The Secret Families

by John Gardner

  Naldo nodded.

  ‘First,’ Maitland-Wood began, ‘you went to Berlin two days ago to service a source. You were supposed to be in and out in a day. We put a safe house at your disposal, and we made certain you had no surveillance — from anyone.’

  ‘Right.’ Naldo took the same crisp, somewhat brusque, tone.

  ‘You stayed the night, which was not in the schedule. Why?’

  Naldo smiled straight into his face. ‘You read my request, Willis? If you did, you’ll see that it says, “Business scheduled within a twenty-four hour period, with some leeway either side.” Which, as you damned well know, means it could take longer. In fact, from Heathrow to Heathrow it took twenty-eight hours. Four over the hoped-for schedule. The reason? My source came in from behind the Wall. There were three-hour fallbacks. We couldn’t get it together until around midnight. That’s a normal, secure operational necessity. Right?’

  BMW nodded and made a note. He had a blank piece of paper in front of him, and his custom-made desk sported an inlaid marble panel. No bits of glass for BMW. His trade-craft was full of silly little luxuries, as though he used them to support his position.

  ‘You came into Heathrow around noon, yesterday, Naldo. What did you do first?’

  ‘Rang my wife.’

  ‘Mm-huh. Then what?’

  ‘Took a taxi to Whitehall. Dropped off at the Trafalgar Square end and walked up to the Annexe.’

  ‘Naldo, please sit down.’ Maitland-Wood did not look up, but Naldo sat at last, turning the chair sideways on. ‘Why did you go to the Annexe?’

  ‘To see Herbie.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’d promised him lunch.’

  ‘How and when did you arrange this with Mr Kruger?’

  ‘I didn’t arrange it.’

  ‘You said you’d promised him lunch.’

  ‘When I last saw him, at my uncle’s funeral, I said let’s have lunch sometime. Herbie and I are old friends. In the past we’ve worked together. Very closely, as you know, Willis. He said he would love lunch. He likes to go to the Travellers, but I took him to Gennaro’s instead. Old Herb can be noisy over lunch and one doesn’t like to disturb the calm of the Travellers, does one?’

  ‘You’re saying you dropped in unannounced?’

  ‘Got it.’ Naldo leaned back. ‘I thought it would be a little treat for him. He likes treats.’

  ‘You didn’t want to discuss anything operational with him, then?’

  ‘Our paths do not cross, operationally. You know that also; Willis. It was a friendly luncheon. Two old colleagues.’

  BMW made another note. ‘And you walked home with him?’

  ‘If by “home” you mean back to the Annexe, yes.’

  ‘During lunch, or the walk back, did you mention your uncle? Did the conversation veer in the direction of the late Sir Caspar Railton?’

  ‘You what?’ Naldo feigned puzzlement. ‘Veer in the direction? What kind of language is that, Willis?’

  ‘It’s a simple question. Did you talk about Caspar?’

  ‘I don’t understand you, but, yes, he was mentioned. We talked about old times. People like Herbie and myself miss Sir Caspar. I do, in particular.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really, Willis. He was a good intelligence officer, and an even better uncle.’

  ‘You talked about the past, then?’

  ‘We couldn’t very well discuss the future, could we? Herbie and myself are not intercognisant now, as you already know.’

  ‘Don’t be flippant, Naldo. You’ll see the reason for this line of questioning shortly, and I fear you’re not going to like it.’

  Naldo felt himself go very still, as though he could, like some reptiles, control his pulse rate, slow down and lock his muscles. God, he thought, it’s coming. Now. Straightaway. In the back of his head he heard the old words, this time spoken in Caspar’s bluff manner. ‘Now it begins.’ Aloud, he said, ‘We discussed a defunct operation which is still classified.’

  ‘I see. The operation is dead?’

  ‘And finished with. It was a long time ago. Herbie, Caspar and myself were involved. I’m saying no more than that.’

  ‘Why not?’ Maitland-Wood had changed tack. He was polite, but pressing. He sounded like a doctor going through routine questions. If all the answers added up at the end of the interview, Naldo thought, he was going to tell the patient he had leprosy. Possibly, BMW considered, a lot of Railtons were already infected; and he might be right.

