by John Gardner
‘I think not, Nald. Spatukin’s too set on us all getting out in one piece, and by all he means his daughter as well.’
‘Barb’s going to be more than happy to see us, then.’ Naldo tried to smile.
A month later he saw Arnie Farthing again, and General Spatukin, together with Madame Spatukin and all Kati’s sisters, cousins and aunts in their finery.
It was done in the usual manner for the Soviet Union — not that Naldo wanted any religious blessing. Like any other Russians, they went through the process at the Wedding Palace within the Kremlin — a singular honour, obtained by the general himself. Kati dressed in white, as was the custom, and they stood under a chandelier on the red carpet in front of a picture of Lenin and the Soviet emblem, exchanging their rings and making the usual vows.
Afterwards, everyone embraced, they drank champagne and ate chocolates and then went on to a feast at Spatukin’s large apartment, where everyone, except the bride and groom, got very drunk and ate far too much.
There was music and dancing, while every now and then the guests would shout ‘Gorko! Gorko!’ and, to cheers, the couple would embrace and kiss.
They left early, to lewd comments and nudges. Back at the apartment, Kati went straight to the bedroom and stripped to her underwear which was pure silk and had been brought in from Paris by one of her father’s couriers. ‘Now, I make you real wife. I make you very happy,’ she said. And she did just that, in a variety of ways that brought extreme pleasure to Naldo.
On the following morning, they flew Arnie out of Moscow and into Hanoi. The day after that, with two Soviet guards and a posse of Viet Cong, they moved up towards the battle zones. It took three days on foot, and eventually they rested in a complex labyrinth of underground tunnels.
Arnie examined the maps with his KGB bodyguard, and pinpointed the reference. ‘I’m to go alone,’ he told them in Russian. ‘I don’t want my contact frightened off.’
‘Those are our orders, Comrade Colonel. We stay here. You go alone.’
‘Good. Just see nobody follows. I could be completely compromised.’ At dawn he left, through a disguised exit, taking an hour to make his way carefully through the foliage. Aircraft passed low overhead, and to his right Arnie heard the sound of a firefight as American troops met in skirmish with the Viet Cong.
Finally, checking his compass and the map, Arnie lay on the damp ground and waited. He wore jungle fatigues, boots and helmet. From his belt hung a 9 mm Makarov, strapped into its holster.
Clifton appeared on the dot of 7.30, coming out of the damp rising mist, and walking with care. Arnie rose and went to him.
‘You’ve left your people behind, I hope?’ Arnold held out his hand and gripped Clifton’s big paw in his.
‘There ain’t nobody here but us chickens.’ Clifton smiled. ‘I hope to God you’re alone.’
‘Not even a leech. Talk naturally, though, just in case some idiot’s decided to disobey orders. Next time we shake, I’ll pass stuff to you. It’s red hot. How’s it all going?’
‘Crazy.’ Clifton looked dejected. ‘It was a crazy idea in the first place. Operation Blowtorch, they called it. Now it’s Operation Phoenix. We have a lot of teams working the villages, and we promise immunity to those who tell us the truth.’
‘You’re actually doing that?’ Arnold was genuinely surprised. He never thought they would go through with it.
‘There’re going to be a lot of unhappy people by the time it’s over.’ Clifton spoke low, his eyes on the ground. ‘We tell them to point us to the VC spies, and they point at anyone. I figure a lot of old scores are being settled. Three-quarters of the people we’re pulling in swear they’ve never had anything to do with the VC. A lot of innocent people’re getting the chop.’
‘War’s like that.’ Arnie frowned. ‘Best be getting back. Any instructions?’
‘Just carry on. Oh, yes, is the Railton OK? They wanted to know that particularly.’
‘He’s having himself a ball.’ Arnie smiled. ‘You got stuff for me?’
‘A lot. Nicely prepared. They’ll take it like salmon takes a good fly. The real stuff’ll be out of date by the time they do anything. The rest is chickenfeed.’
Arnie nodded. ‘My stuff’s all Grade A. Exchange the papers clean, Clifton, otherwise we just might not get another chance.’
