Samson 01 - Berlin Game, page 19
‘She has nothing to do with this business.’
‘You’d be silly to imagine that would be enough to keep her out of prison,’ I said.
‘You swine!’
‘Think it over,’ I said.
‘I’ll kill myself,’ he said desperately. ‘I’ll make a good job of it next time.’
‘And leave your sister to face the music alone? I don’t think you will,’ I said.
He looked so miserable that I gave him a couple of cigarettes and promised to have his clothes sent up to him. ‘Have your regular medical check and take your tablets or whatever it is the nurse wants. Have lunch and then we’ll have a stroll in the garden.’
‘Garden? It’s more like a jungle.’
‘Be ready at two o’clock.’
‘Be ready for what?’
‘Be ready to come clean on your pal Chlestakov, and straighten out a few of the inconsistencies I’ve come across in your transcript.’
‘What inconsistencies?’
‘That would be telling, wouldn’t it?’
There were gaps of blue sky, but the clouds were darkening to nimbostratus and there was rain in the air. Trent wore a short car jacket with a fur collar, which he turned up round his ears. On his head was a rather smart peaked cap that had come from an expensive hatter.
He seemed ill at ease in the country, and smoked another cigarette instead of breathing the fresh air. ‘When will they let me out of here?’ he asked. Having disposed of his cigarette, he picked up a twig, broke it into pieces and tossed them into the stagnant-looking moat.
‘You go home tomorrow.’
‘Is there someone who will cash a cheque for me?’
‘See the cashier.’ We walked alongside the moat until we came to a small wooden bridge and crossed it to where the shrubbery became neglected woodland. ‘There was a postcard from Chlestakov,’ I told him.
‘At my home?’
‘Where would you expect it to arrive?’
‘He wants a meeting?’
‘It says someone named Geof is having a fishing weekend. He caught four big fish of unspecified type and hopes to be back at work by two p.m. on the 16th of this month. I trust that means something to you.’
‘It means nothing to you then?’
‘It means only that the Moscow spy machine creaks along using the same antiquated ideas that have proved cumbersome for two decades or more.’
‘It seems to work,’ said Trent defiantly.
‘When a huge police state devotes so much time, money and personnel to infiltrate the open society we have in the West, it gets results.’
‘I don’t like the Russians any more than you do,’ said Trent. ‘I was forced to work with them.’
‘Because they threatened to report you to our security people. Yes, you told me all that.’
‘You can sneer - you’ve no idea of what it’s like.’
‘But you knew how to handle it, didn’t you? You did more and more spying. You grovelled before your pal Chlestakov and got him anything he wanted. For a man who doesn’t like the Russians, you set an example of kindness and cooperation.’
‘I knew that it wouldn’t last for ever, that’s why. I did many of the things they asked me but I took my time, and sometimes I said no. Sometimes I told Chlestakov that something wasn’t possible. I played for time. I knew that eventually they would let me off the hook.’
‘Why did you believe them? Why would any intelligence service let a well-placed agent off the hook?’
‘Chlestakov guaranteed that, from the start.’ Trent looked me in the eyes. ‘And I believed him. It was just to be a temporary measure. He promised me that. I imposed other conditions too. He promised never to ask me about things that would endanger our own agents. He wanted general background information.’
‘And a few little extra specifics,’ I added.
‘There were day-to-day things that Chlestakov needed for his official reports. He asked me about office routines and how the staff was rostered for duty. How old was Rensselaer, and did Cruyer own his house or have a mortgage? Many of his questions I couldn’t answer, and some I didn’t want to answer. But he told me that he had to have some such items that would impress Moscow.’
‘He played on your sympathy, did he?’ I asked sarcastically. ‘If you didn’t help poor old Chlestakov, he’d be moved to another assignment in some other town. And your sister wanted Chlestakov in London.’
