In the Company of Spies

by Stephen Barlay

“Did you go to Leningrad?”

  “Yes.”

  “There you must have thought about me.”

  “I didn’t think about you. I remembered you. That’s all.”

  “Because you thought about somebody else?”

  “Others, to be precise. I hope it won’t shock you, but my life in Florida is not exactly given to celibacy. The Upstairs isn’t popular because of its firm stand against promiscuity.”

  “Anyone who matters?”

  “Yes, now and then. In Russia, for instance … ”

  “You’re a poor liar.”

  “Am I?”

  “You were still angry with me when we talked about that lunch.”

  “Yes, I suppose I was. It’s not a particularly pleasant memory, you know.”

  “You wouldn’t have been angry if I didn’t matter to you anymore.”

  “Please yourself.”

  “Don’t worry, I don’t want to start again with you. Not any more than you do. And not unless it’s all above board.”

  “Why did you say it’s becoming hard to live with him?”

  “All sorts of reasons. His behavior, his complaints about not having any children.”

  “Why haven’t you had any?”

  “We couldn’t.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you, Helm? Are you really?”

  “Yes, of course. Why couldn’t you have children?” She turned away, then spun around to face him with defiance. Rust thought he understood. “Was it because of Ell?”

  “No, because of you you fool.”

  “How do I come into this?”

  She crushed her cigarette and lit another one. “I suppose you might as well know.”

  “What?”

  “I was pregnant after Leningrad. And I was tempted to keep the baby. But the strain would have been too much for me. To live with that kind of reminder forever. So I went to Switzerland. I have friends there. They arranged an abortion for me. And the guy made a mess of it. And a mess of me. That’s all.”

  Rust took and squeezed her hand, then let go of it. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. Didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. It’s been a long time. It was tough when it happened, but friends helped me to get over it. It was good to see them all again, and that made it easier.”

  “How come you have so many friends there?”

  “I lived there for quite a while.”

  “Where?”

  “Are you trying to shift the conversation to neutral ground?”

  “No. It was a genuine question.”

  “Oh yes, indeed. I didn’t recognize it; we’ve never had time to indulge in small talk. But it’s never too late, I suppose. So, hello, Mr. Rust, how nice to meet you, do you come here often? And where do you take your vacations? As for me, I usually go to Switzerland, I just love those mountains, you know, but that wasn’t what you were asking, was it? Oh yes, you wanted to know where I lived over there. Well, mostly in Zurich, but also in Geneva which I loved so much. Do you know Geneva, Mr. Rust?” His hard gaze stopped her. “Did I say something wrong, Mr. Rust?”

  “My father loved Geneva.”

  “Oh.”

  “When I met him in Moscow a few years ago, he kept remembering the town, the Red Cross building, the lake with the Jeddo. He had a tough time … I mean since then. And he’s forgotten most things, but that building and that hundred and thirty meters of jetting water still represent his past, a different life.”

  “Hundred and thirty meters?”

  “Yes, well over four hundred feet.”

  “When was he there?”

  “Oh, about 1930, I guess.”

  “There was no water jet there at that time.”

  “There was.”

  “It was constructed after the war.”

  “No. He’s been in Russia since about ’31 or ’32, but he remembers the jet, so it must have been there much earlier than you think.”

  “I don’t know. You may be right.” She stopped to listen to some noise outside. It was the front door. “It must be Lanigan.”

  “And the colonel, I hope.”

  “I don’t. It’s been nice to be with you. Even when you were rude and cruel to me. But as you said, it can’t be helped. Nothing’s changed. So it’s goodbye time again, I suppose.” He looked her up and down with a mixture of undisguised warmth and lust. The noises of movement grew louder outside. A door was banged shut. He slowly adjusted his face. His mouth stretched into a smile. “How about … I mean, Let’s try to be friends.”

  “Let’s. It seems we have a lot in common.”

  The door opened. Two men came in. The first, a small, dapper character in a conservative gray suit with a bottle-green suede vest, faced Rust. “Mr. Rust? Alias Craig?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m Mann.” He didn’t bother to introduce his tall companion, an ascetic figure with deep-set eyes and endless limbs. “And you must be Mrs. Repson. Please to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Colonel.”

  “I thought you two knew each other,” said Rust.

  “No, I haven’t had the pleasure. Right. Can I have your passport, sir?”

  “What for?”

  “Identification.”

  “I thought Mrs. Repson’s presence would be good enough.”

  “Are you trying to make things difficult for me, Mr. Rust?” Rust took out his passport but did not hand it over. “No. How about yourself? I haven’t seen your card yet.”

  Mann nodded. “True.” He took out his CIA card but did not show it to Rust.

  Anna laughed. “How stupid men can get.”

  “That’s right, Mrs. Repson,” said Mann. “And we might prefer to conduct our stupid business in private, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Stay,” said Rust. “The colonel and I won’t discuss any secrets.”

  Mann continued to address Anna: “It’s on your husband’s orders, ma’am, nothing personal, and no insult intended, you understand.”

