by Len Deighton
‘So what could Biedermann tell them? That I sell secondhand Ferraris that keep breaking down?’
‘You’re smiling. But Biedermann could tell them quite a lot. He could tell them about you working for the SIS. He could tell them about Frank Harrington in Berlin and the people Frank sees.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Werner. The KGB know all about Frank Harrington. He’s been “Berlin Resident” for a long time, and he was no stranger to Berlin before he took the job. As for knowing who I work for, we were discussing rates of pay that night Stinnes had me in Normannenstrasse.’
‘I think he wants to talk to you, Bernie. He did everything except spell out your name.’
‘Eventually he’ll have to see me. And he’ll recognize me. Then he’ll telex Moscow and have them send a computer print-out of whatever they know about me. That’s the way it is, Werner. There’s nothing we can do about that.’
‘I don’t like it, Bernie.’
‘So what am I going to do – glue on a false beard and put a stone in my shoe to make me limp?’
‘Let Dicky do it.’
‘Dicky? Are you joking? Dicky enrol Stinnes? Stinnes would run a mile.’
‘He’ll probably run a mile when you try,’ said Werner. ‘But Dicky has no record of work as a field agent. It’s very unlikely that they’d do anything really nasty to Dicky.’
‘Well, that’s another reason,’ I said.
‘It’s not something to joke about, Bernie. I know you were painting a rosy picture for Zena yesterday. And I appreciate you trying to set her mind at rest. But we both know that the best way to prevent an enrolment is to kill the enroller…and we both know that Moscow shares that feeling.’
‘Did you fix a time and place?’
‘I still don’t like it, Bernie.’
‘What can happen? I tell him how lovely it is living in Hampshire. And he tells me to get stuffed.’
Music started from the big patio below our balcony. Some of the hotel staff were erecting a stage, arranging folding chairs and decorating the columns with coloured lanterns in preparation for the concert I’d seen advertised in the lobby. Sitting under the tall, spiky palmetto trees on the far side of the patio were six men and a flashy-looking girl. One of the men was strumming a guitar and tuning it. The girl was smiling and humming the tune, but the other men sat very still and completely impassive, as the natives of very hot countries learn to do.
Werner followed the direction of my gaze and leaned over to see what was happening. The man strumming the guitar picked out a melody everyone in Mexico knows, and quietly sang:
Life is worth nothing, life is worth nothing, It always starts with crying and with crying ends. And that’s why, in this world, life is worth nothing.
Werner said, ‘Stinnes says he’s frightened of this man Pavel. He says Pavel is desperate to get back to Moscow and that his only way of doing that is to get back into favour. Stinnes is frightened that Pavel will make trouble at the first opportunity.’
‘It sounds like a cosy chat, Werner. He said he’s frightened?’ Stinnes was not the type who was easily frightened, and certainly not the type to say so.
‘Not like I’m telling you,’ said Werner. ‘It was all wrapped up in euphemisms and double-meanings but the meaning was clear.’
‘What is the end result?’
‘He wants to talk to you but it’s got to be somewhere completely safe. Somewhere that can’t be bugged or have witnesses hidden.’
‘For instance?’
‘Biedermann’s boat. He’ll meet my contact on Biedermann’s boat, he says.’
‘That sounds sensible,’ I said. ‘You did well, Werner.’
‘Sensible for him, but not so sensible for you.’
‘Why?’
‘Are you crazy? He’s sure to have Biedermann with him. They’ll cruise out into the Pacific and dump you over the side. They’ll say you had cramp while swimming. The local cops are sure to be in Biedermann’s pocket, and so is the local doctor who’ll issue a death certificate, if that’s the way they decide to play it.’
‘You’ve got my demise all worked out, haven’t you, Werner?’
‘If you’re too stupid to see the danger for yourself, then it’s as well I spell it out for you.’
‘I don’t see them going to all that trouble to do something that can be more easily achieved by a hit-and-run traffic accident as I hurry across the Reforma one morning.’
