A Covenant of Spies

by Daniel Kemp

  The same screwed-up expression proceeded this reply. “Not that I know of, but your question shows either a lack of confidence in yourself or excessive confidence in thinking you were important enough to be set up. That's if you're going down the road of some sort of in-house organised conspiracy to drop you in it.”

  “You're full of surprises, John. I hadn't thought of it that way. A conspiracy you say? Well, perhaps I was the carrot and Faversham had the stick, eh?”

  I took time out to refill my own glass. I offered to fill his half-empty glass, but his hand covering the top and slight shake of the head signalled his refusal. Maybe it wasn't as good as my palate suggested. “I was thinking it was just a fuck up at the satellite desk,” I declared, on setting the bottle back on its silver coaster. “Any ideas why the CIA had a chair on Operation Donor or was that an example of lack of confidence the top floor had on the satellite desk?”

  “I can't answer all of those questions, as I was the humble desk duty officer who was told what to do. If those photographs you referred to, did or did not emanate from my position with or without my signature on them, then that's what happened, but I'm buggered if I can remember that far back. I read nothing of that in the Donor file I found. What does it say in the logbook descriptive account listing the imaging?”

  “Not much, John! Apparently, there was an over-fly of Gdańsk by an NSA satellite and the pictures magically found their way to one of our Joint Air Reconnaissance platforms in Germany, as well as presumably to the NSA, HQ at Fort Meade. What little wording there was suggested that someone at your desk had messed up.”

  He fidgeted on the sofa, uncrossing then crossing his legs, and straightening the creases in his trousers. He flicked some cotton from his jacket sleeve, then with a distinctly annoyed expression, continued. “As I said, it was a long time ago for my memory cells I'm afraid, but in those days as duty officer I was not involved with the drafting of policy. As you must know, I would have been told very little of the mechanics of the operation. Before the CIA were included, I remember being one of a number of intelligence staff briefed on the top floor by the retiring chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee, Dickie Blythe-Smith, that an operation was underway in Prague with one of our officers on the ground, so the whole of that area was out of bounds to everyone else. The coded message that was to go out to all stations home and abroad was—the outside playground is busy. Seek permission before using equipment. In those days, that was our standard stay-out-of-the-way message. But neither Dickie nor our own Director General in the Soviet satellite office said a word about what kind of operation was going on, and nobody gave away any details to me.

  “A month or so later when the Warsaw part of the operation kicked in, Blythe-Smith had gone, or so we were told, and our DG was promoted to chair of the Joint Intelligence Committee in replacement. On the satellite desk we had a temporary Director General, a man named Hugo Glenister. That move of Glenister's shocked me as well as most in the Soviet Union department. He had the dubious honour to be the ex-Director of the Middle East desk. A bottomless pit of secret intelligence service dreams.

  “Shortly after he took over, Glenister paid my office a visit, must have been sometime in early August as I would have been in Falmouth for the last two weeks of August for the sailing regatta. I had a small boat in those days and raced her whenever I could. Sorry, I wandered off subject.” The wine was back in favour as now he felt confident in filling his glass and topping mine up.

  “When I was thumbing through the file notes last night, I did look for a date, but couldn't find it. Anyway, that's when he told me of the Ministry of Defence interest and we had CIA at operational status in the building that, in his words, were assisting. As you would expect, no specific operation aspects were discussed or mentioned. He told me that I was keeping the duty officer role, but Faversham had been removed. Didn't say why and I never asked.” He leant back and enjoyed his taste of the wine with a cheerful countenance.

  “I'm afraid the only one who could tell you the unabridged story of Operation Donor is Dickie Blythe-Smith, as I'm positive Hugo Glenister was only following a dictated script. But wasn't dear old Dickie the man who recruited you from Jack Price's Royalty mob way back when?” He knew that was the case, as did most people in the SIS.

  “He was, yes,” I replied, as a previous chapter of my life with a woman I loved dying in the car seat beside me passed across my memory, to vanish into the tobacco smoke above my head.