They shook hands and Clifton palmed the twenty pages of thin paper that Arnie had folded into a tiny ball. Arnie took the stuff Clifton had brought in full view. If they did have someone watching it would look as though only Arnold had received anything. ‘See you next month,’ he said.
Three days later, Arnold was back in Moscow, and they assigned him and Naldo to work together in Department T — scientific and technical intelligence collection. They spent most of their days at the so-called Research Institute, near the Byelorusski Railway Station, where American equipment, discarded in battle, or stolen by the Viet Cong, was brought for testing.
‘I go once a month now,’ Arnold told Naldo, in a safe spot — in Gorky Park. It was autumn, and the first chill of winter was on them. Soon the place would be full of skaters and chestnut sellers.
‘You want someone to carry your bags?’
‘When it happens, I’ll let you know.’
‘Well, for Christ’s sake give me some warning. I have to set up the get-out.’
‘Begin now,’ Arnold told him. ‘Even if it’s going to take two years, start now.’
6
Box 12, the dead-drop Naldo had given to Herbie, was, in fact an old street trader — flowers in summer, seeds and herbs in early winter, before the intense cold drove people indoors. She did it for the money, and would not breathe a word because she thought she was working for the fartsovsh-chiki, the dealers and peddlers in black market, counter-economy goods. She had been operating for years, and knew only two code-words; one for the drop and another for the pick-up. She was paid well in certificate roubles with which, through a third party, she bought legal luxuries.
She was at her usual place, selling the last flowers of the year, when Naldo approached her, and bought a bunch of sorry-looking sunflowers. In Russian he asked if anyone had been looking for Gramophone Gennady. She nodded, and he slipped her a small envelope, together with some roubles, which was a chance, as she was paid regularly out of the embassy.
A week later, a German engineer, in Moscow for a conference and talks on building a new sewage works, approached the same old lady who, by this time was into fir branches, which most people could get themselves, but people often bought out of pity. They helped to brighten up the place and cost little enough. Soon the old lady would be driven indoors by the bitter winter. The German asked if she ever saw Mikhail, the one with two fingers missing. Again she nodded, and the engineer bought some sprigs of fir. They were passed to him together with Naldo’s envelope.
Four days after this, the envelope was sitting on Big Herbie’s desk at the Annexe. Herbie unbuttoned the code and read through it. ‘Naldo gone fucking mad,’ he muttered to himself. ‘This is impossible, even by the spring. Shit!’
Then Herbie sat down to work out how he could get around the tremendous difficulties surrounding Naldo’s request. There was only one way. He would lie to C, and get him to set up the op. It was the only way. They would need a submarine at least, and a guide to get four people off the Black Sea coast. Even C would gib at it. Certainly the Royal Navy would spring several leaks.
The year moved on, and 1967 turned into 1968. Naldo did as he was instructed, kept to the sham of his life and felt as though he was struggling through each month, carrying a heavy load. Then 1968 gave way to 1969, and, in April, Arnold made his monthly trip to Hanoi.
Each month, as the war progressed, he met Clifton Railton at a different rendezvous. The reference figures were passed through the American Embassy, and nobody questioned how they arrived there in the first place. The whole operation had been well planned from first to last, though now Langley was getting jumpy.
>
On this meeting, Clifton had a message by word of mouth. He did not know that the paper Arnold would hand to him was clean as a baby’s conscience. For Arnie, the risks involved in the monthly meetings had become too dangerous.
‘Mother wants you out,’ Clifton told him. ‘She wants you out now. I am to take you, if it’s safe.’
‘I want out.’ Arnie did not smile. ‘I want out yesterday. Today we’d be mown down like corn. They’re on my back. I’ll have to figure a way next month. OK. Just take what I give you and get the hell out. Next month, if I don’t turn up I’ve either bought the farm, or I’m out, OK?’
Clifton nodded sadly. They shook, and the papers were passed. Up until now they had been good — mainly intelligence on Soviet supplies to the Viet Cong.
‘See you,’ Clifton said, turning his back and walking away.
Arnold took his time. He undid the strap around the Makarov, withdrew it from the holster and shot Clifton twice through the back of the head.