‘Of course, I don’t know what kind of back-up you’ll be arranging. For all I know you’ll have a Royal Navy frigate out there, with a chopper keeping you on radar. I realize you don’t tell me everything.’
There were times when Werner could drive me to the point of frenzy. ‘You know as well as I do that I tell you all you need to know. And if I’m going out to meet Stinnes on this bloody boat I won’t even be carrying my Swiss army knife…Royal Navy frigate…Good God, Werner, the ideas you come up with.’ Below us the guitar player sang:
…Only the winner is respected. That’s why life is worth nothing in Guanajuato…
‘Do whatever you want,’ said Werner mournfully. ‘I know you won’t take my advice. You never have in the past.’
I seem to have spent half my life listening to Werner handing out advice. And engraved on my memory there was a long list of times when I heartily regretted taking it. But I didn’t tell him this. I said, ‘I’ll be all right, Werner.’
‘You think you’re all right,’ said Werner. ‘You think you’re all right because your wife defected to the Russians. But that doesn’t make you any safer, Bernie.’
I didn’t understand what he was getting at. ‘Make me safer? What do you mean?’
‘I never got along with Fiona, I’ll admit that any time. But it was more because of her attitude than because of mine. When you married her I was ready to be friends. You know that, Bernie.’
‘What are you trying to say, Werner?’
‘Fiona works for the KGB nowadays. Well, I’m not saying she’s going to send a KGB hit team after the father of her children. But don’t imagine you will enjoy complete immunity for ever and ever. That’s not the way the KGB work, you know that, Bernie.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘You’re on different sides now, you and Fiona. She’s working against you, Bernie. Remember that always. She’ll always be working against you.’
‘You’re not saying that Fiona sent Stinnes to Mexico in the hope that you might come here on holiday? Instead of going to Spain, for which you’d already booked tickets when you read in Time magazine about Mexico being even cheaper. That she did that because she hoped you would spot Stinnes and report it to London Central. Then she figured that they would send me here with an offer to enrol him. I mean that would be a lot of “ifs”, wouldn’t it? She’d have to be a magician to work that one out in advance, wouldn’t she?’
‘You like to make me sound ridiculous,’ said Werner. ‘It makes you feel good, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, it does. And since you like to feel sorry for yourself we have the perfect symbiotic relationship.’ It was getting warmer in the morning sunshine, and the sweet scents of the flowers hung in the air. And yet these were not the light, fresh smells of Europe’s countryside. The flowers were big and brightly coloured; the sort of blooms that eat insects in slow motion in nature films on TV. And the heavy cloying perfumes smelled like an airport duty-free shop.
‘I’m simply saying what’s obvious. That you mustn’t think that you’ll continue to have a charmed life just because Fiona is working for them.’
‘Continue to have? What do you mean?’
Werner leaned forward. ‘Fiona made sure nothing happened to you during all those years when she was an active agent inside London Central. That’s what you said yourself. It’s no good denying it; you told me that, Bernard. You told me just after they let you go.’
‘I said maybe she had a deal like that.’
‘But she’s not going to be doing that any mo
re. She’s running Stinnes – and whatever he’s doing with Biedermann – from a desk in East Berlin. Moscow is going to be watching every move she makes, and she’s got to show them that she’s on their side. Even if she wanted to protect you she’d not be allowed to. If you go out on Paul Biedermann’s boat with the idea that nothing can happen to you, because the KGB will play it the way Fiona wants, you might not come back.’
‘Well, perhaps this would be a good chance to find out what the score is,’ I said. ‘I’ll go out on the boat with Stinnes and see what happens.’
‘Well, don’t say you weren’t told,’ said Werner.
I didn’t want to argue, especially not with Werner. He was worried for my safety, even if he was clucking like a mother hen. But I was nervous about what Stinnes could have in store for me. And Werner, voicing my fears, was making me twitchy. My argument with Werner was an attempt to allay my own fears but the more we argued the less convincing I sounded. ‘Put yourself in his place, Werner,’ I said. ‘Stinnes is doing exactly what you or I would do. He is reserving his position, asking for more information, and playing it very safe. He doesn’t care whether we will find it easy or convenient to rendezvous on Biedermann’s boat. If we don’t overcome our reservations, our fears and our difficulties he’ll know we’re not serious.’
