The Code

by Nick Elliott

  ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘I met him in gaol. He told me his story at great length. I feel I know him better than anyone and we built a strong bond. We’ve been through hard times together. We’re friends. I’m not going to walk away from him now. But I’ll stay only if he wants me to stay.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad to hear that. He expressed something similar to me.’ He hesitated. ‘You understand of course that by the very nature of things, I shall be in command.’

  ‘I never had the slightest doubt,’ I said, feeling a little apprehensive as to just what that might mean.

  ‘Good. Oh, and new passports are on their way for you both. Now then, our friend revealed something yesterday that you need to hear. And as I say, he’s also made it abundantly clear that if we are to pursue the case, as we must, then he wants you along too.’

  He walked over to a house phone. ‘Valdis, join us now, will you.’ It wasn’t a question. This was the Admiral displaying his military colours: ordering rather than asking. No one could describe the Admiral as cool, or even current. Much of his language was a throwback to days gone by, but his decisive, authoritative manner commanded attention. Valdis came through and I poured more coffee.

  ‘Tell him what you told me yesterday about your concerns.’

  Valdis sat down and turned to me. He looked weary.

  ‘Are you alright?’ I asked. ‘You’ve spoken to Iveta, I hear.’

  ‘Yes, and that is great relief. She has been very worried. And also she wants me to visit because she is performing a piano recital. She is nervous performing before many people and she wants me there. I must be there for her. Admiral said it is dangerous for me to be in Vienna but she is my daughter. I would go anyway.’ He gave the Admiral a look.

  ‘But listen, Angus, I did not want to trouble you with this my friend, but if we are to work together to trace final receiver of this weapon you must know everything that I know. I have shared it with Admiral and I must share with you now.

  ‘You know I was worried about Iveta. Not just love of father for his daughter. It is through her work in IAEA, I worry. She is only intern you know, but she tell me when we last talk before prison that IAEA has special department for finding nuclear weapons that have been stolen. Incident and Trafficking Department, it is called. She already worked in this department for two weeks as training and was very interested in what they do. And now she has boyfriend, Latvian man older than her. She meet him when she worked there. I told Admiral I am not so happy about my daughter knowing this man. He is from Latvia, but ethnic Russian. I did not want to get her involved in anything that might put her in difficult situation. I did not want her to know anything that I knew about missiles that were missing from Zeltini. Can be dangerous. Every nuclear device has built-in security mechanism: unlock and launch authorisation code. The Soviet missile codes were held by General Staff at command centres to be sent direct to weapons commanders. Weapons commanders could then execute launch procedures. As you know, I have the code for the Zeltini missile that went missing.’

  ‘Tell me more about these codes,’ I said. I didn’t want to misunderstand what was clearly an area of common knowledge to the two of them.

  The Admiral intervened. ‘PAL – Permissive Action Link. It’s an access control security device to prevent unauthorised arming or detonation of a nuclear weapon. For example, while Ukraine had physical control of the Soviet weapons on their territory, it didn’t have operational control of them as they were dependent on Russian-controlled electronic Permissive Action Links and the Russian command and control system.’

  ‘And Valdis, where do you have the code? In your memory?

  ‘Yes, in memory, here,’ he tapped his head. ‘It is eight-digit code.’

  ‘Is it wise for you to be going into enemy territory so to speak, with that in your head?’ I preferred not to think what would happen if anyone tried to force it out of him. He was at risk in White Swan. Now he was stepping right back into harm’s way. I expressed my concerns to them both.

  ‘First, I cannot un-remember it, can I? Better it stays here in my head. Also, I cannot forget my responsibility. It is my duty to find it.’

  ‘Is there any way this PAL code can be broken into or side-stepped?’

  ‘Let me tell you,’ the Admiral answered, ‘bypassing a PAL is about as straightforward as performing a tonsillectomy while entering the patient from the wrong end.’

  ‘Okay, so how could all this play out?’

