by Len Deighton
‘I don’t like physical training,’ I said. Perhaps London are clever, I thought. Perhaps they did know. That’s why they were in such a hurry. I wondered if Dicky had been told. I wondered too how many of those black marks Stinnes was eligible for; not child beating, wife beating possibly, mistress keeping highly likely. He was the sort of man who would attract some women. I looked at that hard, unyielding face, smooth like a carefully carved netsuke handled by generations of collectors, and darkening as elephant tusk darkens when locked away and deprived of light.
‘You wouldn’t like this sort of physical training,’ said Stinnes. ‘The KGB Field Officers’ Leadership School is nearly one hundred miles from the nearest town on Sakhalin Island in the Sea of Okhotsk. I went there once when I was a young lieutenant. I was part of a two-man armed escort. It was in September 1964. A captain from my unit had been assigned to the school for the four-month course. He was sent there because when very drunk one night he told a roomful of officers that Nikita Khrushchev was not fit to be Prime Minister and certainly should not be First Secretary of the Soviet Communist Party. It’s a grim place, Samson; I was only there two hours but that was enough for me. Unheated rooms, cold-water showers and ‘candidates’ have to run everywhere. Only the staff are permitted to walk. Not the sort of place that you or I like. The funny thing was that a few weeks later Khrushchev was denounced in far stronger terms and replaced by Brezhnev and ousted.’ Stinnes gave a brief, humourless smile. ‘But the captain wasn’t released. He served his full sentence…that is to say he did the whole leadership course. I wouldn’t like to be sent there.’
‘It sounds like a strong argument for marital fidelity,’ I said.
‘Yes, I haven’t officially asked for a divorce. I was only thinking about it. But everyone knows that I no longer get along so well with my wife Inge. I am bored with her and she is bored with me and there is nothing to be done except that I must get out before I begin to loathe her. Do you understand?’ He looked at me. We both knew what had happened to my wife: she’d become his boss. And he didn’t seem like a man who would enjoy working for a woman boss. I wondered if that was a part of the real story.
‘Have you got any other children?’ I asked.
‘No, just the boy, eighteen years old. He is at an age when he realizes how I fall short of the Daddy he once revered. At first it made me angry, then it made me sad. Now I’ve come to see it as the natural progress of youth.’
‘You married a German,’ I said.
‘I was lonely. Inge was only a few months younger than me. You know that special sort of magic Berlin girls can wield. Sunshine, strong beer, short skirts, long lazy evenings, sailing boats on the Muggelsee. It shouldn’t be allowed.’ Stinnes laughed, a short dry bitter laugh, as if he still was in love with her and resented it.
‘Coming to the West would solve all your problems,’ I said. I didn’t want to rush him; any suggestion of haste now could make him change his mind. Maybe he would come to us, maybe he was just humouring me, but I knew it was important to keep pressing forwards. I knew what sort of ideas must be going through his mind. There would be so many things he would have to do. There would be good people he’d want to transfer away so they weren’t tainted by his treachery.
‘What a wonderful offer. How could anyone resist a future without problems.’
‘It’s your life,’ I said. For a moment I didn’t care what he did but immediately my professionalism overcame my anger. It was my job to enrol Erich Stinnes and I would do everything I could to land him. ‘But say no and I doubt if London will come back to you again. It’s now or never.’
‘Very well,’ said Stinnes. ‘You tell your people that I said no. I want that to go to London through your Mexico City embassy in the usual coding.’ I nodded and tried not to show my surprise that the Russians had broken our codes. In future we’d have to make sure that everything important went to London via Washington and used the NSA’s crypto-ciph B machines.
He waited until I grunted my assent. He knew he’d given me an important piece of intelligence.
‘I will report an approach. I won’t identify you, Samson. I’ll make it vague enough for Moscow to think it’s some low-grade local agent trying to make a name for himself. But you go back to London and tell whoever is the desk man on this one that they’ve got a deal.’
‘What will the timing be?’
‘There are things I have to do. I’ll need a month.’