  “But of course Dickie's dead,” he added. “So I guess your questions will end there, unless of course Fraser Ughert has any additional input.”

  “Did you and Fraser work together on the first part of the operation, John? The bit in Prague?”

  “No, I don't recall working with Ughert on that. We worked together on several ops, but I'm not sure that was one. I would have to look that up, Patrick.”

  “No matter. We can return to that later if need be. But you were the duty officer on both parts of Donor. That was right?”

  “It is to some degree. I came in on the Prague end when you had to be extracted. Faversham was a bit out of his depth as I recall. Before that happened, then no would be the answer. I was on the main Russian desk, working a different operation than the one that was happening at the satellite desk. In essence, I was duty officer to both desks, as the whole of the seventh floor was short-staffed for some time, but your Donor operation was not under my direct control. I was told early on that Faversham had it all in hand, needed no support.”

  “You were told that at the beginning, were you?”

  “I was, yes, and your follow-up will be—who told me Faversham needed no assistance? That came from my Director General; Francis Henry Grant.”

  “Okay, thank you for that. I will follow that up. Faversham was still acting as my Control and handler when you took over?”

  “Yes, he was. And he was sliding down into the shite. It was he I gave the instructions to of how to set your asset and the stringer up, and then how to get you out.”

  “Was it at that point you became aware of Nikita Sergeyovitch Kudashov, aka Petr Tomsa, or did you have knowledge of him before the handover?”

  He took a deep breath at this point, turned in his seat and with glass in hand, looked far into the distance, towards Buckingham Palace beyond the trees of St James's Park. “I'm having to think hard here, Patrick, but it was at that point, yes. I had not heard of Kudashov before the handover and I have never heard of Petr Tomsa. Since taking over the Director Generalship of the SIS, Kudashov's name has crossed my desk a few times. Back then, however, Faversham came to me and explained your situation. He said Francis Grant had given him Kudashov's name as the local asset the department would be using in the event our officer needed out in a hurry. He was, he was told, in charge of the civil police in Prague. No better man, I thought.

  “Anyway, I instructed Faversham to contact Kudashov using the in place protocol and set the wheels in motion. He went through the normal channels and away you came. If I remember rightly, Kudashov assisted in arranging the travel papers for your Czechoslovakian asset to enter Poland. Searching my old memory banks once again, my department has authorised two operations involving Kudashov. The ones I'm thinking of were both on Russian soil. I can copy over the details of his connection to the SIS when I'm back at my desk.”

  “That would be good, thanks. I'm still a little confused with some points though. Miles Faversham for example. Why was a man who was so manifestly ill prepared put in charge of my safety? It was always going to be a difficult job, that could and did turn into something far more dangerous.”

  “Not my place to call it on that one. Top floor chose the players. I was, as I said, told what to do and in any case, I came in at the end of that phase of Donor.”

  “Okay, let's skip to phase two, the Warsaw exchange. Dickie Blythe-Smith had gone, so had Faversham. You said you thought Hugo Glenister was reading from a prewritten script. By that, I took it you
meant all of the Warsaw part was planned before he took over. Is that right?”

  “I would say it was, yes. No disrespect to Hugo, who I didn't know that well but, in my estimation, he was the type who reacted to situations rather than drive them forward. A steady hand on a plan. Not the spontaneous type you want in charge when the plan goes wrong, which we both know is how it happens most of the time.” He was positively oozing friendship at this stage as the expensive vino was disappearing at a respectable rate of knots.

  “Who would you say was in charge when the Warsaw part opened up? Was it the retired Dickie Blythe-Smith or the American and his staff, do you think?”

  “Hmm, odd sort of question for you to ask, Patrick. It was Dickie Blythe-Smith's operation and Blythe-Smith's plan. In retirement and to the grave I would have thought. That was the man he was. He wouldn't have let it slip from his grasp just to go fishing every day. He was possibly coerced into accepting the Americans on board for some political reasons, but most certainly they were not in Century House as controllers.”

