The letters were never perfectly aligned: some were a little raised, some off center. Individual letters became worn or damaged in distinctive ways. In consequence, police experts could match a typewriter to its product. If
Dissidence
had been typed on the same machine as Vasili’s scripts, someone might have noticed. So Vasili had stolen an old machine from the scheduling department, brought it home, and buried it in the cat’s food to hide it from casual observation. A determined search would find it, but if there should be a determined search Vasili would be finished anyway.
    Also in the box were sheets of the special waxed paper used in the duplicating machine. The typewriter had no ribbon: instead, its letters pierced the paper, and the duplicator worked by forcing ink through the letter-shaped holes.
    Tanya wrote a report on Bodian, saying that General Secretary Nikita Khrushchev would be personally responsible if one of the