‘We go in one month,’ he told Naldo when next they were able to talk. ‘You will get leave as from May 10th. The general is making arrangements for us to travel to Sochi on May 11th. We’ll have a day to set it up. Then, “Bingo”. Don’t say anything to Kati yet, OK?’
Naldo’s heart lifted. It meant they could take care of Alex on the night of 12 May 1969. Who said revenge was a dish best taken cold. Whatever happened, it would be one back for dear Caspar.
PART THREE
The Families Destroyed
(1969—1989)
EIGHTEEN
1
‘Herbie, it can’t be done.’ C had heard many idiot requests in his life, but Kruger’s petition really took the biscuit.
‘It’s a necessary op,’ Herbie floundered.
‘Listen, my dear fellow.’ C took on the mantle of a benign uncle. ‘You want me to mount a deniable snatch operation, without the knowledge of anyone else on the fifth floor, which entails putting a sub into the Black Sea and taking four people out. Can’t be done. For one thing the navy wouldn’t wear it, even if it could be carried out from a surface ship doing a hospitality trip into Istanbul. I’d have to know more about the four in question before I even put it to them on that level.’
‘Can’t tell you no more, chief.’ Herbie looked frantic.
There was a long pause. C trusted Kruger; to the extent of even investigating the possibilities of nominating him for Deputy CSS (BMW’s tenure would run out in a few years). The Foreign Office had not taken kindly to the idea. The post, they said, could only be held by a British national born.
‘Herb, listen to me,’ C finally said. ‘How would you feel in my place? You know how things work. Someone comes in and asks for a major snatch — a bring-em-back-alive operation in the Black Sea. Right off the coast of the Soviets’ favourite playground. Four people, who are nameless. If the op goes wrong, we’re all caught with our pants down. Yes, we might do something limited, running out of Turkey, but it’s a long shot. If they’re yours, why can’t they come via East Germany? That’s the way you always do it. That’s your bloody fiefdom.’
‘These four won’t be in East Germany.’
‘Then you have to give me some background. You have to say who they are.’
Herbie looked around the room, as though he could sniff the microphones. ‘We on tape?’ he asked bleakly.
‘You want the tapes off?’
‘Only if it’s sure. One hundred fifty per cent certain.’
C opened a drawer in his desk. Inside lay a small console of six switches. The switches had been wired onto a piece of hardboard, and it looked like a do-it-yourself job. C clicked through the lot. ‘There. Two hundred per cent.’ He smiled.
‘OK. I say it once. Once only, special for you, chief. Is two Russian nationals. One big KGB boil and daughter. Is also Naldo …’
C was not given to profanities or expletives. ‘Shit!’ he said.
‘And is also Arnie Farthing. Please keep under your hat, chief.’
‘Oh, God save us!’ C came from behind his desk and began to pace the room like a caged beast. ‘Look, I know the facts. I know about Arnie Farthing and Naldo, but I’m also under discipline, so I didn’t say that. Understand?’
Kruger nodded.
‘How in hell has all this happened, Herbie?’
‘Naldo went off on his own op. I don’t know what is about. But serious. I know serious, just like you know Naldo don’t do a runner on us. Naldo play doubles.’
‘Bloody mixed doubles.’ C looked and sounded angry. ‘Why? Why go off and pull strokes like this? You back-stopped him, Kruger. Why?’
‘He get pissed off with Willis.’
‘Give me your version from the top.’
‘OK. No tapes?’
‘I’ve told you, no bloody tapes. Just give it to me cold.’
Quietly, Kruger told him about Arnie’s message to Naldo at the funeral. Then the conversation when they had lunch after Railton had seen Arnie in Berlin. He left out the bit concerning the Blunt material, but kept Naldo’s fury concerning the Caspar accusations. ‘He told it me straight. Some defector put boot in on Caspar: that start the talking. That what Naldo believe anyhow. Next thing I know, Naldo’s gone and I get message via an old drop. I am to use one of our Moscow post-boxes, one we don’t use much any more. Then, yesterday Naldo leaves message in Moscow box. Two Russians, one American and himself. Somewhere near Sochi on Black Sea. Most urgent pick-up. Snatch. Date and time to follow. But he reckons around three, maybe four, weeks. 12, 13, maybe 14 May.’
