by Jeremy Duns
‘Now before you give me a thorough explanation for the complete shambles you seem to have created since arriving here,’ he said, ‘I’d like you to tell me what really happened in Germany in ’45. You can start with Larry.’
He’d thrown it out fast, but I’d been expecting it. ‘I wish I knew,’ I said, and ignored his open look of disbelief. ‘He disappeared looking for Meier,’ I went on. ‘Remember him?’ Pritchard nodded slowly. I took out my pack of Players, lit one, and sucked in the rich welcoming glow. ‘We’d found all the others, but Meier had been much harder. We just hadn’t seemed to be able to pick up his trail. Then, in September, Father announced he had traced him to somewhere near Hamburg. He left in the jeep that afternoon – and never came back. Obviously, something happened with this nurse, and I mean to find out exactly what.’
He pondered this for a moment, then sprung: ‘Why did he leave alone? Why didn’t you go with him?’
‘You remember what happened with Shashkevich,’ I said, and did my best to look ashamed.
‘I see. But why didn’t you mention at the Round Table that you were in Germany at the end of the war?’
I took another drag of my cigarette, and said I could well ask him the same question.
He ran a finger along the mantelpiece, then inspected the dust that had gathered on it. ‘So you were just waiting for me, is that it?’
‘You heard William: there were hundreds of people working in intelligence in Germany at that time.’ I let a note of righteousness creep into my tone. ‘Anyway, we were discussing a traitor in our midst. Your theory was that he might even have been in the room, so it hardly seemed like the best moment to reveal it.’
‘You could have told Farraday after the meeting, surely? Unless you think he might be the traitor?’
‘Why, after all these years, would I tell Farraday about Sacrosanct and risk—’
‘Incriminating yourself?’ he inserted. Then he relaxed a little and smiled. It looked painted on. ‘I can see your point. I felt the same myself. But perhaps Farraday should be let into the secret now. It might look worse if he learns about it later and neither of us had mentioned it.’
I couldn’t read his tone, but I didn’t like the sound of that one bit.
‘How could he learn about it?’ I asked. ‘Seeing as you and I are the only two who know? Anyway, I’m not sure he would understand even if we did tell him.’
‘Oh, don’t underestimate Farraday,’ he said. ‘He’s sharper than he looks.’
Sharper indeed, I thought, remembering the way he had steamrollered Osborne at the meeting.
‘Tell him, then,’ I said. ‘I suppose it’s too late for all the repercussions you and Father were worried about, anyway.’ I ground out my cigarette on the floor and opened the bottle of Fanta by tilting the top against one of the arms of the chair. It tasted warm, flat and oddly metallic. ‘Perhaps you could also give him a thorough account of your operations in Gaggenau at the same time.’
His eyes were tiny marbles devoid of recognizable emotion. ‘I think,’ he said finally, ‘that you could now debrief me on the current situation.’
We left it at stalemate, and I did as he had asked. It didn’t take me long: one pyjama party, two dead Russians and a car chase.
‘What about the bodies?’ he said when I’d finished. ‘What did you do with them?’
I handed him the newspaper. He read through it quickly and then put it to one side.
‘Well, that’s sure to enrage the Russians – let’s see what they do. Have you looked into Grigorieva yet? Slavin claimed she recruited the double, so she would appear to be key to the whole thing.’
‘I haven’t had time to stake out the embassy yet, but I imagine they’ve trebled their guard now. What do you have in mind? Approaching her as a possible defector herself?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. Although if she was recruiting double agents twenty years ago, I imagine she’d be a fairly hard nut to crack. And I’d like to have at least some idea beforehand of why her death was staged.’
‘What about Chief – has he not turned up yet?’
He walked back to his position by the fireplace and shook his head.
‘That’s a pity,’ I said. ‘I’m starting to wonder if Farraday might have been right. This hit on Slavin makes me think he might be involved in this, after all.’
Pritchard turned and faced me. ‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘We know Chief’s not the double. He was murdered.’