  She started toward the door. With no more than a twitch of his head he motioned the tall man to go with her. “See to it that Mrs. Repson has everything she needs.” He held out his CIA card to Rust when the door closed.

  “Okay, colonel, let’s not waste time, I believe you. Now could you please arrange a meeting for me?”

  “With whom?”

  “The President.”

  “Very funny.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be.”

  “No? Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe I should have asked which President you had in mind? Lincoln? Roosevelt? Take your pick, sir.”

  “My brother said you’d do anything he could do for me.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, I’ll settle for someone very close to the President.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. But Ell, I mean your brother, said that first you’d tell me what it’s all about.”

  “It’s information of utmost importance.”

  “Concerning what?”

  “That I can’t tell you.”

  “Then how can you expect me to help you?”

  “My brother promised. He knows me well enough not to imagine that I’d try to waste anybody’s time if I didn’t think it was something important.”

  “But I’m not your brother. So with due respect, sir, you ought to try to convince me.”

  “Okay, let’s get him on the phone.”

  “He can’t be reached just now.” The tall man returned, and Mann questioned him with an almost imperceptible raise of his eyebrows. The man nodded and positioned himself in front of the door.

  “Anna, I mean Mrs. Repson, will know how to contact him.”

  “What’s your opinion, George?” Mann asked. “Would she know?”

  “Not just now.” The drawn, tight-skinned face produced a grimace that might have been mistaken for a smile.r />
  “I’ll ask her.”

  “Don’t,” said Mann. “Come on, let’s sit down over there. George will give us a drink. George, have a look at what’s in the box.”

  “I’ll have the Kentucky,” said Rust as he walked toward George. “Pour me a large one while I talk to Mrs. Repson.”

  George did not move from the door. Rust faced him. Would he need to fight his way out? They stood almost nose to nose.

  “Mr. Rust. I said, come over here.”

  Rust ignored Mann and concentrated on the tall man at the door. “Go on, pour, George, there’s a good lad.” He stepped back a little to give him the distance he needed for hitting the man hard if there was no other way. There was a soft click and almost immediately a tremendous explosion next to his right ear. Rust froze. He saw a huge hole torn in the wall. Powdered plaster made the air foggy. He spent a split second waiting for the pain. It didn’t come. He was not hurt. He turned slowly toward Mann, who was retreating, holding a .357 Magnum. “What’s … ” Rust began but stopped. The explosion had temporarily deafened him. His own voice was strange. He was not sure if any sound had come out of his throat. He tried again. “What’s the joke?”

  “Joke? It was no joke. I could have blown your head off.”

  Rust could not be sure whether he was hearing or lip-reading the words. “With artillery like that? Sure you could. Why didn’t you?”

  “It was just a warning. I had a feeling you might want to hit George. Now let’s sit down and be friends again. You were going to have a drink and tell me about that message.”

  “I didn’t mention any message. I only said information. It must have been Ell who said message, right?”

  “Message, information, whatever it is.” Mann motioned him with the Colt toward an armchair.

  “You’re bluffing, sweetheart. You didn’t shoot me because you’re not authorized to shoot me. Because Ell wants you to ask questions and deliver answers, not a corpse.”

  “Don’t bank on it.”

  “Shouldn’t I?” Rust started slowly toward him. “Let’s see your hand. I don’t think you hold that royal flush. No. I’ll credit you with a pair of aces, if that.” Rust was shuffling inch by inch toward him. Mann raised the gun. Could that be on Ell’s orders? Rust stopped. Although the pressure and the ringing in his right ear blurred his hearing, he picked out the creaking of floorboards behind him. He knew that George could not be more than a couple of feet away. If they were not supposed to shoot him, he might have a chance to knock down George and escape. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m calling your bluff.”

  From somewhere upstairs, probably through several closed doors, came a piercing scream followed by Anna’s cry: “Helm!” With a reflex reaction everybody looked up. Rust made a millisecond faster recovery than the others. He whirled around, swinging the back of his right fist blindly in the direction where George ought to be, hoping to follow up with his left. He calculated the height and distance well. His knuckles caught the taller man on the side of the mouth. He knew the damage he must have inflicted from the pain shooting up his own arm.

  “Helm! Lanigan! Help!” She was hammering on a door. “Help!”

  Rust was halfway to the door when a crippling kick landed on his kidney. He collapsed and rolled to the left to face Mann, who was about to kick him for the second time. Rust caught his foot and twisted it hard. Mann did not resist the force and went flying down. He knows what he’s doing, thought Rust, and for a flash, reminded by Anna’s yelling, he wondered what on earth had happened to Lanigan. Then something dark rose above him, dark as George’s heavy shoes, and everything went black.

  *

  The door opened. The orderly stared at it, then jumped to his feet. Led by a general of the GRU, several men stormed in. A full colonel and a small fat major of the KGB, two civilians, border guards.

  “Is Colonel Muratova in her office?”

  The orderly, winded by the unexpected visit, managed to nod before he could conjure up a da.

  “You wait in the corridor in case we need you.” The general pushed the door in and led the men into the office.