‘Yes,’ I said. He’d want to get his hands on some secret paperwork, so that he’d have something to bring. He’d want some time with his wife, a last talk with his son, a meal with his family, a drink with his secretary, an evening with old friends. He’d want to imprint them upon his memory. ‘I understand.’
I felt the hot sun on my arm; it was on the starboard bow. Only now did I notice that he’d been turning the helm in tiny expert movements that had brought the boat round until it was heading back home again. Stinnes did everything with that same professional stealth. It made me uneasy.
‘My people will be impatient,’ I warned.
‘We all know what desk men are like. You’ll keep them warm?’
‘I’ll try,’ I promised. ‘But you’d better bring something good with you.’
‘I’m not a beginner, Samson. That’s what I need a month to arrange.’ He got a small black cigar from his top pocket and took his time lighting it. Once he got it well alight he took the cheroot from his mouth and nodded as if confirming something to himself.
If he really intended to come to us he’d be grabbing as many secret documents as he could find, and locking them away somewhere, a Swiss bank vault perhaps. Only a fool would come without having some extras tucked away somewhere. And Stinnes was no fool.
‘What sort of material are they looking for?’ he asked.
‘They’ll expect you break a network,’ I said.
He thought about it. ‘Is that what London says?’
‘It’s what I’m saying. You know they’ll expect it. It’s what you’d want if you had me in Moscow.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll give you a word of advice,’ I said. ‘Don’t withdraw a net and then come over to us with a list of people who have left no forwarding address. That would just make everyone bad-tempered, and they’ll start to think you’re still on salary from Moscow. Understand?’
He blew evil-smelling cigar smoke. ‘It’s a pleasure to do business with you, Samson. You make everything very clear.’
‘So let me make this clear too. If you try to turn me round, if you try any tricks at all, I will blow you away.’
8
By midday we’d been waiting nearly three hours, and our plane had still not arrived. Other departures were also delayed. The official explanation was the hurricanes. Mexico City airport was packed with people. There were Indian women clasping sacks of flour and a sequin-suited rock group guarding their amplifiers. All found some way to deal with the interminable delay: mothers suckled babies, boys raced through the concourse on roller-skates, a rug pedlar – burdened under his wares – systematically pitched his captive audience, tour guides paced resolutely, airline staff yawned, footsore hikers snored, nuns told their rosaries, a tall Negro – listening to a Sony Walkman – swayed rhythmically, and some Swedish school kids were gambling away their last few pesos.
Dicky Cruyer had excess baggage, and some parcels of cheap tin decorative masks that he insisted must go as cabin baggage. From where I sat I could see Dicky focusing all his charm on to the girl at the check-in desk. There were no seats available so I was propped on one of Dicky’s suitcases talking to Werner. I watched Dicky gesturing at the girl and running his hands back through his curly hair in the way he did when he was being shy and boyish.
‘Don’t trust him,’ said Werner.
‘Dicky? Don’t worry, I won’t.’
‘You know who I mean,’ said Werner. ‘Don’t trust Stinnes.’ Werner was sitting on another of Dicky’s many cases. He
was wearing a guyavera, the traditional Mexican shirt that is all pleats and buttons, and with it linen trousers and expensive-looking leather shoes patterned with ventilation holes. Although Werner complained of Mexico’s heat and humidity, the climate seemed to suit him. His complexion was such that he tanned easily, and he was more relaxed in the sunshine than ever he’d seemed to be in Europe.
‘There’s nothing to lose,’ I said.
‘For London Central, you mean? Or nothing to lose for you?’
‘I’m just doing what London want me to do, Werner…Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die…You know how London expect us to work.’
‘Yes,’ said Werner, who’d had this same conversation with me many times before. ‘It’s always easier to do and die than it is to reason why.’
‘I don’t trust him; I don’t distrust him,’ I said as I thought about Werner’s warning. ‘I don’t give a damn about Stinnes. I don’t begrudge him his opportunity to squeeze a bigger cash payment from the department than any loyal employee ever got. More money, I’d guess, than the wife and kids of any of the department’s casualties ever collected. But it makes me wonder, Werner. It makes me wonder what the hell it’s all about.’