*
I took out another cigarette. I was down to ten, but it didn’t matter. I needed something to calm me down – and something to keep my hands from shaking.
I’d allowed Chief’s death to drift to the back of my mind in the last few hours. I should have known it wouldn’t go away for very long. I took a deep draught of the cigarette and asked Pritchard why murder was now suspected.
‘Five have found traces of blood and matter in his living room,’ he said. ‘And a bullethole in one of the walls. The killer had tried to conceal it by moving the piano. They’re looking into what kind of gun might have been used. At any rate, he was shot. Most probably by the real traitor. By the way, are your fingerprints on file?’
Despite the sunlight streaming into the room, I suddenly felt very cold. I shook my head. ‘Why?’
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Five are planning to take prints of anyone in the office old enough to have been turned in ’45. It’s more so they can rule people out than anything. Lift any clouds of suspicion. You can have yours taken when you get back.’
‘Of course.’ I made the extra effort to keep my voice steady. ‘Why would the traitor want to kill Chief, though?’
Pritchard shrugged. ‘Perhaps he knew something that would give him away. Perhaps…’ He stopped. ‘I must say, you don’t appear too surprised.’
‘That Chief was murdered? Of course I’m surprised. I’m just trying to think it through.’ I thought I had sounded flabbergasted, but Pritchard was evidently now viewing my every utterance with suspicion. ‘Has Vanessa been told?’
‘Not yet. But they’ll have to do it soon, because she’s already going spare. Osborne’s speaking to her tonight.’ He gestured at the case lying by my feet. ‘Is that the item you found in the nightclub?’
I nodded, relieved to be moving onto safer ground. I took out the rifle and positioned it on the floor so he could have a good look.
He walked around it, twice. ‘Looks like an AK-47,’ he said. ‘But it’s not, is it? It’s a sniper rifle.’ There was no visible reaction on his face, no sudden dawning realization.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s a 7.62 mm Dragunov SVD. First produced in competition with Kalashnikov, in fact. It was adopted by the Red Army six years ago.’ I picked it up and placed Pritchard in the crosshairs. He didn’t flinch. Once again, it crossed my mind that I should kill him while I had the chance. But I was on a knife-edge already – another corpse would leave no doubt in London’s mind. I didn’t fancy running for the rest of my life or rotting away in Moscow, so I leaned down and placed the rifle back on the floor.
‘Why didn’t your man on the golf course use this to kill Slavin?’ Pritchard was saying.
‘I’ve been wondering the same thing myself,’ I said. ‘I reckon killing Slavin must have been a last-minute idea. The killer was out here on another job when he was told he had to take care of a defector as well, and fast. He didn’t have time to go to the club to pick up the rifle, so he used an unmarked pistol instead.’
‘“Another job”?’
‘He had an L-pill on him and he used it. He had to be protecting something pretty major to take his own life.’
‘Perhaps he was simply a well-trained servant of the Motherland.’
‘I don’t think even the Russians are that brainwashed,’ I said.
‘All right. If he didn’t need a rifle to kill Slavin, what would he need it for?’
I nodded. ‘I thought of that, too. What if Slavin was killed, not because someone was afraid he was
going to reveal the identity of Radnya, but because he might reveal the identity of another target? The man on the golf course was no ordinary thug – he knew hand-to-hand combat, and he was a crack shot. Ever heard of SMERSH?’
He nodded. SMERSH had been the Russians’ method of dealing with those they felt might escape justice after the war. They hadn’t bothered burying their bodies.
‘Officially, they were wound up in ’48,’ I said, ‘but we have some evidence that the new KGB chief, Andropov, has reformed them. Remember those chaps who took over Prague airport last year? Very similar m.o.’
‘I don’t remember seeing any reports on this,’ said Pritchard.
‘We’ve not had solid proof of it. I’ve mentioned it to Chief a few times, but he keeps – kept – putting me off.’
‘Assassination units in peacetime? Isn’t that stretching it a little?’
‘Have you forgotten, Henry?’ I said. ‘You helped my father set one up.’