  ‘Because, in spite of you being deputy to C, I really don’t know who has what clearance, Willis. We can troop in and have a word with C if you like.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ BMW said, a shade too quickly. ‘You left Kruger at the Annexe. It was after that the trouble began?’

  ‘Yes. Straight away.’ Naldo went through his sighting of the Russian team and the events that followed. Finally he told them about seeing one of them at the Adelphi that night. When Naldo had finished talking, Maitland-Wood carried on writing. Then he sat back —

  ‘Yes, there is a team in town, and that’s odd, because they don’t usually show themselves here in London.’

  ‘That’s why I reported it. In Berlin I would have understood …’

  ‘Don’t you understand now?’

  ‘I understand they’re trying to make a point. I don’t know why.’

  ‘I see. Well, let me tell you some of it. Half of the team are newly-appointed embassy heavies. They came in with a new batch last week. Nobody likes it, and we’re doing what we can. At least our sister service is doing what it can. The other part, the really nasty knuckle-draggers, are what the Ks call shavki — trash-eating dogs. Like you gave Kruger a little treat, the Ks sometimes give their outside help little treats. These people came in to nursemaid a small delegation here for the talks going on at the Ministry of Trade. But they’re not really doing their duties. The shavki haven’t accompanied their charges, nor have they spent the leisure time with their charges. They’ve been whistling around town, mainly with the pros from the embassy. The Foreign Office has given them their cards. The shavki, I mean. They’ve been PNG’d and they go on this afternoon’s Aeroflot back to Moscow.’ PNG was the smart acronym for persona non grata. BMW expelled air through his nose. ‘However, the teeth of the team are a different matter. Now, Naldo, you’ve agreed they were trying to make a point with you. What kind of point do you think they were making?’

  ‘I said, if it had been Berlin, I would have looked at how I’d managed to get up their noses. Those people can be damned frightening, but we’re not in the business of killing each other. If I had done something to really upset them, I suppose I’d have locked myself away for a couple of weeks, or taken them on and risked getting roughed up.’

  Maitland-Wood stared at the ceiling. ‘We’re not in the business of killing one another.’ He repeated Naldo’s words as though they were some kind of magic charm. ‘But, Naldo Railton, those kind of teams, the boyevaya, the combat groups, are in the business of killing people. That’s their trade. That’s why we’ve PNG’d half of them. That’s why we’re working on the other half. We don’t like the Ks’ combat groups on our ground. They’re bloody dangerous.’

  ‘This is true.’ Naldo had no option but to sit there and roll with the punches. He knew BMW was about to bring a crushing left hook from nowhere.

  ‘Yes, of course it’s true. Just as what you’ve said is true. We don’t go around taking each other out. It has never been written into any charter, but we all know it’s counter-productive. Yet, there are times when people do get killed in this job. Tell me, in your wide experience who they do kill. Come to that, who we also sometimes expend. What kind of person gets the chop, Naldo?’

  Naldo shrugged. ‘Defectors, before they’ve had a chance to talk; would-be defectors; proven doubles that we, or they, can’t double back.’

  ‘In a word, traitors.’

  ‘Some traitors,’ Naldo said fir
mly. ‘Those traitors who are too far into the quicksands.’ He shifted his body in the chair. ‘When you work in the field, Willis, you haven’t got time to make choices — religious, moral, or questions of honour. The whole of our job concerns traitors. The evaluation of intelligence is left to the clever people in this building, or buildings like it, who sift the stuff we get. They don’t care how we get it, and I feel they often lose sight of the fact that we feed these clever brains with the offal of traitors.

  ‘Every bloody asset I’ve had to deal with throughout my career has been a traitor. We’re all traitors to somebody.’

  There was a long silence, broken at last by Maitland-Wood, who spoke as though he had not heard any of Naldo’s short speech. ‘Defectors; would-be defectors; doubles. Sometimes couriers? Right? And in your vast experience, Naldo, what type of person is given a warning before he gets chopped?’ BMW was not good on the heavy sarcasm.

