Dirty Tricks, page 22
Falconer would never have gone into action on Cliffhanger without a real, live defector in hand. A personal tip from Yakovlev about the King-Lander-Henderson connection, which could have been presented as coming from a defector still ‘in place’ in Russia, would not have been enough. With an involvement as sensitive as a British Prime Minister there had to be genuine collateral in case of political trouble if the operation went sour. Like reports of interrogations of the defector by case-officers in CIA files. And other evidence of his existence, like hotel bills and the reports relating to his murder.
He had briefly wondered why Yakovlev had chosen Kovalsky for the ‘defection’. It had to be somebody very senior to know the information about King-Lander and Henderson, for that would be kept within extremly close confines at the Centre. It also had to be somebody senior for it to be believed in Washington. But why a man as senior as Kovalsky? Maybe Sergei had really been offloading dangerous competition. Apart from being an ambitious thruster, Kovalsky had also been something of a protégé of Premier Volkhov, so he might have caused trouble, especially in view of what had happened.
So far as Falconer was concerned, the defector had been such a dangerous enemy to Western freedom in the past that his death was thoroughly deserved. No, he had nothing to reproach himself with. In the best of worlds what he had done would be deemed reprehensible. But when the world’s fate depended on the whims of a few old men sitting behind grim fortifications in Moscow it was far from being the best.
‘As regards Kovalsky, we’ll just have to see what the inquiry at Langley produces,’ he remarked to Taylor, making it clear that there was nothing further he wished to say on the subject. Familiar with internal CIA inquiries Taylor felt sure that this one would produce nothing that his superiors wished to remain concealed. ‘Cliffhanger’ had clearly gone so well that, if anything implicating Falconer came to light, no VIP, either in the Government or the Agency, would be inclined to attack him – unless there was outside publicity when, of course, they would throw him to the Washington wolves.
‘Just tell me one final thing, John,’ Taylor essayed with some courage. ‘Would I be right in assuming that you heard of Kovalsky’s death with some relief?’
Falconer paused then watched his companion carefully as he answered, ‘I’m prepared to admit that at that moment the KGB’s interests and mine happened to coincide.’
Taylor was visibly sickened by what he rightly interpreted as something of a confession. At least Falconer must have known what was likely to happen to Kovalsky and could even have connived at it. Still, in the Intelligence game a successful end justified every terrible means. He had sensed that Falconer might have been sounding him out as a possible successor, but after what he had just heard he wanted no part of the job. The demands on his integrity would be too heavy. He was prepared for some degree of deception and general ruthlessness. Oherwise he would never have stayed in the CIA. But could he have conceived ‘Cliffhanger’ and carried it through? With the violence, the frame-ups, the lies? It was odd to be thinking of ethics against an opponent like the KGB. But for him there were limits.
And what would the job do to his character? There was also his wife and children to consider. What would it do to them? No. It was a post for a bachelor of a very peculiar kind. There must be something about the wiring in Falconer’s cerebral computer that was utterly different from his own.
In Falconer’s mind Taylor was also out on every count. Definitely too soft, mediocre at dissimulating, short on imagination and overly concerned about individuals. He was the sort of guy who could even get religion! And, leaning there with his elbows on the parapet, he somehow looked fatter than usual, another symptom of inadequate personal discipline. No, Taylor wouldn’t do for promotion of any kind. Mission chief was definitely his limit, and it would be his duty to make that known in the right quarter before he quit the Agency. And he wouldn’t be telling anyone at Langley that Taylor had been responsible for discovering the identity of “Uncle Vanya”.
He picked up the parcel from the parapet and tucked it under his arm, casting a glance at the Mother of Parliaments and the Whitehall complex that could so easily have become a mini-Kremlin. It still might one day, he thought. God knows what absolute power could do to Yakovlev.
‘Come on, Ed, let’s walk across to Century House and say my farewells to Quinn and his lady friend.’
Chapter Eighteen
‘That bloody computer’s playing us up again,’ Quinn said angrily to Angela as he twiddled with the remote-control operating the display terminal by his desk. ‘Is this the age of electronics? I say no! We were far better off with a card-index. It always worked and you couldn’t bug it.’