  “Are you sure, John? It's just that those NSA satellite pictures somehow ended up with us at the signals intelligence unit at RAF Gatow in West Berlin. I can't see how that could happen. Did Dickie plan that as a going away surprise do you think, or was human error playing a part?”

  “Are you trying to trip me up here, West?” I suppose I should have been aware that accusation might have happened, but at that point I wasn't.

  An aggressive scowl forced his upper lip to curl inwards and his jaw to clench. He pointed the index finger of his left hand me at me and the gold wedding band he still wore caught the sunshine pouring in through the unshaded windows. “I thought I had come here to broaden your perspective on a twenty-five-year-old operation when you were being run from London in two satellite states of the Soviet Union, part of my field of influence and professional interest. I'm not sure I want to be interrogated on some supposition you hold regarding the CIA interference being,” he paused, thinking of what words to use, “duplicitous and with me mixed up in it.” Without finishing what little there was of his fine wine, he hurriedly rose from the sofa, making his way towards the door.

  “It will be a shame if you leave, John, as I'm not implying anything along those lines. I know who Lieutenant Colonel Jacob Ward and Commander David Forman really were and I know why Jana Kava told her brother of the Nevada site. What I'm hoping is that you know more than I do about why they threw us Geoffrey Prime's name?”

  Despite regaining his attention he did not retrace his steps. He jerkily turned around to face me and stood wide-legged with his arms crossed, staring down at me. “That would depend on how much you know, West. I'm not a lover of fishing. I leave that for others. As far as I know, I serve the Crown as you do. If you have doubts on my loyalty, speak your mind, don't play games with me.”

  “I'm not accusing you, nor hinting at disloyalty, John, but I am certainly saying you know more than you're willing to divulge. How about we trade? Jacob Ward was a Deputy Staff Director of a special unit code named Winding Clock. David Forman had a navy rank but was Deputy Director of Internal Affairs at the CIA when he came over here. Quite a twosome to wind up some students into demonstrating in the cause of democracy, don't you think?”

  “How did you find all that out?”

  The look of bemusement on Scarlett's face carried no deceit in his question. He did not know. Nor did he know the other piece of the jigsaw that Hannah had found. His aggression had now given way to inquisitiveness, he returned to the sofa opposite me, and I refilled his glass with what little was left in the claret bottle. From a box on my desk, I took two cigars and after using my lighter, I passed it to Scarlett. When he was happy his cigar was alight, I continued my narrative.

  “From what I was told when I was in Prague, I formed the opinion that the Americans had a leak at their testing site in the Nevada desert and they also had someone planted in GCHQ. I believe it was the CIA who gave Jana Kava the vague information about Prime having a forthcoming trial date. Guesswork about the trial, but no matter. When I passed that information on to Faversham's desk, it led someone here to believe Kava knew more than she did. They waited to see who reacted when it hit London, and how and to whom that leak was passed on. Again I'm guessing I know, but Prime's exposure came about through the NSA's Frosting Echelon programme and it was a payment they made for outing the mole they had in their Nevada site. Do you think I'm on the right track and, if so, do you recall if they caught whoever it was leaking from their test site, John?”

  “Yes, you are close to the right track and yes, they did catch their leak. Or so the information that filtered down to my position indicated. But of course nobody confided in me directly. I was not of any significant importance in 1982, but you still haven't told me how you got all this.”

  He was fidgeting again, somewhat uncomfortably with his glass when he asked. I left the second bottle of Margaux unopened, deciding it was too good to share and I'd uncork it when Hannah was home. Then the realisation of her murder hit me harder than the blow that broke my jaw and dislocated my eye socket delivered by a knuckleduster in New York at the same time as I was shot in the foot. My mind held a picture of her head covered in blood as I reluctantly opened the second bottle and forced all my memories to wait as I pulled the cork.

