by Daniel Kemp
“Do you think it was Jana who killed Dalek's lover and not this Petr Tomsa, Fraser?”
“If that is the case then Petr Tomsa and Jana Kava could be the same person, which would then beggar the question of why send you to Prague in the first place?”
“That question crossed my mind quite a bit. I thought at the time of killing her brother, Jana Kava was already ours and I was sent to clear Dalek out of the way for something else she had to do for London. But if, as you and I suspect, she killed Radoslav, then why use me to kill her brother? If we are to assume Radoslav knew of Dalek's StB connection, which is not beyond the realms of probability, then it follows he would wonder why he hadn't returned home that Saturday morning. We can also confidently assume that Dalek and Radoslav had discussed Jana's relationship with me. But neither Jana nor I knew where their conversation could have gone. The only way Jana could guarantee her future safety once I had killed her brother was to deal with his flatmate in a similar fashion. If I'm right in believing someone in London on the Soviet Satellite desk already owned Jana, then they had no reason to send me out there, but I'm thinking not all on that desk knew about her allegiances.”
“That sounded to me that you had that reply loaded and ready to fire.”
“Oh, I have more, Fraser. Go one step forward and assume Jana was under suspicion by either the Czech secret police or the KGB; then, whoever was pulling her strings in London, needed her nearest and dearest cleared out of the way before he could be questioned without the blame falling on her. Those running the Soviet Satellite desk start looking for a possible scapegoat if things turn nasty and hey presto, up pops Patrick West as Frank Douglas, already established as a chemical analyst. Send him and see where the ball falls.”
“Hmm, interesting! Who set you up in the chemical industry as an analyst?”
“Nobody set me up in it. It's what I studied at Oxford. After women, it was and is my premier love.”
“How long ago was it you left Oxford and Dickie Blythe-Smith sold you on the intelligence service as your future career move?”
“I left in 1972 and at first went to work with Jack Price in New York, as you know. That was the same year you drove me—from where I was recovering from a busted jawbone and eye socket, as well as the loss of three toes—to the Travellers Club in Pall Mall to meet him.”
“I remember that day. You thought you were in for a rollicking, instead of which Dickie offered you a way in to MI6. I'm obviously pleased he did. But back to business. In Faversham's briefing, was there any mention of a date when Dalek Kava began work as a chemical analyst?”
“And there I wonder if we have the answer, Fraser. Kava started work the year before I signed on the dotted line of the Official Secrets Act for the second time, but he wasn't employed at Bok's as an analyst. That information in the briefing file was not entirely accurate. He was, as it said, second in charge of their analysing laboratories, but his expertise lay in what he was: the chemical processing auditor. We shared some common areas, but not as much as the file would have you believe. A small point I know, but if you wanted me as a piece to fit into the jigsaw puzzle, then you'd have to adjust his profile in order to fit me in.”
Chapter Seven: Faversham and Prime
Hannah arrived on Sunday morning at Chearsley as Molly was serving her renowned breakfast of poached eggs and bacon fried on her range, with freshly baked bread rolls taken from the oven and still piping hot. My wife was not the only alteration to the environment that witnessed Fraser and me up until the early morning hours in deep discussion and research.
Jimmy and Frank had returned to their homes for a well-earned leave, being replaced by two other principal protection officers who joined the two who had accompanied Hannah on her journey from Whitehall. Molly was beaming a smile of contentment as she dispensed her fare to the hungry mouths, but my mind was centred on a more spartan breakfast scene twenty-five years earlier at Century House in Westminster Bridge Road, a stone's throw from the Houses of Parliament and also our apartment at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office.
* * *
Miles Faversham was a man who appeared comfortable with his size when I met him that day in the middle of April 1982. I estimated him to be nudging twenty stone or more, mid-forties in age, with not a lot other than a huge appetite going for him. The red plastic tray he carried to our table beside a southerly facing window was weighty and full. He scoffed at my meagre choice of tea and cereal before shovelling down what obscenely filled and overhung his plate.
