by John Gardner
‘James,’ he began, ‘when M took you to lunch and then for that walk in the park and explained Cream Cake to you, saying they would deny you if anything went wrong – what was your first thought?’
Smolin had started with the very truth that Bond had buried most deeply and would have given his interrogator only under the heaviest pressure.
10
INTERROGATION
For what seemed an eternity Bond felt as though his mind had been struck by a whirlwind: listening devices planted in Blades? Directional microphones? Sound stealing in the park? A penetration of M’s office? Of M himself? Impossible. Yet Smolin knew. M’s first private briefing had been in the park, and it was the last piece of information Bond would have revealed. But Smolin had it, and if he was party to that knowledge, what else did he know, and how?
Bluff could not last long, but he must try to spin it out.
‘What briefing? What park?’
‘Come, James, you know better than to try that. I’m a casehardened GRU officer. We’re both aware of the way our organisations can be penetrated. Let us say that Cream Cake was detected long before we allowed the four girls to discover they were blown.’
‘As I know nothing of this Cream Cake, I can’t be any help to you.’ Still only four girls, he thought, and no mention of the one man.
Smolin shrugged. ‘Do you want me to do it the hard way, James? We all make mistakes from time to time. Your people made a mistake with Cream Cake. We made a blunder in letting the network get away in their socks, as your people say.’ He gave his most unpleasant laugh. ‘In the case of Cream Cake, I suppose we should say they got away in their stockings, eh?’ He looked hard at Bond, and it seemed, incredibly, as though he was trying to pass some secret message. ‘All of them being young women, eh?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Bond said quietly. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what this Cream Cake business is. I gave a lift to a girl I met at a party, and ended up with the GRU around my neck. I haven’t denied what you obviously do know, that I’m a member of one of Britain’s secret departments. But we’re not all privy to every harebrained scheme. We work on a need-to-know basis . . .’
‘And your Head of Service, M, decided that you did need to know, James. Yesterday in Regent’s Park, after you lunched together at his club, he told you the story, with many of its twists and turns; not quite all of them, though. Then he said he’d be obliged if you’d tidy things up, bring in the members of the Cream Cake team. He offered you the information but said he could not sanction your actions. If you got into a mess neither he nor the Foreign Office could bail you out. They would have to deny you. It was up to you and, like the headstrong field man you are, you took him up. Now, my question was, what did you feel when he laid that little lot on you?’
‘I felt nothing because it didn’t happen.’
There was a long pause as Smolin sucked in air through his teeth.
‘Have it your own way. I’m not going to play any games. No strong-arm stuff. I haven’t got time to waste. We’ll do it with a small injection. My report has to be ready later tonight when we expect an important visitor.’
He turned, speaking to the guards in a mixture of German and Russian. From what Bond could understand, he was telling them to bring in the medical instruments, then leave him alone. The taller of the two men asked if he needed assistance.
‘I can do my own recording. The prisoner is secure. Now get on with it.’
Smolin’s manner made them jump to obey, and one man was back in a few seconds, wheeling a small medical trolley.
Smolin dismissed him and moved towards one of the walls. For the first time, Bond saw a row of small switches, which Smolin carefully threw down. Then he turned back to the trolley and started to prepare a hypodermic syringe. Meanwhile he spoke very softly, not even looking in Bond’s direction.
‘I’ve turned the sound off, so we cannot be overheard. One of those guys is KGB – very bad news. And there are others planted in my team. Only two of them can be trusted as GRU men, and even they might find themselves in a situation where they cannot obey my orders. You should know that this injection will be nothing more harmful than distilled water. It was the only way I could engineer matters so that we could be alone.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Bond found his own voice dropping to a whisper. He had to be careful. He could not trust a man of Smolin’s reputation.
‘I’m speaking to you about truth, James Bond.’ Smolin lifted the syringe and picked up a small vial. He slid the needle through the skin of the vial, filled the syringe and squirted a small spray to eliminate any bubbles of air. ‘I’m talking about how I escape with Irma. I’m sorry, I mean Heather. I’ve been able to hide the fact that Wald Belzinger – your Jungle Baisley – was ever part of Cream Cake. I did that to shield myself and Susanne.’
‘Susanne?’ asked Bond as Smolin took his arm to give the injection.
‘My colleague, Susanne Dietrich. I hid her little affair, and the conspiracy. I also warned the four girls so they could get out before the KGB caught up with them. That was none of Heather’s doing, though of course she thinks it was her fault, that she made her play for me too soon.’ He slid the needle in and Bond did not even feel it. ‘If anyone should come in, act as though you’re doped to the eyeballs. In fact it would be a good idea if you just let your head go back and closed your eyes anyway.’
‘As I understand it,’ said Bond, still hardly above a whisper, ‘it was you, the resident GRU mole inside the HVA, who blew the whistle on the girls.’ Christ, into the trap, he thought. I’ve admitted it.
Smolin bent down close to Bond’s ear, pretending to make him comfortable. ‘Yes, I had to blow the whistle, as you put it. Believe me, James, I blew it only a matter of seconds before KGB sounded their own alarm. And now? Well, I can’t keep the heat off much longer. First, it is a KGB team – two teams to be exact – who are killing off the Cream Cake agents. Second, my guess is that tonight’s honoured guest will bring with him news that Wald Belzinger has had it away on his toes, as the London criminal fraternity would say, with my good colleague and friend, Susanne Dietrich.’