‘It may sound silly - ’
‘It sounds squalid,’ I said. ‘It sounds stupid and arrogant. Didn’t you ever wonder if your treachery was worthwhile. Didn’t you think your country was paying a high price for your sister’s sex life?’
‘Damn you.’
‘Didn’t you worry about being caught?’
‘No.’
‘Did Chlestakov not discuss with you the procedures he’d adopt if you came under suspicion? Didn’t he tell you that he’d get you out of Britain if things went sour? Didn’t he give you a number to phone if you had some security bloodhound asking you tricky questions?’
‘I’ve told you all that before. We never talked about the possibility of my being caught.’
‘And you’ve told me a pack of lies, Trent. Now I want some straight talking or you’ll find yourself in another of our country houses, one where there won’t be any walks in the garden or cigarettes with your lunch. Do I make myself clear?’
‘You make yourself clear,’ said Trent. My threats produced no real signs of fear in him - just suppressed anger. I could see a physical strength in him that matched his mental toughness. It was not the strength of the athlete but just the natural power of a man who’d grown up tall and strong. It was odd to think of Trent attempting suicide; still stranger to think of him failing to do it once his mind was made up, but I did not pursue the subject. We picked our way through the brambles and the bracken. There was the crack of twigs underfoot and the squelch of mud. Once a rabbit sprang out of the undergrowth and startled both of us.
It was Trent who spoke. ‘I told them I could never go to Moscow. I’d sooner be in prison in England than go to Russia and die an exile. Chlestakov said that was all right. He said it would suit them. He said it was better that I’d told them that right from the start, because then he could make sure that I never got any information that could embarrass the KGB if said in court.’
‘Embarrass the KGB! Is that the word he used? They put sane dissidents into lunatic asylums, consign thousands to their labour camps, they assassinate exiles and blackmail opponents. They must surely be the most ruthless, the most unscrupulous and the most powerful instrument of tyranny that the world has ever known. But dear old Chlestakov is frightened you might embarrass them.’
The past is past,’ said Trent defensively. ‘Tell me what you want of me now and I’ll do it.’
‘What does the postcard mean?’
‘I’m to meet Chlestakov next Tuesday evening. I must phone Monday afternoon at three to be told the details.’
‘I think it would be better if you cut through that one. Get hold of him and tell him it’s an emergency. Tell him you were brought here and questioned after taking an overdose. Keep as near the true facts as you can.’
‘Shall I say you questioned me?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Tell him you’re frightened. Tell him the game’s up. Tell him you’re scared, really scared.’
Trent nodded.
‘He’ll ask you if anyone else has been questioned, and you’ll say that everyone is being questioned. He’ll ask you if we had any evidence, and you’ll think about that and reluctantly admit that there was none.’
‘None at all?’
‘He’ll tell you that it was the overdose that made us take you into custody, and you’ll admit that that’s probably true. I want it so that Chlestakov is reassuring you. So you keep whining. He’ll ask you who is in charge of the investigation, and you’ll give hum my name. He’ll tell you that I’m not senior enough to make this a really important investigation. And he’ll tell you that for something on the scale that you two are doing we’d bring investigators in from outside. Got all that?’
‘You’ve made it quite clear.’
‘And when the dust has settled on that exchange, you’ll tell Chlestakov what a pity it is that you were silly enough to take that overdose, because you’re now in a position to get something really big. Tell him you were going to write a report on the Berlin System - all the Berlin networks, every damn thing we are doing over there. That should make his mouth water.’
‘I’ve never heard of the Berlin System.’
‘He will have heard of it.’
‘But now I won’t be able to get it? Is that what I tell him?’
‘Softly, softly. It will take time. You want to be quite sure you’re no longer under any sort of suspicion. But this is really big stuff, tell him. This file contains all the facts and figures back for ten years and there will be all the CIA contacts and exchanges too.’
‘And eventually you’ll give me material to pass to him?’ asked Trent. ‘It’s better if I know right at the start.’