Quinn was referring bitterly to the inroads he had been forced to make into his limited funds to enclose the whole computer room downstairs, complete with staff, in a huge copper cube. Intelligence had been secured showing that the Russians had devised a means of picking up the weak radiation emitted by a computer and so might be able to decipher its secret contents.
He had been busying himself with one of his Sequence of Events exercises on a foolscap sheet. As he burned it he remarked, ‘You know, Angela, I’m as certain as I am ever likely to be that Henderson was framed by John Falconer.’
‘Framed?’ Angela asked incredulously. ‘But I thought … ’
Quinn interrupted her. ‘I think that all Falconer knew for certain was that King-Lander was a spy. He got that from the defector Kovalsky, who is now conveniently dead. Then when the boys from the National Security Agency investigated King-Lander they discovered that Henderson confided in him as a sounding-board, like I suppose I use you. Someone to think aloud to. Someone independent of the bureaucratic channels. Someone outside the Whitehall machine. After all, political leaders have always done it. Roosevelt had Harry Hopkins … ’
‘And if you can’t confide in your doctor who can you trust? I mean would it be a breach of security to confide State secrets to a priest?’
‘It certainly would in Northern Ireland,’ Quinn said. ‘But I agree that talking to your doctor if you are Prime Minister is safer than talking to most of the other members of the Cabinet. At least doctors are trained to keep their mouths shut and usually do.’
‘But why should Falconer want to frame Henderson?’ Angela asked. ‘Why should he tell you categorically that he was a spy if he wasn’t sure of it? Was it that Washington wanted rid of him because he was too friendly with Russia?’
‘I am sure there was much more to it than that. Shopping Henderson was just a means to an end. And I strongly suspect that end was the assassination of Borisenko.’
‘But surely we know now that Borisenko was killed by Yakovlev,’ Angela pointed out.
‘That’s right,’ Quinn replied, wondering whether she would draw the right deduction.
She immediately obliged by saying, ‘Then that means that there must have been some sort of collusion between the CIA and the KGB.’
‘Between Falconer and Yakovlev is how I’d put it. And I’d say conspiracy rather than collusion. It wouldn’t be the first time that the CIA and the KGB have pooled their interests.’
‘But that’s fantastic. When did you first suspect it?’
‘When Falconer gave me that dossier on Henderson. It was a concoction. I’ve faked too many myself not to recognize one when somebody else does it. Anyway Henderson didn’t have the courage to be a spy. For my money he was just a sacrificial stooge in a CIA–KGB operation.’
Angela never ceased to be surprised by the machinations of her master’s mind but this one had shaken her.
‘If you knew it was a fake why did you go along with the move to get rid of the Prime Minister?’ she asked.
‘Because it suited me,’ Quinn said. And before Angela could suggest that he had taken advantage of a sudden opportunity to capitalize on his animosity for Henderson he added, ‘And it also suited the Service. On both counts Henderson was expendable.’
He picked up his pen which was a signal that he was not in the mood to offer any further explanation, but he had signed only a couple of documents before the arrival of Falconer and Taylor at the entrance to Century House was announced over the telephone.
There was a brief delay while the gift-wrapped parcel was scanned by an X-ray machine. Taylor was well enough known to the security guards, but no exceptions to the examination were permitted since a booby-trapped parcel, which fortunately failed to explode, had been delivered to a Middle East Intelligence officer in Century House some years previously.
‘Just a farewell social call, Mark,’ Falconer said jovially as he entered the Director’s office. ‘I’m back to Washington on the Concorde flight. For good this time.’
‘You are determined to retire then?’
‘Absolutely. I’ve had enough.’
‘What will you do?’ Angela asked. ‘Daddy says that retirement is doing twice as much work with a quarter of the resources.’
‘I’ll grow tobacco and breed horses.’