‘It’s the game,’ said Werner. He too was slumped back against the wall with a plastic cup of warm, weak coffee in his hand. ‘It’s nothing to do with virtue and evil, or effort and reward; it’s just a game. You know that, Bernie.’
‘And Stinnes knows how to play it better than we do?’
‘It’s not a game of skill,’ said Werner. ‘It’s a game of chance.’
‘Is there nothing that lights up and says “tilt” when you cheat?’
‘Stinnes isn’t cheating. He’s just a man in the right place at the right time. He’s done nothing to entice London to enrol him.’
‘What do you make of him, Werner?’
‘He’s a career KGB officer. We’ve both seen a million of them. Stinnes holds no surprises for me, Bernie. And, providing you don’t trust him, no surprises for you either.’
‘He didn’t ask enough questions,’ I said. ‘I’ve been thinking of that ever since the boat trip. Stinnes didn’t ask me any important questions. Not the sort of questions I’d be asking in his place.’
‘He’s a robot,’ said Werner. ‘Did you expect him to engage you in a political argument? Did you expect a detailed discussion about the deprivation of the Third World?’
‘I suppose I did,’ I admitted.
‘Well, this is the right country for anyone looking for political arguments,’ said Werner. ‘If ever there was a country poised on the brink of revolution, this is it. Look around; two-thirds of the Mexican population – about fifty million people – are living at starvation level. You’ve seen the campesinos struggling to grow crops in volcanic ash or rock, and bringing to market half a dozen onions or some such pathetic little crop. You’ve seen them scratching a living here in the city in slums as bad as anywhere in the world. Four out of ten Mexicans never drink milk, two out of ten never eat meat, eggs or bread. But the Mexican government subsidizes Coca Cola sales. The official explanation is that Coca Cola is nutritious.’ Werner drank some of the disgusting coffee. ‘And, now that the IMF have forced Mexico to devalue the peso, big US companies – such as Xerox and Sheraton – can build factories and hotels here at rock-bottom prices, but sell to hard-currency customers. Inflation goes up. Unemployment figures go up. Taxes go up. Prices go up. But wages go down. How would you like it if you were Mexican?’ It was quite a speech for Werner.
‘Did Stinnes say that?’
‘Haven’t you been listening to me? Stinnes is a career KGB officer. Stinnes doesn’t give a damn about the Mexicans and their problems, except how and when it affects his career prospects. I started talking about all this to him at the club one evening. Stinnes knows nothing about Mexico. He’s not even had the regular briefing that all East European diplomatic services give to their personnel.’
‘Why?’ I said.
‘Why?’ said Werner irritably, thinking I merely wanted to change the subject. ‘How could I know?’
‘Think about it, Werner. The first thing it indicates is that he came here at short notice. Even then, knowing the KGB, they would have arranged for him to have political indoctrination here in Mexico City.’
Werner shifted his weight uncomfortably on Dicky’s suitcase and looked around to see if there was anywhere else to sit. There wasn’t; in fact the whole place was getting more and more crowded. Now there was a large group of young people carrying bright orange shoulder-bags that announced them to be a choir from New Zealand. They were seating themselves all along the corridor. I hoped they wouldn’t start singing. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Werner.
‘I am right,’ I said. ‘And I’ll tell you something else. The complete absence of political indoctrination suggests to me that Stinnes is not here to run agents into California, nor to supervise Biedermann’s funnelling of Moscow money to local organizations.’
‘Don’t keep me in suspense,’ said Werner wearily.
‘I haven’t got the answer, Werner. I don’t know what Stinnes is doing here. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Stinnes could be positively identified without having me along.’
‘London didn’t send you along so that you could identify Stinnes,’ said Werner. ‘London sent you along so that Stinnes could identify you.’
‘No anagrams, Werner. Keep it simple for me.’
‘What do you think was the first thing that came into his mind the other night when I started telling him about freezers, videos and the acceleration a Porsche 924 turbo gives you from a standing start?’