His communications skills were excellent for the typist pool and I mean no disrespect to any of them by saying that, but to me he was too open to be an intelligence Deputy Head of anything, let alone something as sensitive as the Soviet Satellite desk with all the counter-intelligence funnelling through that department. His Director General, or DG, Francis Henry Grant that I mentioned before was, he told me, a very influential man who had promised Faversham preferential consideration the next time a promotion review of the department was held. Faversham impressed on me the importance of full completion with a satisfactory outcome to Operation Donor in order for that offer to materialise. Although I thought him to be totally unsuitable for his position, there was no point, nor any person I could complain to. I was merely a humble yet injurious agent, expected to do what I was told without comment.
Back in 1982, it was not too difficult for an assigned operational officer to gain access to any file held in paper form in the Gower Street archives, but by 2007, when all those records had been converted into digital form, only someone of my present official clearance could access all of them. Hannah had brought the paper file I had previously seen on Miles Faversham with her, as well as a copy of the digital update. Both had every detail about the man who had served within the Secret Service that one would expect.
He had joined in 1963, aged twenty-two, straight from Cambridge University where he had a penchant for languages and the classics. Because of the legendary Cambridge Five, or as the KGB allegedly referred to them, the Magnificent Five, his vetting was meticulously undertaken, with him emerging smelling as sweet as roses. He had been stationed in most parts of Europe, appearing before interview assessment boards each time and further vetted on numerous occasions. As I read on, I found that his achievements were not only restricted to academia. He had a full blue for rowing, being part of the winning boat in the '61 university boat race, so at least at one time in his life he was a fit, athletic man. What, I wondered, had changed to make him the opposite? Additional information included his marital status, married and divorced twice, and his dependants— no children from either marriage.
What was a surprise was there were no medical reports or mentions of health checks included in either the old paper file or the computerised one, yet when I asked about his whereabouts, sometime after the adventures of Operation Donor had ended, I was distinctly told by more than one person that he'd suffered a few strokes and was being considered for medical retirement before handling Donor. From the number of people who told me of his strokes, it left little room for not believing it, but then why no corresponding records? As I've previously said he was a big, overweight man when I met him, so his death being caused by his obesity would have come as no surprise but, equally, that obvious debility could have covered something more sinister. I had either been lied to or misled. What else was being covered up?
Inside both case files was the expected service reference to Operation Donor and against the code name for Dalek Kava: FlyHiTwo was the mention of his death—eliminated by an external asset. Asset, not officer, that distinction deflected his murder away from me. It went on to say that his body was successfully disposed of. Against Jana Kava's code FlyHiOne, was a one word explanation: present. There was a peculiarity to that declaration in the digital file that fitted into today's framework—an StB investigation into Dalek's disappearance and the murder of Alexandr Radoslav. The disappearance of Dalek Kava did not appear to have been extensively investiga
ted, but that was not the case with his lover. Jana Kava was interviewed following the discovery of Radoslav's body. Her alibi was the thing that connected the 1982 operation to the reason we were sitting in Fraser's office discussing our next step over the extraction of Cilicia Kudashov.
The last time Jana saw Radoslav, as recorded by the investigating Captain Milan Tříska of the Státní Bezpečnost police at 19.35 Tuesday the 18th of May, was on Sunday two days previously, just before she left her home for the hospital to be beside Karina Kudashov, wife of Ludvík, who gave birth to Cilicia seven minutes before noon on Monday the seventeenth. In her recorded evidence she stated she had seen her brother with Radoslav leave 34 Sámova, Praha 10, together around 11 a.m. Sunday, saying they were going Radoslav's apartment. They both were in good humour and although they had obviously been drinking, both were upright. She and Karina were old friends and she'd promised to be with her throughout her labour. The Captain praised her for her openness and complimented her on the friendship she had with Karina Kudashov—they were a wonderful family, he said.
