VII
It was a cold, crisp, sunny day in Linz, the kind that always made Nihal feel clear-headed, energetic. He entered the lobby of a rather dull hotel and hovered there uncertainly. He was supposed to be meeting Johannes Becker. Three days ago Nihal had rung RASAG to check some facts and figures and been told that Becker was no longer working for the company. He had rung every Becker in the Stuttgart telephone directory till he found him; Becker confirmed that he had resigned and after some persuasion agreed to meet Nihal and tell him why.
In his anxiety not to arrive late Nihal was over half an hour too early. To the right of the reception desk was an area with chairs and tables. He chose a seat with a good view of the front entrance and sat down. He felt uncomfortably conspicuous as he unwound his scarf and took off his hat. He didn’t ask at the desk if Becker was checked in there or had left a message for him; he didn’t want to do anything that would draw any attention to either of them; after all, there were not very many Sri Lankans in Austria. There were only half a dozen businessmen there, four in a group at one table, and another two sitting on their own; they were all bound to remember him.
The time passed very slowly. He glanced at his watch; it was almost twelve-forty-five. Perhaps Becker had been frightened off. just as he was coming to that conclusion, Becker appeared as if from nowhere. He sat opposite Nihal and glanced nervously around.
‘You’re not recording this? I won’t talk to you if you record it.’
‘No, of course not.’
They ordered drinks and Becker moved his chair round next to Nihal so that he also had a good view of the door. ‘I’ve made enquiries about you; I think you’re genuine. Look, I have resigned. Please don’t believe what he told you at that interview, it’s a long way from the whole truth. Richter’s not so brilliant as an engineer, he’s okay, but he’s using second hand ideas and what really gets him going is the thought of making money. I can assure you that anything that will make him money he will do. If he thinks he can make money out of satellites, then that’s fine, he’ll do it; he’d like to have some acclaim, he’d like to keep his hands clean. But he knows, and everyone else around this outfit knows if they are honest with themselves, that if that fails there’s always going to be money for cheap rockets which can lob little warheads over the border at your neighbours when you’re not too happy about what they’re doing.’
Nihal sipped his beer, encouraging Becker with his silence.
‘Look, let me give you just some ideas of how this operation works. Richter entertains a lot of people in his flat in Paris. He’s seen representatives of the military from Chile, Brazil and a number of Middle Eastern countries which I won’t name.’
‘I see.’ It was not surprising, if this were true, that the French secret service would be keeping an eye on him.
Becker lowered his voice and leaned forward.
‘In Stuttgart you asked about why the German Government don’t stop the export of parts. Well, the point is that no sensitive parts are actually made on German soil, only parts which, arguably, don’t need export licences. Other parts come from France, Italy, Switzerland and Austria where the export regulations aren’t as strict. The propellant is manufactured right here in Linz; look, this is the name of the company,’ Becker wrote it down on a piece of paper and slipped the note across the table. ‘But that isn’t all. Richter has no doubt told you that he uses a very basic inertial guidance system and actually this is true, but they are working on a much more sophisticated one now. Different parts are exported from different countries and can be put together to make whatever you need. For instance, you can take that television set over there and use certain parts of it to make a guidance system. That doesn’t mean that television set is a guidance system, does it?’
‘No. I quite see…’
‘I can tell you there have been secret deals going on this past year with a country I don’t want to name, but a country where nobody would allow anything to be exported that could possibly be connected with missiles. You know already one of the advantages of the RASAG rocket is that most of it can be assembled on the site, so it’s so easy to transport, also it doesn’t need more than a few skilled people to put it together the other end.’
‘Yes; I remember you saying that. But what about the Paraguay deal? Is that contract real?’
‘Yes, I can assure you of that. It was negotiated with President Stroessner when he was still in power. I can give you the name of the lawyer who drew it up and maybe he will be able to tell you something. They have already launched a prototype there but there hadn’t been any publicity. You can be sure the Americans and the Russians have been monitoring it.’
Becker took back the slip of paper from Nihal and wrote down the name of the lawyer, Jürgen Steinhagen, in Zurich. ‘You contact him, although I don’t know if he would be loyal to Richter or not. He was actually there in Asunción when the contract was signed. If he’s willing to see you, he’ll tell you quite a story about it.’
Nihal sat silently while Becker took off his glasses, polished them and glanced nervously around once more. His young, smooth face bore the expression of a child who has unwittingly got into trouble at school and is waiting for the inevitable punishment. ‘Look; I don’t have to tell you, I suspect you are aware of it already, but these people are really big crooks. What kind of person signs a deal like that with a man like Stroessner? Do you know the stories about Stroessner? He used to send his enemies up in aeroplanes and have them pushed out over the Chaco. Probably they fell over the very site where the rockets are to be launched.’
‘But Rodriguez – ‘
Again, Becker did not allow Nihal to finish his sentence.
‘Of course Rodriguez may be a different kettle of fish. He has promised to democratise. So far he has been very supportive of the rocket project but I think he will come under heavy pressure. Richter is so nervous about this that he is making other plans.’