  ‘The boyfriend has been vetted,’ said the Admiral, ‘and he probably works hard and does a good job, but if it makes Valdis jumpy it makes me jumpy too. What if the boyfriend isn’t quite who he seems? It’s just too damn risky to have Valdis go down to Vienna alone. I’d rather he didn’t go at all but short of locking him up here, there’s not much I can do to stop him. He’s entitled to see his daughter perform. And at the end of the day, he’s the best man for the job – of locating the missile I mean. It’s high risk but he’ll be supported, by you, me, and Six’s Vienna station are there if we need them. We’re going into this anticipating every possible outcome, every worst case scenario.’

  ‘You’re as paranoid as Valdis.’

  ‘Yes, I am. And in our business, it pays to be. If you’re not, you’re a liability, to yourself and to others. Suppose something is revealed to the boyfriend by Iveta in passing – some reference by her father to shipments of military equipment from Zeltini through the port of Ventspils, for example, in his role as a harbourmaster there. A bottle of wine over dinner after a hard day’s work, shop talk, office gossip, news of home in Latvia, family: careless talk, pillow talk … it happens. Something is said that can’t be unsaid. And it gets passed on. They, the GRU illegals, know Valdis has escaped from prison. They may know his daughter lives and works in Vienna. They need the PAL code. They may guess Valdis will come to see his daughter. They suspect he has the code ...’

  ‘All this is speculation. So many hypotheticals.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. And that’s what we deal in: “what-ifs”. And if there is the slightest chance of such a scenario playing out, we act. That’s why we’re going to Vienna with Valdis, and we’ll be on an operational footing. As things are, we’re sitting on one hell of a security risk.’

  ‘So you see now,’ said a sombre Valdis. ‘These are my fears.’

  ‘Anything is possible, however unlikely it seems sitting here. We’ll keep an eye on the boyfriend. Six have got a horde of people in Vienna. We’ll have him followed, bug the flat, intercept his comms.’

  Valdis looked worried: ‘You mean her flat. That’s where they live – together. Is it necessary?’

  The Admiral shrugged.

  ‘Talking of “what-ifs”,’ I said, ‘there’s another scenario.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Iveta is onto the Russian “boyfriend” and is monitoring him on behalf of others. The IAEA, Austrian Intelligence, Latvian Intelligence? Are you sure she’s not working for the British? MI6, some other agency?’

  ‘Rest assured, I would know. But at least you’re thinking like a spy now. Nothing can be ruled out. Under your premise she could even have been set up to act as a honey trap.’

  ‘Please!’ Valdis exclaimed.

  ‘And in practical terms, what are we going to be doing, apart from attending a piano recital?’

  ‘It’s about being cautious, prudent. It’s what we do in this game: cover all bases. But there’s been further intel I haven’t told you of which makes this all the more vital, came through last night. More chatter than hard fact, but interesting for us nonetheless. Ever heard of Gagra?’

  ‘A port on the Black Sea coast?’

  ‘That’s right. Abkhazia: something of a frozen conflict zone. There has been a number of seizures of nuclear materials smuggled from or through Abkhazia or South Ossetia over the last few years, this much we know. Now we’ve heard of some suspicious overland traffic spotted moving into Gagra over the past few days.’

 
‘You think could be our Zeltini Tochka?’ Valdis asked. ‘Has anything been shipped out from port of Gagra?’

  ‘Not that we know of. Best guess is that if they are missiles, or a single missile, then they’ll be bound for the East Med or Near East. Syria or Lebanon most likely. The intel came from what the Israelis have picked up. All very tentative at present and no suggestion they’re from Latvia.

  ‘So, we talk to Iveta, I will talk with the IAEA and with our good friends at Six’s Vienna station. We assess and we act on what we have learned. Remember, we’re not just looking for a nuclear weapon, we’re looking for the people who took it, the people who have bought it and what they’re planning to do with it.’

  ***

  A helicopter picked us up the following morning: Valdis, the Admiral and myself. And Kirstin. I sat next to her and we held hands like a couple of school kids, until she started squeezing my thigh.

  ‘Are you coming with us?’ I asked.