‘A pity you are forbidden to write your memoirs,’ Quinn said. ‘Especially as you are going out on the crest of a wave – the worst crisis since 1939 resolved. There shouldn’t be any major trouble with our Russian friends for a year or two. So perhaps you can be spared.’
Falconer smiled. ‘Yes our reports show that Yakovlev and Dominowski are firmly in the saddle. How do you feel about that, Mark? I know how much you despise Yakovlev.’
‘Despise isn’t the right word, John. I have to admire him as an operator. But if he follows his nature he’ll be the most ruthless dictator since Stalin.’
Falconer raised his hands in mild protest. ‘But I know the man, Mark. Compared with Borisenko he’s a dove.’
‘Some dove!’ Quinn commented bitterly. ‘I happen to know him, too, as you well know. In any case, power will corrupt his judgement. It will be the same general policy under new management. The Kremlin will never relax its Imperialistic aims.’
‘You may be right,’ Falconer conceded. ‘But at least we’ll have a breathing space. The West will have a couple of years or so to strengthen NATO – if the politicians have the guts to do it.’
He felt in his pocket and handed Quinn two tape cassettes. ‘The record of your conversation with King-Lander. I think you handled him brilliantly – with one exception.’
‘What was that, John?’
‘Your mention of the possible CIA interest, and the possible intervention by the President.’
‘Yes, a pity about that but I suddenly needed it. For a moment or two he seemed to be hardening.’
‘I think he was,’ Falconer agreed. ‘But let’s hope he hasn’t spilled any beans to the “White Lady”. What’s the latest on the Prime Minister?’
‘He’s resigning all right. He’s telling the Cabinet now, and it will be announced immediately afterwards. Otherwise the other ministers would leak it. They say his wife almost danced for joy when she heard the news from King-Lander.’
‘Just like a woman,’ Falconer commented. ‘Or so they tell me,’ he added hurriedly, seeing the disapproving frown on Angela’s normally creaseless brow. ‘As you know I have no practical experience.’
‘I’m only sorry I can’t reciprocate with a tape of my interview with the Prime Minister,’ Quinn lied. ‘The way things have gone I must have handled it quite well, although one says it who shouldn’t.’
‘You must have done but in a way I feel sorry for Henderson. I suppose that he was more of a fool than a villain. Still, the exercise deprived the KGB of a major source – and that’s always great news.’
‘Yes,’ Quinn agreed, exchanging glances with Angela at Falconer’s expression of regret. ‘But, sadly, we lost “Uncle Vanya”. Poor old Rakitin. He’s been arrested and there’s no doubt that he’ll be shot. He’ll protest his innocence but it won’t do any good. Still, we’d have lost him anyway. He’s about seventy and Yakovlev would never have kept him on for long.’
Falconer looked at Quinn with a mischievous expression. ‘I’m afraid you’ve lost another major source, Mark. You won’t be hearing again from “Diamond Jim”.’
Quinn had trained himself never to blush but he was unable to keep his features entirely free from an expression of shock.
‘You know that was very naughty of you, Mark,’ Falconer continued, playfully wagging a finger.
‘Ah, John, we live in a naughty world. But I can tell you, in all honesty, I didn’t go behind your back and recruit him. He volunteered. Would you have rejected a gift like that?’
‘No comment. But did you ever discover his identity?’
‘I never tried, John. So long as information like that was flowing my way I had no intention of probing. But maybe you can tell me now who he was – if you’ve neutralized him.’
Falconer paused. ‘I can’t tell you now. But I promise I will later. I can also promise you that there will be no publicity. Like Henderson, he’s much too important for that. He’ll just be put quietly out to grass.’
‘With honour?’ Quinn asked.
‘Certainly not!’
‘Ah, we are more civilized here, John. You’re a betting man. I’ll lay you odds that both Henderson and King-Lander become Lords.’
‘Good grief,’ Taylor exclaimed.
‘Yes, but there ought to be some reward for them,’ Quinn said, half in jest. ‘After all, John, you couldn’t have stopped the war without them.’
It was Falconer’s turn to be startled. From Quinn’s expression he realized that he knew at least part of the truth about ‘Cliffhanger’. He averted his eyes and commented gruffly, ‘Thank God we don’t have honours in the United States.’