‘We won’t let you down, Giles. We’ll give you something that will make him happy and keep comrade Chlestakov where he can get his slippers warmed.’
‘Keep my sister out of this.’
‘Okay. I’ll keep her out of it. But you’d better give me two hundred percent.’
‘I will,’ he said.
We came back through the shrubbery and onto the little humpbacked bridge. Trent stopped to light another cigarette, ducking into his coat collar to shelter the flame. I said, ‘There’s something I want to ask you. It’s not important to the debriefing, I’m just curious.’
His head emerged in a cloud of blue smoke. He tossed the spent matchstick into the moat. Two ducks swam quickly towards it but, discovering it wasn’t edible, moved away sedately. ‘What then?’ He was looking at the moat, with the dead leaves moving slowly on the current and the patches of weed swaying to the movement of the ducks.
‘One night in September 1978 - ’
‘In 1978 I was in Berlin,’ he said as if that would mean the end of the question.
‘We all were,’ I said. ‘Fiona was there, Frank was there, I was there. Dicky was working in Frankfurt and he used to come to Berlin whenever he got the chance. Bret too. I want to ask you about a radio intercept that Signals got one night during the Baader-Meinhof panic. Remember?’
‘The airliner hijack - I remember that clearly enough. Frank Harrington seemed to think it had all been done to discredit him.’ Trent smiled. It was as near as he came to making a joke.
‘There was a special inquiry about this Russian Army signal.’
Trent turned to look at me. ‘Yes, I remember that. Frank let an American do the questioning. It was a fiasco.’
‘A fiasco?’
Trent shrugged but said nothing.
‘You went into the main building,’ I said, ‘and into Operations at the end of your duty shift. You saw the signal … maybe on Fiona’s desk.’
‘The night of the big panic? Who said I was in Operations?’
‘Fiona. You went up to collect her and take her home.’
‘Not that night, I didn’t.’
‘Are you sure? You’re not telling me you weren’t permitted in Operations?’
‘Well, officially I wasn’t, but anyone who wore a badge could get into the main building. I’m not denying I gate-crashed Operations regularly. But I didn’t do it when I knew Frank was up there holding court and laying down the law. Hell, you know what Frank is like. I’ve seen him blast a senior man because he’d moved a fire extinguisher out of his office.’
‘Frank’s a bit obsessed about fire precautions,’ I said. ‘We all know that.’
‘Well, he’s obsessed about a few other things, including people from the annex going into Operations without an Ops pass. No, I didn’t go up there that night. The word went round that Frank was throwing a fit because Bonn thought the mayor of Berlin was going to be kidnapped, and we all stayed well away from him.’
‘It was just a signal intercept from Karlshorst… .’
He nodded. ‘News of which got back to Karlshorst within three days, and they changed codes and wavelengths. Yes, I know all about it. That American fellow … Joe something - “Just call me Joe,” he kept saying - ’
‘Joe Brody.’
‘Joe Brody. He explained the whole thing.’
‘Let’s make it off the record,’ I said.
‘Off the record, on the record - it makes no difference. I didn’t go up there that night.’
‘Fiona told me you did,’
‘Then Fiona is not telling you the truth.’
‘Why should she lie about it?’ I said.
‘That’s something you’ll have to ask Fiona.’
‘Did you get the information by some other means? I’m determined to press this point, Giles. You may as well come clean.’
‘Because your pal Werner Volkmann did it? And you’d like to clear him?’
‘How did Werner get into Operations that night? He’s never worked in Operations. He’s always been a street man.’
‘Werner Volkmann wasn’t up there. He was Signals Security One. He brought it from Signals to Ciphers that night.’
‘That’s all? But Werner would have to be some wizard to decipher a message while he’s travelling five blocks in the back of a car.’