‘Entrapment?’
‘Well, of course. He was terrified that I was a KGB employee who was going to provide the evidence that would put him into a Siberian penal battalion for twenty years.’
‘Ummm. But he could be sure that I was an SIS agent from London because he’d actually had me under arrest in East Berlin. I suppose you’re right, Werner. I suppose Bret had that all figured out.’
‘Bret Rensselaer, was it? Of all the people in London Central he’s the most cunning one. And right now he’s very keen to prove the department needs him.’
‘Dicky is frightened that Bret will get the German Desk,’ I said.
‘Stuhlpolonaise,’ said Werner.
‘Exactly. Musical chairs.’ Werner’s use of the German word called to mind the prim formality and the slow rhythm of the promenading couples that exactly described London Central’s dance when some big reshuffle was due. ‘And Bret has sent Dicky marching four thousand miles away from the only chair, and Dicky wants to get back to London before the music stops.’
‘But he doesn’t want to return without news of a great success,’ said Werner.
‘You see that, do you?’ I said admiringly. Werner didn’t miss much. ‘Yes, Bret has contrived a quandary that alarms even Dicky. If he waits here long enough to land Stinnes, Bret will be the man who congratulates him and sends him off on another assignment. On the other hand, if Dicky rushes back there without a conclusion to the Stinnes operation, someone is going to say that Dicky is not up to the job.’
‘But you’re both going back,’ said Werner. He looked round the crowded lounge. Outside, the apron was empty and the regular afternoon rainstorm was in full fury. There was not much evidence that anyone was going anywhere.
‘I’m now the file officer. Dicky is writing a report that will explain the way in which he has brought the Stinnes operation to the brink of a successful conclusion before handing everything over to me.’
‘He is a crafty little bastard,’ said Werner.
‘Now tell me something I don’t know.’
‘And, if Stinnes doesn’t come over, Dicky will say you messed it up.’
‘Go to the top of the class, Werner. You’re really getting the hang of it.’
‘But I think there’s only a slight chance that we’
ll get Stinnes over.’
‘Why?’ I agreed with Werner but I wanted to hear his views.
‘He’s still frightened, for one thing. If Stinnes really trusted you, he wouldn’t tell you to send a negative signal to London. He’d let you tell London anything you liked.’
‘Don’t tell Dicky I told you about the compromised signal traffic,’ I said. ‘He’ll say it’s a breach of security.’
‘It is a breach of security,’ said Werner. ‘Strictly speaking I shouldn’t be told that sort of top-grade item unless, it’s directly concerned with my work.’
‘My God, Werner. Am I glad you don’t have the German Desk in London. I think you’d shop me if you thought I was breaking security.’
‘Maybe I would,’ said Werner complacently. I grabbed him by the throat and pretended to throttle him. It was a spectacle that interested one of the nuns enough for her to nudge her companion and nod towards me. I gave them both a sinister scowl and Werner put his tongue out and rolled his eyes.
After I’d released Werner and let him drink some more of that awful coffee, I said, ‘You said Stinnes knows I’m kosher on account of interrogating me.’
‘That could be a double ploy,’ said Werner. ‘If you were really working for Moscow, then you would be quite happy to let yourself get arrested in East Berlin. Then you’d be perfectly placed to trap Stinnes.’
‘But Stinnes isn’t important enough for Moscow to play out that sort of operetta.’
‘Stinnes probably thinks he is important enough. It’s human, isn’t it? We all think we are important enough for anything.’
Werner could be exasperating. ‘That’s what Hollywood calls “moronic logic”, Werner. It’s the sort of nit-picking insanity that can’t be faulted but is only too obviously stupid.’
‘So explain why it’s stupid.’
I took a deep breath and said, ‘Because if Moscow had a well-placed agent in London whose identity was so closely guarded that Stinnes could not possibly suspect him, then Moscow would not bring him to Berlin and get him arrested just to get the confidence of Stinnes so that months later in Mexico City he could be enticed into agreeing to a defection plan. I mean…ask yourself, Werner.’