‘No, but they’d make fortunes out of their memoirs and television appearances,’ Quinn said.
Falconer shrugged his acceptance of the gibe. With Watergate in mind it was legitimate enough.
‘I suppose you’ll be going back to a round of farewell parties, after all your years in the CIA,’ Angela suggested.
‘Not me,’ Falconer replied vehemently. ‘To me a cocktail party is a room full of smoke and boring people. Except when duty demanded I’ve stayed out of the diplomatic cocktail round. Anyway, I think that, like old soldiers, old Intelligence men should quietly fade away and that’s what I intend to do. But if you are ever in Virginia come down and see me on my farm.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Angela said, shaking his outstretched hand.
‘Well, goodbye, Mark. It’s been great working with you. I hope you establish the same relations with my successor.’
He was making for the door with Taylor when he turned round towards Angela and said, ‘I almost forgot. Here’s a personal present to you from me. Just a token for all your many kindnesses.’
He gave her the gift-wrapped parcel and departed with a final wave.
‘That’s a sad parting, Angela,’ Quinn said, returning to his desk. ‘A dog you know is always better than a dog you don’t know.’
‘I suppose he’s one of the greatest Intelligence officers of his time,’ Angela remarked as she unwrapped the parcel.
‘Greatness is only other people’s opinions of what you’ve done,’ Quinn said. ‘But I would have to agree, I suppose. What have you got?’
Angela opened a red box and produced a vintage bottle of Dom Perignon with a card tied to the neck with a red ribbon.
‘It’s a superb bottle of champagne. Let’s see what the card says. “To Angela with love from ‘Diamond Jim!’ ” ’
‘ “Diamond Jim” ’! Quinn exclaimed, as the full implication struck home. ‘Falconer is “Diamond Jim”! The incorrigible bastard!’
Angela succeeded with difficulty in suppressing her laughter, for the one thing her master hated was being derided. In this instance, however, Quinn himself saw the funny side of the situation because he had secret reasons for satisfaction.
‘He thinks he’s taken my trousers down,’ he said. ‘Well let him, if it gives him pleasure. At least I had a fair idea of what he was trying to do. He hadn’t the faintest idea of my objective and he still hasn’t. He thought I played ball with him just to get rid of the “Prince of Peace”. I confess that gave me pleasure but it was ancillary to my main purpose.’
‘What was that?’ Angela asked, taking what she rightly thought to be a deliberate cue. There were occasions when Quinn’s vanity overrode his discretion, and this looked like being one of them.
‘I have to put you in the picture, Angela, because you’ll be finding in the course of the next few days that we haven’t lost “Uncle Vanya”. He’ll be reporting more usefully than ever.’
Angela did not reveal by look or word that the remark failed to surprise her. She had known for some days that Rakitin, an old man, could not possibly be ‘Uncle Vanya’. The voice she had heard on the tape during her surreptitious moments of listening to it had not only been that of a younger person. It had been the voice of a woman.
‘I thought you told Falconer that Rakitin was going to be shot,’ she said.
‘I did. But Rakitin isn’t “Uncle Vanya” and never was.’
‘Then why did you ask me to let Ed Taylor know that Rakitin was “Uncle Vanya”?’
‘To cover the real one,’ Quinn said. ‘I suddenly needed some extra cover.’
‘And now poor old Rakitin, who was no traitor at all, is going to be killed.’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Quinn replied without feeling. ‘He was a good Communist and, so far as I am concerned, the best Communists are dead Communists.’
Angela was sickened by the thought that she might be an accessory to the execution of the old man, but consoled herself that this could hardly be.
‘How on earth did telling the CIA give any cover to your real “Uncle Vanya”. I don’t see it.’
‘Because I knew that Taylor would tell Falconer and that as sure as fate he would tell Yakovlev. And that’s exactly what happened. I read Falconer’s mind perfectly. In this game, Angela, reading your friends’ minds is as important as reading your enemies’.’