  ‘Oh, I suppose people who are thinking about defecting; or people who own information that they’re likely to spill to the wrong agency.’

  ‘Quite. I must put it to you, very seriously, Naldo. Do you fall into any of those categories?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Well, my dear Naldo, it was you who received the gypsy’s warning. You were the target of these thugs.’

  ‘That’s exactly why I reported in. Immediately. I told Tubby here as soon as I could get to my phone.’

  ‘Being conscientious, you would do that anyway. You’re sensible enough to realize that we, or our brothers in Christ who are Five, could have been shepherding this band of Russian acrobats.’

  ‘But you weren’t, Willis. If you had the dogs on them, I would have known.’

  ‘Railton the omnipotent, eh?’

  ‘No, Railton the professional. I’ve already seen most of it. If you’d had people piggybacking those hoods, I really would have known, Willis.’

  ‘They were warning you, though. You admit that.’

  ‘I admit that. I don’t know why they were warning me. Perhaps I have, inadvertently, trodden hard on someone’s toes. I might even have accidentally lanced one of the big boils at Moscow Centre. Who knows? It could even be an error. Mistaken identity. I don’t know, Willis. I don’t know why. I do know they were putting the frighteners in.’

  Again a longish pause while Maitland-Wood made a note with his slim silver propelling pencil. Then, for the first time, he looked up, straight into Naldo’s face. ‘You would, then, deny that at any time you have provided the Russian service with intelligence?’

  ‘Come off it, Willis.’

  ‘No,’ he said, his voice seeming to be filtered through several layers of granite chippings. ‘I am asking you officially. You deny having worked as a double agent, for us and the Russian service? You deny any complicity in running, or servicing, any Russian agent-in-place for the Russian service? You deny having any preliminary meetings with Russian officers to discuss your own defection?’

  ‘You’re joking!’ Now it begins.

  ‘Just answer the questions.’

  ‘I deny them. I deny all counts. No! No! And no!’

  Maitland-Wood nodded, then gave a friendly shrug. ‘Well, you’d deny it anyway. Three times, like Peter with Christ. On our part, I should tell you there’s not one iota of evidence that you have, in any way or manner, conducted yourself as a potential traitor.’

  ‘I should bloody well think not.’

  ‘It was necessary to put the questions formally.’

  ‘Willis, what’s all this about?’

  ‘You were warned that something unpleasant would happen to you, if you followed a certain course of action, Naldo. We think we know exactly why a little cautious, if heavy, advice came your way.’

  Naldo waited.

  ‘I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this.’ BMW did not smile. ‘Several officers of this service, and from Five, are involved in an investigation concerning a member of your family. And, unfortunately, he’s not available to defend himself. You see it’s quite possible that your uncle, the late Sir Caspar Railton, was a long-term Soviet penetration agent.’

  Though he was half-expecting it, the confirmation went through Naldo like a sword. He felt betrayed and violated, just as he had when Arnie suggested it. He hoped his face showed none of this.

  The two men sat looking at one another. Then Naldo said, ‘Could Cas ever have had the time?’

  ‘Meaning?’ Maitland-Wood asked.

  ‘Meaning that I once heard a very great spycatcher say that, if you wanted to wear a moleskin jacket, you should look for a time when your target could have been nobbled. In plain language, there never was a time when my Uncle Caspar could have been turned, burned, buggered or branded. He went from school to Sandhurst; from Sandhurst to France; from France to a long spell in hospital, and from thence to this service, which was only just taking flight.’

  ‘Four things, Naldo.’ Maitland-Wood’s voice had become almost kindly. So much so that Naldo’s antennae bristled at the uncharacteristic trait. ‘One, your Uncle Caspar was, in fact, recruited to this service by a former relative who later became completely discredited. I don’t have to give you the details.’