Trent smoked reflectively. ‘The theory was that Werner Volkmann was hanging around the cipher room that night. He could have seen the deciphered message. Anyway, he didn’t have to decipher it in order to tell the Russians that their traffic was being intercepted. He only had to recognize the heading or the footing codes and the time and the Karlshorst Army transmitter identification. The Russians would know exactly what had been intercepted without Werner ever knowing what the message was.’
‘Do you believe it was Werner?’
‘Brody is a very careful investigator. He gave everyone a chance to speak their piece. Even Fiona was interrogated. She handled the message. I never saw the report, of course, but it concluded that Volkmann was the most likely person of those who could have done it.’
‘I said, did you believe Volkmann did it.’
‘No,’ said Trent. ‘Werner’s too lazy to be a double agent - too lazy to be a single agent, from what I saw of him.’
‘So who could have done it?’
‘Frank hates Werner, you know. He’d been looking for a chance to get rid of him for ages.’
‘But someone still has to have done it. Unless you think Frank leaked his own intercept just as a way of putting the blame on Werner.’
‘It’s possible.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Why not?’
I said, ‘Because if Frank wants to get rid of Werner, he’s only got to fire him. He doesn’t have to go to all the trouble of leaking an intercept to the Russians.’
‘It wasn’t a vitally important piece of intelligence,’ said Trent. ‘We’ve seen more important things than that used as Spielzeug just to boost the reputation of a double agent.’
‘If Frank wanted to fire him, he could have fired him,’ I repeated.
‘But what if Frank wanted him discredited?’
I stared at Trent and thought about it. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ I said.
‘Werner Volkmann spread stories about Frank.’
‘Stories?’
‘You’ve heard Werner when he’s had a few beers. Werner is always able to see scandal where none exists. He had stories about Frank fiddling money from the non-accountable funds. And stories about Frank chasing the typists around the filing cabinets. I suppose Frank got fed up with it. You keep telling stories like that and finally people are going to start believing them. Right?’
‘I suppose so,’ I said.
‘Someone leaked it,’ said Trent. ‘If it wasn’t Volkmann or Frank, then Moscow had someone inside Operations that night. And it certainly wasn’t me.’
‘God knows,’ I said, as if I’d lost interest in the mystery. But now I was sure that the Karlshorst intercept was vitally important, because it was the only real slip Moscow’s well-placed man had made.
‘What do you think will happen?’ said Trent. What was going to happen to him, he meant.
‘You’ve had a long time in this business,’ I reminded him. ‘Longer than I have. You know how these things work. Do you know how many people just as guilty as you are have retired from the service with an unconditional pardon and a full pension?’
‘How many?’ said Trent. He knew I couldn’t answer and that amused him.
‘Plenty,’ I said. ‘People from Five, people from Six, a couple of Special Branch people, and those three from Cheltenham that you helped to interrogate last year.’
Trent said nothing. We watched four men as they came out of the house and went down the gravel path towards the gate lodge. One of them skipped half a pace in order to keep step with the others. They were security guards, of course. Only such men are that anxious to keep in step with their fellows. ‘I hate prisons,’ he said. He said it conversationally, as a man might remark upon his dislike of dinner parties or sailing.
‘You’ve never been inside, have you?’
‘No.’
‘It’s not like this, believe me. But let’s hope it won’t come to that - not for you, not for anyone.’
‘That’s called “leaving the door open”,’ said Trent. It was a subheading in his training report.
‘Don’t dismiss it on that account,’ I said. But we both knew that Trent had written: ‘Promise the interviewee anything. Promise him freedom. Promise him the moon. He’ll be in no position to argue with you afterwards.’
16
People made jokes about ‘the yellow submarine’, but Fiona seemed to like going down to the Data Centre, three levels below Whitehall. So did I sometimes, for a brief spell. Down there, where the air was warmed, dehydrated, filtered and purified, and the sky was always light blue, you had the feeling that life had temporarily halted to give you a chance to catch your breath and think your own unhurried thoughts. That’s why the staff down there are so bloody slow. And why, if I wanted anything urgently, I went down and got it myself.