  “When my wife was alive she and Michael Simmons looked into the first part of Operation Donor and came up with some very intriguing intelligence directly influencing the second part. Are we getting close to that trade I mentioned, John?”

  After swirling the wine around his glass, then savouring the bouquet, he emitted a long-suffering sigh, and the sands parted in the Nevada desert as the first sample passed his lips. “The CIA's leak was a woman,” he announced after exhaling from his cigar. “She'd been under surveillance for some time before they got here, but they had nothing solid on her and were beginning to doubt their internal intelligence. I was informed this was to be their last crack at her. The CIA attachments to the post over here were regularly changed, so she wasn't spooked when she was transferred from Langley. They asked to use our asset and I was told Dickie signed it off. I imagine he traded it for what they had on Prime. If you were to ask for my opinion on how part two of Donor played out, then I would have to say that Dickie was running it, even though he was away from the building. I guess you can understand how that can happen with you and Fraser Ughert being so close. Have you finally been able to get him out from underneath you? I guess it must have been awkward.”

  He stopped speaking, scrutinising me with the kind of pitiful gaze one might use for a hospital patient with a broken leg, and for an equal length of time I wondered who that pity might be for. “If you're as wise as you seem, Patrick, you will keep your friendship with Ughert even tighter if he has indeed accepted his retirement. You will be in need of a friend in the dark days that follow the loss of a loved one. I had my boat and the sea for company when my wife passed away. It took me about six months, I think, to realise I needed more than just that. I needed the distraction that came with a beautiful young woman in my bed. You may be different and can cope with your loss with more conformity than I could. Personally, I don't give a damn about what people think of me. I can enjoy life with a clear conscience. I loved my wife when she was with me and she loved me. I love her now in death. She was not the type of woman who would want me to grieve for what life I have left. I did not know your wife well, West, but if she was similar in her views to my departed wife, then do not grieve for long. Life is too short to be washed away in tears.”

  I took his compassionate and sorrowful words on face value; indeed, they carried a great deal of sense. Despite feeling a degree of empathy towards Scarlett, I didn't fully trust him when he entered my office and nothing had happened to change my view. I did not address his remarks about death. I left them where they were, a private matter between the two of us.

  When he carried on with our discussion, he seemed in a dispassi
onate mood. “When your signals from Prague reached the satellite desk, they were automatically decoded and shown live on the CIA staff's screen in the office they occupied. She was one of them in there and it did the job. She couldn't understand how a Czechoslovakian that we were working had intel on the site in Nevada because she hadn't shared it with the Czechs. She got too worried for her own good. That night she was followed when leaving Century House and her tail found her using a call box in Lambeth North underground station. She wasn't there to make a phone call. Her Russian handler had followed the group of CIA agents she was in to London and the two of them had arranged to use the phone box as a drop-off if the occasion arose. It was Forman who picked her up with a coded message inside a telephone directory. The implication that was passed down to me was that they turned her, but once again I wasn't in the direct loop on that. I can add one pointer though. Internal Security barred the Americans from placing the tube station on watch. MI5 had it on a warrant as under surveillance. I know for a fact they had quite a result following on from the CIA's success in finding their traitor.” He hadn't finished and nor was the wine.

  “In all probability, by now you have discovered the family ties between Sir Brian Macintosh and the Director of the Soviet Satellite Department in '82, and again yes, I was on good terms with Macintosh's stepfather, Francis Henry Grant. We did discuss you and what you'd achieved out in Warsaw before he was lifted upstairs. I didn't know then, but I do know now the full story of Jana Kava and her brother. His final outcome in Czechoslovakia was also discussed, but that discussion took place on the top floor. It was my first and only visit up there when Grant took over. Your action in Czechoslovakia was commendable, Patrick, but in Poland you excelled yourself. No operation could better that … incidentally, in case you never knew. Hugo Glenister's temporary posting lasted for eleven years, by which time we'd all moved to Vauxhall.”