Werner pushed his lower lip forward as if in thought. And then, to consolidate this reflective pose, he pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger while closing his eyes. It was a more elaborate version of the faces he’d pulled at school when trying to remember theorems. ‘I’ll go with you,’ he said. It was a noble concession; Werner hated boats of any shape or size.
‘Would Stinnes permit that?’
‘I’ll just turn up there. We’ll say you had trouble with the traffic cops. We’ll say they wanted a notarized affidavit from the legal owner of the car you’re using. That’s the law here. We’ll say you couldn’t get one, so I had to drive you in my car.’
‘Will he believe that?’ I said.
‘He’ll think the cops were trying to wring a big bribe from you – it’s common for cops to stop cars with foreigners in and demand a bribe from the driver – and he’ll think you were too dumb to understand what they really wanted.’
‘When is this meeting to be?’
‘Tomorrow. Okay?’
‘Fine.’
‘Very early.’
‘I said okay, Werner.’
‘Because I have to phone him and confirm.’
‘Codes or anything?’
‘No, he just wants me to phone and say if my friend will be able to go on the fishing trip.’
‘Good. A lot of mumbo-jumbo with codes would have made me uneasy. It’s the way the Moscow desk men would want it done.’
Werner nodded. The guitar player was still singing the catchy melody:
…Christ on your hill, on the mountain ridge of Cubilete,
Console those who suffer, you’re worshipped by the people,
Christ on your hill, on the mountain ridge of Cubilete.
‘It’s a popular song,’ said Werner. ‘Did you know that the Cubilete is a mountain ridge shaped like a dice-cup? But why is life worth nothing?’
‘It means life is cheap,’ I said. ‘The song is about the way that people are killed for nothing in this part of the world.’
‘By the way,’ said Werner, ‘if you could let us have the return air fares you mentioned, I’d appreciate it.’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I can do that on my own authority. Two first-class air tickets Berlin to Mexico City and return. I’ll give you a voucher that any big airline will cash.’
‘It would be useful,’ said Werner. ‘The peso is cheap but we get through a lot of money one way and the other.’
7
It was still night when we got to Santiago, but there was enough moonlight to see that Biedermann’s gate was locked. I noticed that a new chain had been found to replace the one that had been sawn through on my previous visit. There was no response to pressing the button of the speaker-phone.
‘If that bastard doesn’t turn up…’ I said and kicked the gate.
‘Calm down,’ said Werner. ‘We’re early. Let’s stroll along the beach.’
We left Werner’s pick-up truck at the entrance and walked to the beach to watch the ocean. The storms had cleared and the weather was calm, but close-to the noise of the ocean was thunderous. The waves hitting the beach exploded across the sand in great galaxies of sparkling phosphorescence. Everywhere the coast was littered with flotsam: broken pieces of timber from boats and huts and limbs of trees torn apart by the great winds.
Over the salty putrefaction that is the smell of the ocean there came a whiff of woodsmoke. Along the water’s edge, at the place where a piece of jungly undergrowth came almost to the sand, there was a flickering light of a fire. Werner and I walked along to see it, and round the corner of the rocks we saw blanketed shapes huddled around a dying fire.
Here in the shelter of the rocks and vegetation there was less noise from the sea but I could feel the pounding surf underfoot and spray in the air made beads of moisture on my spectacles.
Nearer to the fire, perched with his back against a rock, there was a man. Now and then the fire flared enough to show his bearded face and the hair tied in a pony-tail. He was a muscular youth, darkly tanned, wearing old swimming trunks and a clean T-shirt that was too small for him. He was smoking and staring into the fire. He seemed not to see us until we were almost on top of him.
‘Who’s that?’ he called in English. His voice was high-pitched; he sounded nervous.
‘We live near by,’ I said. ‘We’re going out fishing. We’re waiting for the boat.’