He didn’t say anything to that.
‘Slavin was shot with a pistol,’ I went on. I pointed at the rifle. ‘So why was that waiting for him in the Afrospot?’
‘Could be a number of reasons,’ he said. ‘The country is at war, after all…’
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Leave it, then. Let your petty hatred of me get in the way of you doing your job, and watch the PM have his guts smeared all over the street. Hell, you don’t agree with his politics anyway, so perhaps you’re ecstatic about it.’
He frowned. ‘My personal feelings don’t come into it. My problem is simply that what you’re suggesting doesn’t sound plausible. What would the Russians have to gain by killing the PM?’
‘Nigeria, of course. If he were assassinated in Lagos, it would be seen as a direct result of his policy to provide arms to the Federals. Whoever succeeded him as prime minister would be under enormous pressure to end Britain’s involvement here. That would leave the Russians free to step up their arms sales, end the war and move their men into the presidential palace shortly after. And with one of the largest countries in Africa in their grip, they’d soon start exerting influence elsewhere.’
‘You didn’t like the domino theory yesterday,’ he said.
‘I’ve learned a few things since then.’
He walked around the SVD, considering the implications of what I was saying. I needed him to conclude I was right, because the authority he had with Farraday might be useful to me – and could be very dangerous if turned against me.
‘You’re assuming too much,’ he said after a minute or so, and I let my breath out slowly, trying to contain my disappointment. ‘It’s all rather circumstantial. Quite a lot of what you say is circumstantial, I find.’
I was getting sick of him. ‘Look, Henry,’ I said. ‘I know you don’t like me much. That’s fine – I can’t stand you, either. But if you would just listen—’
He put a palm up.
‘You may be onto something. I was simply noting that you have no proof of it.’
He walked over to the dresser and rang Manning, asking him to get hold of a copy of the schedule for the Prime Minister’s visit as a matter of urgency.
When he’d put the receiver down, I asked him what he thought he was doing.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean you just said I’m onto something. So when are you going to signal London and tell them to cancel the visit?’
He gave a sharp shake of his head. ‘Can’t do that. The PM has made quite a fuss about this visit. He’d have to have a very good reason to back out now.’
‘A better reason than an attempt on his life?’
He ran his tongue along his teeth. ‘If he pulls out now, it would be an enormous loss of face for the Nigerians, and it might lose us all the influence we’ve earned in the last couple of years. And it was hard earned, believe me. But more importantly, it would deprive us of the opportunity of finding out what the hell the Russians are up to – and perhaps finding this traitor. That’s why we’re both here, after all.’
‘Doesn’t the traitor become a slightly lower priority now that the PM’s life is at risk?’
He tilted his head and let the way I had phrased it settle. ‘If there was a plot to kill the PM,’ he said, eventually, ‘it would seem to have been extinguished.’ He pointed at the rifle. ‘We even have the weapon they were going to use.’
‘They’re not going to call it off because of that!’ I said. ‘Golf Course Man had written down the name of the place he was to pick up the gun. No professional would do such a thing unless they had to. He must have been the back-up.’
He considered this for a moment. ‘Where’s the original sniper gone, then? And what weapon will he use?’
‘I’ve obviously no idea where they are, but weapons are easily replaceable.’
‘Yes. So are prime ministers.’ He misinterpreted my look. ‘Oh, don’t wet yourself. If I thought for a second we were endangering the life of the PM, I wouldn’t joke about it. I agree that there seems to be a wider plot, but it can’t be a coincidence: it’s surely linked to Slavin’s decision to defect. As Slavin is dead,’ – he pursed his lips at me – ‘he can’t tell us how, but we need to find out because it may help identify the traitor. And that is paramount: as long as he is operating, we have no idea how much damage he has done, or even in what areas. If we tell Cabinet Office about this, they’ll either whip the PM out of the country before we can blink, or wrap him so tight in cotton wool the Russians will immediately smell a rat. Either way, they will roll up whatever it is they’ve got going, and you’ll be no closer to finding out what Slavin knew or how it connects to the double.’