Nihal tried to attract the waiter to order another bottle of beer. Becker, seeing his difficulty, snapped his fingers and got instant service.
‘Look, when I joined RASAG they were talking mainly about communications satellites. Then they started talking about spy satellites. I have to tell you I was caught up in the idea of it; it was exciting, it was glamorous. Richter certainly knows how to have a good time; he’s a good man to work for, he’s generous, he’s interested, he is not always breathing down your neck. But I don’t think he is going to succeed with this Paraguayan project, I don’t think anyone is going to let him. He’s a little naive; I don’t think he has any idea what’s around the corner for him.’
‘And what is around the comer?’
‘I think he is going to be stopped. Do you think the Americans, the Russians, most of Europe, are going to sit back and let him build these things? The implications are horrific. He will sell them to anybody.’
‘Yes; so I understand.’
‘I don’t mind telling you that I’m frightened,’ said Becker. ‘You are not the only person who’s been ringing me up since I left. There was some guy from the BND but I’ve made it a rule never to get mixed up with these intelligence spooks. They are all the same, whatever country they are from; they are so suspicious nothing you can tell them will ever convince them what you say is true. They make your skin crawl. Do you know what he suggested to me? That I go back and work for Richter, patch things up with him, and then report back with exactly what was going on. There’d be a lot of money in it. I said no. I know what always happens to people who do these things. They end up hanging in some cupboard with a faked suicide note.’
Nihal looked at him. He was thinking of Hans Müller.
‘What are you going to do now?’
‘Oh, I’ve got myself another job. Something a bit safer, a bit more dull, you know? I don’t like the way things are going. For God’s sake don’t contact me at home again. Probably these guys have got my phone tapped. And please don’t quote me. I’m just giving you a f
ew leads to follow up. If I were you I wouldn’t follow them up anyway. Have you published anything yet?’
‘Not much.’
‘Well, publish as quickly as you can. You’re safer once it’s already in print, it’s too late to stop you then. Don’t be too naive, will you? If you think of Richter as a kind of harmless boffin you may find yourself with a nasty shock. The man is dangerous.’
Nihal swallowed the rest of his beer. He thanked Becker, picked up the piece of paper with the propellant manufacturer and the lawyer’s name on it and put it in his notebook; then he walked out into the cold winter sunlight without a backward glance.
For a few days Katie felt nothing but relief that she had broken off with Dmitry. Their last encounter had left her frightened and confused. Of course, she had thought that things had changed in Russia, but did she know how much? She had no idea of the pressures he might be under. At the same time, she was concerned about him. She felt that it was wrong to have shared what she had with him and then cut off all communication; surely it was reasonable just to ring him and ask how he was? She wandered around the flat every morning, while Anna was at kindergarten, distracted from her work, wondering if she should call him, and always resisting the temptation.
Finally she gave in and rang Dmitry at the office. He picked up the phone instantly; his voice was cool and official.
‘Gavrilov.’
‘It’s me.’
There was a slight hesitation. Then he said, ‘Yes, how can I help you?’ as if she were a stranger.
She said, ‘Is there somebody there with you?’
Again the hesitation; ‘Yes.’
‘Shall I ring you later?’
‘I’ll call you back in ten minutes.’
She paced the apartment for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes. Now she would be late to collect Anna from kindergarten. She stood with her coat on, glancing at her watch, giving him another five minutes. Still the phone didn’t ring. Finally she gave up in despair and left the house, slamming the door heavily behind her.
Nihal knocked back another shot of vodka and looked at Dmitry. On the table between them were his notes, a cassette player and the tapes of all the interviews, to which Dmitry had listened intently. His features were absolutely still; he held the cigarette packet in his hand, but made no move to open it. Something about his utter absorption affected Nihal strangely. Nothing moved in the room except the tiny leaves of a plant on the table which trembled in the slight draught from the window.
‘Well?’
Dmitry suddenly came back to life. ‘It is extraordinary. Is there anything else?’
Nihal told him briefly what had happened in Paris. ‘What bothered me most was the way they must have got onto me the moment I left that hotel room.’
‘Yes, they had you followed,’ said Dmitry, ‘There’s no other explanation.’ He spoke straight, matter-of-factly, as if he knew about such things; he was not inclined to treat it, as Nihal might, as a joke.
Dmitry opened the cigarette packet and offered one to Nihal. ‘And where does his money come from? Did you find that out? Is it really private investors?’
‘So he claims.’
Dmitry raised his eyebrows, lighting his cigarette.
‘Well, apparently he has raised over 500 million DM from something like a thousand small investors. It seems he’s very wealthy, moves in playboy circles, and found no difficulty in persuading people to put money in. Thanks to Germany’s unusual tax loss laws RASAG managed to negotiate an extraordinary deal whereby investors could deduct 260 per cent of what they invested in RASAG from their tax bill, as it’s classed as scientific research. There seems to have been something of a fuss about this. I rang the local tax office and they were very shirty about it and told me that it was perfectly legal. I believe they have been told it was out of line but by now RASAG have got what they wanted.’