  Yelena looked up in anger, then quickly stood to attention. “Comrade general.” She was wearing her GRU uniform. The general silenced her with an irritated snap of his fingers, then rounded the desk and sat in her chair. The KGB colonel took the other chair, and the other men formed a half circle. A lieutenant and a corporal of the KGB border guards scrutinized her openly.

  “Major Boychenko of the KGB has a few questions for you, Nina Ivanovna. Answer them with precision. It’s very important.”

  Boychenko would have preferred to question her in some other place and in more formal circumstances where he would sit and her greater height would not belittle him, but the choice was not his, and he had to make a good impression on the general and the Spetsburo colonel. “Colonel Muratova,” he began in what he hoped would be the voice of authority, “where have you spent the last ten days?”

  She looked at the general.

  “You may answer,” he said.

  “I was investigating Colonel Penkovsky’s background.”

  Boychenko was about to say something, but the Spetsburo colonel cut in first: “I thought that case was in the hands of KGB security.”

  “It was and it is,” said the general, “but as he’s on the staff of GRU HQ, we’ve found it prudent to carry out a general background check and establish how or where the traitor might have compromised our operations. After all, he might have had associates.”

  “That would all be covered by security. KGB security.”

  Answering Boychenko’s questions, Yelena accounted for her movements in the past nine days. She said she had worked mostly on her own but had been in contact with various officers who could verify her statements. She struggled to disguise her initial shock: how had they got to her so soon?

  “Where did you go when you left Moscow?”

  “Are you suggesting that I did leave Moscow?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Where did you spend the last six days?”

  “On observation duty. Using a plain pool car, registration number MC 35-45.”

  “Can we verify that?”

  “Of course. I was seen by others. And I was in regular contact with Arbatskaya Ploshchad on the phone and by radio.”

  “You called?”

  “Sometimes. But sometimes HQ called me.” She smiled with great confidence. The woman who had acted as her double throughout the past nine days could never be found. “Is there any question about my activities? Am I under some sort of investigation?”

  “No, no, not at all, Comrade Muratova, just routine.” Boychenko smiled. “It’s a standard set of questions I’m obliged to ask.” He looked at the lieutenant and the corporal of the border guards. Both of them shook their heads slightly. “No?”

  “Don’t think so, comrade major,” the lieutenant said. “But I can’t be positive, of course. It was just a glimpse.”

  Boychenko asked a few personal questions about her background, then a few more casual ones about her favorite pastime. “Do you play any sports?”

  “No, not regularly.”

  “Do you follow any? Gymnastics? Soccer?”

  “Soccer? Yes, that’s something I’m very interested in.” She could sense the suddenly rising tension in the men’s faces. “Whenever I hear that there’s a match somewhere, I run as far as I can from it.”

  They all laughed. Boychenko was still laughing when he asked: “What do you know about Roost? I beg your pardon — Rust, that’s how they pronounce it, don’t they?”

  “Roost? Rust? Oh yes. I remember now. It must have been five or six years ago.”

  “We all know what her role was in setting up the operation in 1956, don’t we?” asked the general.

  “Yes, of course, general, but I thought she might … ”

  “Remember?” she asked
. “Yes, I do. It was quite an interesting idea. Unfortunately, an abortive one. At least as far as I know, we’ve never followed it up — or did we?”

  “You met him at the time?”

  “No. Never.”

  “But you’d recognize him.”

  “Yes, I suppose if I saw a picture, I might.”

  “This one?”

  She looked at a photograph. “No.”

  “This?”

  “No.” She kept shaking her head as he produced more and more photographs. None was Rust’s. Then she saw a face she knew. Florian. “This is Captain Khomenko. He works in this building.”

  “Really?”

  “You must have checked it, surely.”

  “Do you know him well?”

  “He used to work for me.”

  “Where’s he now?”

  “He’s been transferred to facilities, field operations, that is.”

  “But where is he right now? I mean, physically.”

  “I saw him a few weeks ago when he mentioned that he was to be awarded for good work with a fortnight’s holiday in Sochi or Yalta or somewhere around there. I can’t remember exactly, but we could check this easily. Do you want me to?”

  “Not just now.”

  “What’s he up to? I mean, is he involved with something?” She felt she had to show some interest, or at least natural curiosity. She knew that there was something wrong with Florian, because he had not been in contact as arranged. But the question was, what was wrong? Was he suspected or under routine investigation? Couldn’t be routine, not in connection with questions about Rust. So was he free or under arrest? If captured, was he alive? If yes, that would explain how Boychenko and his pack had got to her so fast. But no, Florian would not be taken alive. He would not want to be subjected to interrogation. “I don’t want to be nosy, of course, but I found Khomenko a good and conscientious officer, not particularly bright, but extremely reliable.” Well done, she patted herself on the shoulder: a favorable statement about a man under investigation could come only from someone who was completely in the clear.

  “Any idea why he would have gone to Leningrad?”

  “Leningrad? No. Well, I mean no reason I can think of.” Now she knew that Florian was in serious trouble. Her next question was, had they already connected him with her or were they just checking out possible female associates who might have had a chance to be with him in Leningrad?