‘I should have you damned well hung, drawn and quartered, Kruger. You knew Naldo was off on an unsanctioned —’
‘I knew nothing, chief. I do him favour. Put him next to Arnie. Then he goes walkabout. Bloody Willis frighten him off. Willis is bloody Dennis.’
‘Dennis?’
‘Ja. Dennis the Menace: character in kids’ comic. I sometimes read for my English. You know? — Desperate Dan eat cow pies; Lord Snooty and friends. Good for me to practise, Ja.’
C grunted. ‘Herbie, it’s me you’re talking to. You can leave out the funny stuff. It probably goes down a hoot with the probationers, but not with me. Right? So it’s to do with Caspar?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, so I think. Bloody Credits committee, and Caspar. What I do about getting Naldo out, chief?’
‘I don’t think you can do anything. Come to that, I don’t think I can make it happen either. Just keep in touch. Any time of the day or night. Tell the duty officer London’s burning. Got it?’
‘London’s burning.’ Herbie nodded violently.
‘That’ll get to me fast.’ He stopped pacing to stand next to Kruger. ‘I’ve told you, there’s precious little I can do to get Naldo out. If they’re still on, then you’ll just have to tell them to try and make it through Turkey. They’ll have to get themselves out.’
‘Long walk to Turkey.’
‘Then tell Naldo to get his hiking boots on. All four are beyond my help now, but I’ll still try. Oh, and Herbie …’
‘Ja?’
‘Not a word or I’ll cut your tongue out.’
‘Don’t know what you’re saying, chief.’
2
Naldo and Kati were having dinner with the Spatukins, in their large apartment in an old building on Kutuzov Prospekt. The place had nine rooms and had been given a major face-lift sometime in the late fifties The meal was almost sumptuous, and the ladies withdrew after the pudding, following the old Western etiquette, leaving Naldo alone with his ‘father-in-law’.
He had worked close to the general ever since he had been moved with Arnold to Department T, and had even come to like the man. He had mellowed since Caspar’s first descriptions of him, in the late 1930s, yet Naldo could still spot the younger man behind the older man. Spatukin was able to remain very still, like a snake waiting to strike; at times he was also very silent. He sat there, saying nothing and waiting for the others to speak first, his eyes darting around the room w
ithout moving his head.
Now, over the dinner table, sipping brandy — obviously the general did not like port — he did turn his head towards Naldo. He smiled, then lifted a finger, pointing to the ceiling and making a circling movement, then touching his ear.
So, Naldo thought, the general himself is afraid of sound-stealing, even in his home. ‘Arnold tell you about my offer?’ Spatukin’s English was excellent, the accent was not Russian, but more of a French intonation.
‘Which one, sir? You have made many kind offers.’
‘I thought we should have a little holiday. A few days in my little dacha near Sochi.’
‘Oh, yes. Yes, he did mention it. Wonderful, if we can get away.’
‘I’ll arrange it. Unfortunately Nina will not be able to get away. But I hope Kati will come with us. About the middle of next month. May is good down there; before it gets too hot. My God, it is terrible in the summer. Far too hot then. It will be good for you to get out of Moscow.’
‘Also we can talk in peace about some of the work —’ Naldo began.
‘No. No. And no!’ The general smiled without even looking at Naldo. ‘We go there for a small holiday. You English have a saying, all work and no play, eh?’
‘You’re right, sir.’ Naldo felt uncomfortable. The conversation had become stilted. If he had been a listener, his ears would be fully pricked up now, and the dates would have been jotted down. He turned the conversation onto the latest piece of equipment that had been ferried in from Vietnam, the M79 grenade launchers.
‘The modern sling shot,’ the general laughed, and Naldo had to step in and talk for a while about the technical statistics of the weapon. He could hear himself giving chapter and verse on the launcher and hoped it did not sound as though he was too eager — trying to prove himself. All the time, the general sat, staring ahead and nodding occasionally.
When he got Kati back to their own apartment he asked if her father had mentioned the trip next month.