‘And he’s financing his whole operation on this?’
‘Well of course he’s borrowed enormous sums of money, I think about 80 per cent of what he has is credit.’
Dmitry smiled.
‘Mitya, I can’t explain to you how odd the whole thing is. They had the rocket, the steel tubes, and everything, on display, but no evidence that they had been manufactured there, maybe they had them made by some other small company somewhere. They are just ordinary spun steel tubes – you could have them made anywhere as pipes I should think and no-one would raise an eyebrow. Most of the rocket parts can be bought off the shelf; valves, pipes, and so on.’
‘And the propellant?’
‘They use kerosene and white fuming nitric acid as an oxidiser. They buy this from a factory in Linz.’
Dmitry frowned. ‘But they experimented with this fuel in Russia and I believe they had problems with unstable burning. This solid fuel is also very heavy and that could be a problem for a large rocket.’
Nihal was startled by this unexpected and valuable piece of information. ‘Do you know about rockets? I should have talked to you before I saw Richter. I could have asked some more sophisticated questions.’
Dmitry shrugged his shoulders. ‘Oh, I’m no expert, I’ve just read a bit, here and there.’
Nihal watched him, curious. Not for the first time, he wondered whether there wasn’t more to Dmitry than met the eye.
Dmitry finished his cigarette, stood up and went into the kitchen, came back with some black bread and salmon eggs which he put on the table. He sat down and poured another vodka, picked up the glass and drained it, and then fidgeted with it, as if wondering whether to say something. Then he asked suddenly:
‘Nihal, you know Katie quite well, don’t you?’
Nihal thought he knew what was coming. ‘Yes, I’ve known her for years.’
‘What about her husband?’
‘Bob? No, I don’t see much of him. It’s Katie I was friends with, from years back, when we were both at the BBC in London, when I was still living with my wife. I always found Bob… well, rather boring.’
‘Why?’
Nihal shrugged. ‘Oh, he’s one of those people who will always put the organisation first. He distrusts me, of course, because I’m always looking at the problems. At first I didn’t understand why Katie married him but I think it was for security. Of course he adored her.’ He nearly added, don’t we all.
‘I know his contract is nearly at an end. Is he staying on at the Agency, do you know?’
Nihal was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He said, ‘I do know why you’re asking this.’
Dmitry instantly looked acutely embarrassed and returned to the previous topic. ‘So you’ve sold your story?’
‘North-South are running a big feature next week. I could have sold something to one of the London papers, but North-South are the ones who have supported me. I’ve got to go and see this Jürgen Steinhagen. It’s just a question of checking that this contract is genuine.’
Jürgen Steinhagen rose from behind his massive desk and held out his hand. His offices, in an old and rather pompous building on the Limmatquai, reflected his wealth and success and the financial standing of his clients. Steinhagen himself was a prosperous German in his forties. He had greying hair and wore rimless glasses. They sat down in comfortable leather chairs on either side of a glass coffee table.
Nihal had told him over the phone that Richter had recommended him.
‘I haven’t seen Herr Richter for some time, I take it he’s well?’
‘Oh, I believe, very. I saw him last week.’
‘How can I help you?’ Nihal handed him the copy of the contract. Steinhagen studied it closely.
‘This is the contract you drew up with Richter?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Does he have a problem with it?’
‘I don’t believe so.’
Steinhagen stared at Nihal. He obviously realised that he might have been tricked; he was probably wondering what exactly Nihal was there for and what he should say.
‘Are you working for Richter?’
‘No, but it’s true he suggested I talk to you. He just gave me a tour of his factory and explained his plans to me. I’m a journalist.’
‘Ah; I see.’ Steinhagen looked puzzled, as if he didn’t see at all. He paused for a moment, deep in thought, before answering:
‘I have to say, I have rather fallen out with Wolf Richter. I haven’t seen him for over a year. May I ask how you got this copy of the contract? Did Richter give it to you?’
‘No; a copy of it was leaked to my magazine.’
‘Ah.’
The phone on the desk rang. Steinhagen answered it and said he would be a few minutes. He turned back to Nihal. Perhaps he thought that Nihal already knew enough and that no harm could come of talking to him, because he suddenly became quite open and friendly. ‘Well, look, let me tell you. I first met Wolf Richter through a business contact and we did various other legal work for them. They actually made contact with Stroessner through me, because I was then doing a lot of work for German companies in Paraguay. I was flying backwards and forwards to Asunción all the time then and I had met Stroessner on a few occasions. I floated the idea to him and he was very interested. It was the kind of grandiose idea that appealed to Stroessner and he said that one day he would have the Cape Kennedy of Latin America.
‘I arranged for Richter to come over. We hired this big house in Asunción and we had a good time, I remember it well. There was a meeting with Stroessner and I drew up the contract, rather hastily, I have to add. We did take some rather amazing liberties to which we half expected Stroessner to object. But you see, he was an old man then, he was preoccupied with the question of his succession and I don’t think he really gave it too much thought.’
The Rocket Man Page 11