It was a beautiful speech. The twist in it was lobbed in so elegantly that it took me a second to catch up to it.
‘Me?’ I said.
He nodded. ‘The note you left in your office said you wanted to find the real traitor – so far all you’ve done is got our only lead killed. I’m not yet sure if that was cock-up or conspiracy, but here’s your chance to prove your innocence. We now know Chief is not Radnya – I think it’s time you earn your spurs and find out who is. If not,’ he paused, ‘well, I might be able to help the police in their investigation into the deaths of two Russian diplomats.’
XIII
In the harsh light of day, and without the wail of saxophones and trumpets emanating from it, the Afrospot was revealed as just another nondescript Lagos townhouse on just another nondescript Lagos street. The patch of lawn in front of the entrance was strewn with empty beer bottles and tin cans, and a gang of stray dogs barked at the young boys who were half-heartedly kicking around a punctured football.
‘You’re in Marjorie’s bad books,’ Manning was saying, as we surveyed the scene from a car across the street. When I didn’t respond he turned to Pritchard, who was in the passenger seat next to him. ‘He’s in Marjorie’s bad books.’
‘Why’s that?’ said Pritchard, not moving his eyes from the entrance to the club.
‘Because I’ve had to hide the car. This is one of the firm’s spares. So you can imagine – she’s not best pleased.’
It was a white Peugeot estate, and, if anything, it was in better condition than Manning’s had been. But I didn’t argue – there were other things to think about. I’d seriously miscalculated the way Pritchard would react to the idea that the PM might be the target of an assassination attempt. I had tried to convince him of it, partly because I didn’t like the idea of sitting on information that someone might be about to get his head blown off, whoever he was, but also because it suited my own aims. I’d thought Pritchard would immediately arrange for the trip to be cancelled, which would tie him up in red tape and give me the space and time to get to Anna. I hadn’t imagined he would be mad enough to use Wilson as bait. Still, I couldn’t deny his logic – it was essentially the same strategy I’d used with myself: move close enough to the flame to be able to blow it out.
According to the schedule Manning had brought with him, the PM wa
s due to arrive in just under fifty-one hours’ time. I glanced again at the sheet of paper.
Visit of the Prime Minister to Nigeria
27-31 March 1969
Programme
Thursday 27 March
16.00 Prime Minister and British Delegation arrive.
20.00 Working dinner on board HMS Fearless.
Friday 28 March
09.00 Formal talks with General Gowon.
13.15 Depart Lagos by air.
14.30 Arrive Enugu. Visits to the ICRC Rehabilitation Camp at Udi and to the British Child Medical Care Unit at Enugu Hospital.
19.00 Arrive Lagos by air.
20.30 Informal dinner with General Gowon at Dodan Barracks.
And so it continued, until he flew off to Addis Ababa on Monday morning. In four days, he would visit dozens of buildings and meet hundreds of people. Without anything more to go on, narrowing down the time and location of an attempt on his life would be impossible. But Pritchard was right: there must be a connection with Slavin’s move to defect, and as he had opened his negotiations by providing information about me, I wanted to know what it was.
‘Why is he bringing the Fearless?’ I asked Manning.
‘Show of strength,’ Pritchard answered, and Manning nodded vigorously.
‘Precisely. The Russians have been building up a presence in the harbour over the last few months, so this will put them in their place.’
I ruled it out as a possible target – it would be far too heavily guarded. From Pritchard’s dossier, I knew that Enugu and Udi were both former Biafran strongholds now in Federal hands. They also seemed unlikely; for propaganda purposes, Lagos seemed likely to be the Russians’ first choice. My instinct, for the moment, was that they would be keen to strike as soon after he arrived as possible – perhaps even at the airport.
‘Do either of you fancy telling me what this is all about?’ asked Manning.
‘Just stay here, Geoffrey,’ I said. ‘Look after the case, and if the police – or anyone else – arrive, come in and get us.’