  ‘Unfortunately not.’

  Until she said that, I didn’t realise how much I’d been thinking of her, and wanting to spend more time with her. I put my hand over hers.

  We flew north out over the far edge of the Firth of Forth, the Isle of May to our west and on to the Fife coast before landing at RAF Leuchars.

  It was hard saying goodbye to Kirstin. We’d only just met, but a lot had happened, and not just in bed. She was an enigma: the serious professional one minute and the fun-loving flirt the next. Or maybe I’d just fallen behind when it came to the ways of women – I’d been a long time at sea, and White Swan hadn’t helped.

  ‘Will I see you again?’ I asked her.

  ‘I hope so, my love.’

  ‘We will then.’ I hugged her self-consciously and walked over to what I was told was a RAF BAe146 that was to take us to Austria and God knows where beyond that. As we began taxiing down the runway I could see her waving and blowing kisses.

  Chapter 19

  Vienna, Austria

  11-12 June 1999

  Spittelberg is crammed with old apartment blocks, hidden squares and small, interesting-looking restaurants and bars. The tourists are told it’s historical, but shabby would be a more accurate description. Our hotel hid itself on a quiet side street, a short walk from the city centre and a quarter of a mile from the Volkstheater underground station. The area had once been home to the red light district, though there was no sign of that now, but it did have a lively atmosphere, its streets thronged with young and old alike.

  The three of us headed out to the Kleines Café, for that was where Iveta had suggested we meet. We took a circuitous route involving the subway and a taxi ride north of our destination before backtracking on foot. It was summer and customers filled the outdoor tables in the cobbled square in which the café sat overlooking St Jerome’s Franciscan church which, I had read, had been consecrated in 1611. Kleines Café on the other hand had only been there since 1970, although the building in which it nestled went back to the Middle Ages, when it had been a public bath house. Like with any old town, Vienna’s buildings and its geography gave the place its context, and its charm.

  Iveta had insisted on meeting well away from the IAEA’s headquarters. She was, after all, likely to be disclosing sensitive information without going through any formal channels and bumping into colleagues would have made our meeting uncomfortable, at the least.

  We found a table and I was about to go in and order drinks when she appeared. The meeting of father and daughter, after all that had happened since they had last met, was an emotional moment for them both with much hugging and tears. Valdis introduced us and I offered to go in search of a waiter but she summoned one without difficulty. He’d been busy at another table, but was quick to come across and serve us, his eyes locking onto Iveta as she ordered for us.

  Since she was not only a nuclear physics student but also an accomplished pianist, I’d expected a bespectacled bluestocking, but whether Iveta’s genes were Slavic or Nordic, the result was striking. She had a heart-shaped face with big, blue-grey eyes, a wide forehead, high cheekbones and a wide mouth, all in perfect proportion and framed by a head of lustrous dark brown hair. There was no obvious resemblance to her father, but I came to recognise certain familiar physical mannerisms and inflections in her speech, though her English was more precise than his.

  Our food and drinks arrived, sandwiches and beers for us, fruit juice for her.

  ‘So, your recital begins at seven tomorrow evening, yes?’ Valdis had switched into English for the Admiral’s and my benefit.

  ‘Yes, Papa, but I don’t think your friends are here to talk about the recital.’

  ‘On the contrary, my dear,’ interrupted the Admiral, turning on the charm. ‘We are looking forward to it. What will you be playing?’

  It’s a Chopin programme, a selection of mazurkas and waltzes ending with Nocturne in E flat major.’

  ‘How beautiful. And we wish you well. Don’t be nervous. Imagine you are playing it for yourself, and for your father of course.’

  She laughed. ‘Thank you. And for dear Mother too. I agree the Nocturne is a beautiful piece, but you haven’t heard me play it yet. And I’m sure Papa has been exaggerating my skills.’ She placed an affectionate hand on her father’s arm.

  ‘Well, we are looking forward to it, nevertheless. But you’re right, there are other matters to speak of. First though,’ he added looking at the busy tables around us, ‘can we be sure we are safe to discuss such sensitive a subject here?’