Her evidence stated that she stayed with the Kudashov family for what remained of that day and for the night. She left for work on Tuesday from their home. She had no idea where Dalek was, but offered the informed opinion that he might be in a ditch, drunk! As far as Radoslav's murder was concerned she had no idea whatsoever who might have killed him, but when Captain Tříska put the proposition to her that perhaps Dalek had killed Radoslav and then committed suicide somewhere yet to be found, she reluctantly agreed that could have happened. 'Unfortunately my dear brother was never a stable man when on a drinking spree, which was every weekend and most weekdays.'
The police report that I read established three things of importance: one, Cilicia existed; two, the Kudashovs were known to the StB and to Jana, and; three, Jana Kava was not requested to return for further enquiries. The question over who was using who and for what purpose was even higher on my list of considerations.
* * *
With the benefit of hindsight it's now clear to me that Faversham was most certainly being used, and his death conveniently erased him from any enquiry. When we met, he struck me as man without a purpose, stuck in a job that demanded usefulness and integrity. There was no passion in his crow-black bulging eyes with heavy, hooded eyelids that were unresponsive as he read from the file. There was no emotion to his softly spoken voice on delivering his briefing. The only time I can recall him showing any sign of not being a disillusioned robot was when I asked what he did before having one of the main chairs at the Soviet Satellite desk.
He was positively loquacious about how it was he who informed the German authorities of a Red Army Faction proposed rocket-propelled grenade attack against the US Army's West German Commander, a Frederick J. Kroesen. He gave me chapter and verse on how the information on Brigitte Mohnhaupt and Christian Klar, the two suspected attackers, had arrived on his French desk and the name of the French agent who had penetrated the German terrorist organisation. It did cross my mind about how secure a link he would be to have at the London end of Operation Donor.
When I contacted Faversham from Prague and explained Jana's revelations about Geoffrey Prime and the American spy plane facility in Nevada, the mental picture I had of him as my Control gave me no confidence as I listened to his advice, having told him I'd shot one of the targets he wanted me to turn. I wanted to conduct the exchange by the pre-coded fax machine, but was told to use the scrambled phone line instead. I couldn't hear another person on the telephone line, but that does not mean there was none.
* * *
After surviving the circuitous route and passage aboard the freighter to arrive in London from Prague, one of the first things I did was to try to find how Geoffrey Prime had been caught and what he'd done. What he'd done was the easier of those two aims of mine. He had learned to speak Russian at a language school in order to be posted to RAF Gatow in Berlin, Germany, where most of the radio traffic came from Russian-speaking East Germans. Once he was established at Gatow, Prime worked exclusively as a radio operator, monitoring Russian voice transmissions from the other side of the wall and passing the ones he selected on to GCHQ. On his return to Great Britain, he was transferred to a division of Government Communications based at St. Dunstan's Hill in the City of London. It was here he started to photograph highly sensitive government transcripts and pass them on to his Soviet handlers in exchange for money.
He had tried, unsuccessfully, to convince the KGB officers he met that he wanted to spy for Russia for ideological reasons, but they never trusted him, insisting they paid for what he gave after they analysed it. That distrust the KGB had of Geoffrey Prime never wavered, but that never stopped Prime. When he was posted on to GCHQ, Cheltenham, he continued to pass on information for money to his handlers.
The damage done by Prime when at Cheltenham was considerable. I discovered from another file Hannah had copied that he was vetted and acquired American security clearance, after which he was appointed to work inside a highly classified part known as J Division, an American specialist telecommunication department. This clearance enabled him to interpret collected unencrypted telemetry from Soviet missile launch sites gathered from US satellites, as well as intercepted radio communications from VHF and UHF wavebands and microwave telephone communications forwarded on from RAF Menwith Hill, in Yorkshire, part of the United States Air Force Intelligence Surveillance and Reconnaissance agency where their Frosting and Echelon programme originated from. He had every means of communication we and the Americans used to transmit and receive at his and his Russian friends' disposal to do with as they pleased.