There was a snuffling sound coming from one of the huddled shapes. At first it was a soft warbling muffled by the blankets. ‘Shut up, Betty,’ said the bearded boy. But the sound didn’t cease. It became more nasal, almost stertorous, until it was recognizably a girl sobbing. ‘Shut up, I say. There are people here. Try and go back to sleep.’ The bearded boy inhaled deeply on his cigarette. There was the sweet smell of marijuana smoke in the air.
But the girl sat up. She was about eighteen years old, pretty if you made allowances for the spots on her face that might have been a sign of adolescence or bad diet. Her hair was cut short, shorter in fact than that of the bearded man. As the blanket fell away from her shoulders I could see that she was wearing only a bra. Her body was badly sunburned. She stopped sobbing and wiped the tears from her eyes with her fingertips. ‘Have you got a cigarette?’ she asked me. ‘An American cigarette?’
I offered her my packet. ‘Can I take two?’ she whispered.
‘Keep the packet,’ I said. ‘I’m trying to give it up.’
She lit the cigarette immediately and passed the packet to the bearded boy who used the joint he’d been smoking to light up a Camel instead. Behind him one of the other sleepers moved. I had the feeling that all of them were awake and listening to us.
‘Have you just arrived?’ I said. ‘I don’t remember you being here last week.’
The boy seemed to feel that some explanation was necessary. ‘There were seven of us, four guys and three girls.’ He leaned forward and used a piece of wood to prod the fire. There were tiny burned fragments of unprocessed film there and the boy poked them into the ashes until they burned. ‘We met and got together waiting for a bus way north of here in Mazatlan. We’re back-packing along the coast, and heading down towards Acapulco. But one of the guys – Theo – slept under a manzanillo tree the night before last, and the sap is poisonous. That was at our previous camp, a long way up the coast from here. We made good mileage since then. But Theo was shook. He cut away inland to look for a clinic.’ The bearded boy rubbed his arm where the dark suntan was made even darker by a long stain of iodine that had treated a bad cut on his forearm.
‘Have you seen a power boat in the last few hours?’ I asked.
‘Sure,’ said the bearded boy. ‘It’s ancho
red on the other side of the headland. We were watching it earlier. It’s a ritzy son of a bitch. Is that the one you’re going on? She came up the coast and tried to get into the little pier, but I guess the tide was wrong or something because finally they had to use the dinghy to land a couple of guys.’ He turned his head to look at the waves striking the beach. They came racing towards us, making a huge, shimmering sheet of polished steel until the water lost its impetus and sank into the darkened sand.
‘We haven’t seen her yet,’ I said. ‘A good boat, is it?’
‘That boat’s a ship, man,’ he said. ‘What are you going after – marlin or sailfish or something?’
‘We’re after anything that’s out there,’ I said. ‘Are you hiking all the way?’
‘We thumb a ride now and again. And twice we took a Mexican second-class bus, but along this piece of coast the highway runs too far inland. We like to keep near the ocean. We like to swim, and catching fish to eat saves dough. But it’s heavy going along this section. We’ve chopped our way through for the last five miles or so.’
They were all obviously awake now, all six of them. But they remained very still so that they heard everything being said. I could see that they’d made a little encampment here in the shelter of a rocky outcrop. There were seven back-packs perched up on the rocks and kept fastened against rats and monkeys. Someone had tried to build a palapas, the hut that local people make as a temporary shelter using the coconut palms. But making them was not so easy as it looks, and this one had fallen to pieces. The wood framework had collapsed at one end, and split palm fronds were scattered across the beach. Laundry was hanging to dry on some bushes: a man’s T-shirt, a pair of jeans and underpants. A yellow plastic jug was rigged up in a tree to make a shower bath. Two tin plates were bent almost double.
‘Someone’s tried to eat their plate,’ I said.
‘Yeah,’ said the bearded boy. ‘We tried to dig a well without a spade. It’s tough going. There’s no water here. We’ll have to move on tomorrow.’