  ‘I believe so. I took steps to ensure I was not followed here from my office and I presume you did the same.’

  ‘We did, and outdoors like this among a crowd is not a bad place to talk discreetly. What news do you have?’

  ‘You may know that the IAEA’s Incident and Trafficking Database Department relies on intelligence reports from many different sources, but they do not have their own field agents or any of that kind of infrastructure. For example, they may receive reports from your MI6 or from the CIA, and from the Russians too. Then they analyse all incoming intelligence and consolidate it into a report, which is updated of course as further information is received.

  ‘So, what have we learned? A few days ago we hear of heavt military equipment, possibly missiles on transporters, arriving in the Abkhazi port of Gagra on the Black Sea. As you know, this is a disputed territory in the Caucasus between Georgia and Russia. And you may already have seen this report. But now, just this morning, we hear a ship is loading cargo in Gagra which includes a heavy vehicle and equipment, destination unknown. Only one vehicle. But the ship is interesting. It is a small river-sea vessel which left the port of Constantza two days ago and arrived at Gagra last night. The ship’s name is Phoenix Saturn and it trades up and down the Danube, and to Black Sea ports.’

  The Admiral leaned in. ‘Do you think it is loading this Gagra cargo for the Danube?’

  ‘They cannot say for sure but yes, it is possible.’

  ‘Do you mind me asking where you came by this information?’

  ‘I would rather not say,’ she replied without hesitation. ‘Only that it is reliable and there are often such exchanges between colleagues in different departments of the IAEA. We are mostly a transparent organisation.’

  ‘The Danube,’ I said. ‘Serbia? Belgrade?’

  ‘Which, of course,’ she added, ‘has been the subject of NATO’s bombing campaign these past weeks. You will know of course, our reports are shared with NATO and other allied agencies.’

  She sat back and took another sip of her fruit juice as we absorbed this news.

  ‘Why the devil didn’t I know about this?’ blurted the Admiral. ‘We track ships all the time – by satellite, via Lloyd’s Agents …’

  ‘Because you didn’t know what to look for,’ Iveta answered sympathetically. ‘Remember, the IAEA is constantly monitoring these missing weapons – the loose nukes. Their intelligence led them to Abkhazia and from there to the Danube.’

  �
��Yes, some of this we knew, of course,’ said the Admiral, ‘but good grief, as you say, NATO is bombing Serbia as we speak. What the hell are these maniacs thinking of doing with a weapon like this? Do you have any idea who’s behind it? I mean, we know about the GRU illegals trading these things, but to the Serbs? And the Russians are supposed to be allied with the West in this conflict. Just imagine: a missile armed with a nuclear warhead on its way straight into a battlefield. What if NATO planes were to bomb this Phoenix Saturn in error, through some communication cock-up? It wouldn’t be the first time.’

  We continued speculating on this latest development before the Admiral decided he needed to make some calls. I accompanied him back to the hotel, leaving Valdis and his daughter to spend the afternoon and evening together.

  ‘For God’s sake do be careful,’ he warned before we left them.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ replied Iveta smoothly. ‘I think Papa has some experience in evasion methods.’

  ***

  The Admiral was frustrated. ‘We have a problem,’ he declared that evening. We’d returned to the hotel using another roundabout route and I’d left him to it. It seemed his efforts to raise awareness had not met with much success. We’d arranged to meet for dinner in a little restaurant near the hotel I’d spotted. I was already halfway through a bottle of the local Blauer Zweigelt by the time he joined me an hour later than arranged, having aborted his efforts to raise the alarm in Whitehall, Belgrade or anywhere else. ‘I’m having difficulty finding anyone who sees the importance of this. Mike Jackson’s about to sign a peace agreement with this chap Marjanovic, supposedly bringing the war in Kosovo to an end, so that’s what’s top priority at present for both the military boys and the diplomats. It seems any intervention from NATO is out, for now at least. It’s one of those back-burner situations they’ve said they’ll keep an eye on. I warned them they bloody well better.’