One of the systems Geoffrey Prime used to decipher UK/USA intelligence signal traffic led to his most damaging disclosure to the Soviet Union. It was the revelation of a programme designed to track the secret radio transmissions of Soviet submarines. He used a computing machine that Alan Turing, whilst at Bletchley Park, had developed to break the 'Enigma Code' during WWII. Ironic when you think that the English-born Alan Turing's work helped Great Britain to victory against fascism and the English born Geoffrey Prime's abuse of that work could have helped Communism defeat the freedom Turing worked for if war had broken out between NATO and the Soviet Bloc. Prime was a pernicious and careful spy, beginning his trade with the Soviet Union in 1968 while in West Berlin with the RAF and finally ending his alliance in 1981 when he was paid the sum of £4,000 for that tracking system.
The 'how' he was caught was the odd thing in what was such a devious and complex scheme he had devised for the espionage side to his life. For example, he was not caught at any meetings he had in Berlin, or Vienna, or Dublin where he met with his Soviet handlers. Nor was he caught using empty Coca-Cola tins to pass microfilm at dead-letter drop-off points. It's arguable that, without a psychological disorder being his Achilles heel, his downfall would never have happened. He was allowed to indulge in both his treasonable pursuits and what was diagnosed as a psychological disorder, by the inefficient safeguards to the safety and welfare of the public that were in place during this time. In fact, it could be said—nobody cared.
Prime had a paedophilic interest in young girls. In 1982, the police had an anonymous phone call, giving his car registration in response to an appeal for witnesses to an assault on a young girl whilst alone in her home in Hereford. He was interviewed at a police station, but released. In the official reports on the affair, it's said that Prime later confessed his predilection to his wife, who then reported his disclosure to the authorities.
When police searched the house, they found incriminating evidence of his spying activities beside a card index of some 2,300 girls he targeted by using the telephone to find his victims. Although sentenced to 38 years in prison, he was strangely released after serving only half of those years. By 2007, he had been released from prison for six years and I figured the best way to discover the circumstances about his capture was to ask him. But I had another prey on my mind to start with.
It was Hannah who broke into my thoughts before I had spoken of them.
“There are a few things we need to do before we blindly rush and ask this Geoffrey Prime questions we have not as yet identified.”
Fraser lit his first pipe and joined the discussion with some sage advice.
“True, yes, I'm not sure Prime would have the answers, but it's a good enough place to start. Jana Kava giving you information of Geoffrey Prime's future appearance at the Old Bailey is not exactly top-floor confidential stuff is it? It's more like a … see what I have kind of thing. No!” Abruptly he stopped speaking and stared at the blank sheet of paper in the notebook on his red leather-bound blotter. “I reckon someone gave her that snippet of information about Prime, knowing full well the extent of the damage Prime had done at GCHQ. Someone's playing a game trying to make us believe that's the only intelligence they had. Whoever gave her that information knew more than just a future court hearing.”
I interrupted him. “That was my guess when I was in Prague and Dalek told me what Jana told him. Initially, I thought he'd got it wrong and Jana had told him more, but he said no and I believed him, as he then opened up about the US Nevada site. There was lots of detailed information in what he said his sister had told him. To start with, he had the technical names of two US spy planes tested out of there. He knew the radio frequencies and methods of transportation used to ferry the framework of the planes to the place, as well as other stuff attributable to the site management.
“I asked him what the two of them were doing at the time Jana had told him, and if there was a particular reason why she told him. By that stage he wasn't very comprehensible as he'd been drinking for most of the day, but despite that, he was certain she told him of Prime's court appearance a few days after I had met them both. That would have been around the second week after I arrived. She never instructed him to tell me either or both of those things. In his words—he just felt like it. The two stories were of course important in different ways and I can't tell you why I thought it, but I believed the Nevada test-site information came from a separate source than that about Geoffrey Prime. It's just a hunch, as the Americans might say. Anyhow, I passed on some very explicit details to Faversham about the Nevada desert site that will not be in the file we have. It will be in a higher classified one than this.”