  No, you do not, Naldo thought. Everyone in the family knew that story and his treacherous ancestor’s private papers stayed under lock and key at Redhill. BMW went on —

  ‘Two, with respect, while your family has undoubtedly served country, king, queen and honour with great gallantry, it has also had its fair share of, shall we say, rotten apples. From a service viewpoint, the Railtons are tainted goods. Three, Sir Caspar himself came under suspicion towards the end of, and just after, the Second World War …’

  ‘He was completely exonerated, Willis. We all know that. There was no hint of Caspar having been even indiscreet —’

  ‘And four!’ Maitland-Wood overrode Naldo, raising his voice. ‘Four, there was a period when he was away from the service. Out completely. There is very little of his history left available to us from that period. What is clear shows that he was, at the very least, stupid enough to make long-term friendships with some highly dubious characters. The opportunity for Caspar to be turned is there —’

  ‘When? What’re you talking about, Willis?’

  ‘From August 1935 until September 1938, Caspar Arthur Railton was out of the service at his own request. During that time he travelled a great deal. He met a lot of people. We know who some of them were.’

  ‘So, we all meet people who turn out to be undesirable. I’d bet he provided an accurate picture of his contacts and movements when he came back in again.’

  BMW gave a rather Gallic gesture, using hands, shoulders and face. ‘Unhappily, no.’

  ‘What’s your supporting evidence?’ Naldo kept his anger at bay. After all, he knew there was a fair chance of some of the supporting evidence — from Alex, Penkovsky — being blown to blazes. If Blunt had also added poison, he would soon be in a position of knowledge and, therefore, ability to neutralize whatever had been said.

  ‘Naldo.’ It was Tubby Fincher who spoke. ‘Naldo, unhappily there is some very damning evidence.’

  ‘Where? How?’

  ‘At the moment it’s restricted. There’s also some rather unpleasant verbal evidence.’

  ‘Substantiated evidence?’ Naldo feigned slight mollification.

  Tubby tipped his head from side to side, as some people might do with a hand. ‘More or less,’ he said.

  ‘And you all think, because I’m a Railton, I’m well tied up with my late uncle, and treachery, which I cannot, incidentally, believe.’

  ‘No.’ Willis Maitland-Wood was now firm but friendly. ‘No. But we think the Soviet combat gang were warning you to stay out of any investigation.’

  ‘They could have been laying false trails, Willis. Thought of that?’

  ‘It’s a possibility.’

  ‘So what do you want of me, then?’

  ‘A little family assistance. The kind of thing best left to e
xperts.’

  ‘Which means it could be something illegal.’ Naldo smiled, the way a murderer must smile when putting a victim at ease.

  Maitland-Wood ignored the comment. ‘Your family,’ he said, ‘have a famous property. The house in Eccleston Square. It was owned by your great-uncle, the famous Giles Railton, and eventually passed to Caspar. Right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you been there since the funeral, Naldo?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is anyone living there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘We want to have a look-see.’

  ‘You mean you want to turn it over.’

  ‘As you wish. We can get a warrant, but it’d be easier all round if we had co-operation. We’d like you to get permission from Lady Phoebe.’

  ‘Permission for your so-called “technical” boys to take it apart, and put it back together again?’

  ‘Permission for us to go in. Look. Examine Caspar’s papers, maybe remove some of them. Yes, that’s about the size of it.’

  Naldo scowled, a shaft of concern went through his mind. ‘You really believe all this, don’t you, Willis?’

  ‘All of it, I fear. Yes. I have no doubt whatsoever that your Uncle Caspar was a Soviet penetration agent. Sorry, but the circumstantial stuff is very strong.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Phoebe. And I insist on the right to come with you during the search.’ Naldo smiled inwardly, knowing that it was himself, not his Aunt Phoebe, from whom BMW should seek permission. ‘Agreed?’ He asked.

  Slowly BMW nodded. ‘Thank you, Naldo.’

  ‘When?’ Naldo asked from the door.

  ‘Yesterday. But we’ll settle for tomorrow.’

  Naldo wondered if there was already surveillance on the Eccleston Square house.

  Max was still outside.

  ‘The old man getting tough, Mr Railton?’ Max spoke like an old con, without moving his lips, but with his mouth slewed sideways as though he had suffered a stroke.

  Naldo did not even nod as he walked quickly towards the lifts.

  SIX