‘Really?’ Bond wanted to listen, not comment. Already he had gone too far.
‘She went on leave two weeks ago and hasn’t returned. The KGB officer in charge of cleaning up the case will have put two and two together by now and there will be an APB out on Belzinger, or Baisley. It puts me right in focus, which means I too must jump, as I have promised, if the going gets rough.’
‘Promised whom?’
‘My dearest Heather for one; her case officer, Swift, for another. And your own Chief, M, for good measure.’
‘Are you trying to tell me, Maxim, that you have been a defector in place for the last five years?’
‘Quite’
‘And you expect me to believe you? You, the half-Russian, half-German, scourge of the DDR’s intelligence service? Hated by more people than either of us would care to count? The dedicated officer with allegiance only to Moscow? I can’t buy it. It just doesn’t add up.’
‘That is exactly why you should buy it, James. It is the only thing you can do, because if you don’t you’re dead. So am I, come to that. You, Heather, Ebbie, me and eventually Susanne and Baisley. We’re all headed for oblivion if you don’t buy it and act on it.’
‘Prove it to me, then, Maxim.’
‘Haven’t I done that? Haven’t I done it by asking you about your reaction to M’s briefing? There was no way I could get that except from the horse’s mouth.’
Bond waited, still wary. He examined his own mental and physical state and knew he was not drugged. This was all very real and Smolin’s story became more probable the more he heard.
‘James, the job we’re in – it’s like living within a set of Chinese boxes and never knowing exactly who or what is in which box. I know about the telephone call you received yesterday morning, about your lunch at Blade
s and your walk in the park. I know you spent the afternoon going through the files and what happened at Heather’s beauty salon.’ He paused, looking very serious now. ‘I tried hard to head off that bloody KGB team but it was too late. I know about the escape, your double-switch at Heathrow and your telephone conversations here – including those with Inspector Murray.’ He leaned forward in the chair, putting his face close to Bond. ‘You see, I have committed the cardinal sin within any intelligence organisation. I knew what Heather was when she made her first pass at me and I checked out the others. At any moment I could have hauled them all in, but I did not.’
‘Why?’
‘Because when I was approached I wanted to be approached. I wanted to get out. I knew it; had to live with it. Heather offered me a way of escape and like a fool I took it. And what happened? They asked me to stay in place; to become even more of a monster than before. What better cover, James?’
‘Who asked you?’
‘Heather, whom I love dearly, then Swift and finally M.’
‘Where?’
‘In a safe house in West Berlin. On a day trip. M agreed to keep Heather under wraps. I agreed to work for him. We set up codes, contacts, cutouts, and so it went on until the KGB began to sniff around what had really been happening five years before. It’s only a matter of time before they link me with Cream Cake. Then unless I can jump it’s Moscow and a quick bullet if I’m lucky; one of the cancer wards or the Gulag if I’m not. The same goes for you, James. For all of us.’
Bond had yet to be convinced that this was the complete story.
‘If this is true, why wasn’t I told?’
For a stomach-churning second he again realised that even in discussing events with Smolin he was answering questions, providing a skilled interrogator with all he required.
‘Need-to-know. Your cunning old M is too wily a bird. You were the man for the job, but you didn’t have to know about me. It was a chance in a million that we would meet. M’s instructions to me were to watch from a distance and let you get the girls out, then pick up Jungle.’ His eyes narrowed and the creases of anxiety showed in his forehead. ‘I don’t think he realised that I was so surrounded by KGB and that I couldn’t call off their hit team. Also, up until late yesterday he had no idea of the latest developments. We spoke during the early hours of this morning, first through Murray, who had contacted him, and later on a secure line. M thought I might still have a chance of staying in place. But he was wrong. I’ve almost certainly been blown, James, and I must get out. I need your help because we have been thoroughly penetrated by KGB. I’ve told you, at least one is in my team, and probably more than one. The real threat here is that bitch of a housekeeper, Ingrid. She’s certainly KGB. Black Ingrid, as they call her in certain circles, is deputy and probably mistress of the man after your Cream Cake team. Beware of her, my friend. It might look as though those damned dogs regard me as their master, but I assure you the dogs are doubles too. Ingrid’s their real controller. She can countermand my orders to them any time and they will obey.’ He gave a humourless smile. ‘And before you ask, yes they were trained in that windowless complex behind the walls and wire on the old Khodinka airfield.’
What had Smolin to lose by telling him all this – or for that matter, to gain?
‘If I go along with you, Maxim, what do you need from me? You have a plan, have you? Like getting me to take you and the girls to Jungle Baisley’s hideout so you can put the lot of us in the bag?’
‘Don’t be stupid, James. You think the KGB won’t know where he’s hiding out by now? You think they won’t have double-checked Susanne’s movements? By this time, those two are probably as near to being in the bag as we are.’
‘And who’s this honoured guest you’ve been talking about? The one due in tonight?’
‘At last you ask.’ His expression was clear and calm; the calm before the hurricane strikes.
‘Well?’
‘You know me as Basilisk, yes? Cryptonym, Basilisk, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you, then, James, happen to know the cryptonym Blackfriar?
Bond felt his heart thump, and stomach turn over wildly. ‘Christ!’
‘Quite. Our guest is Blackfriar.’
It took a few seconds for Bond to assimilate the information.
‘Konstantin Nikolaevich Chernov. General Chernov.’
‘Christ,’ Bond repeated, ‘Kolya Chernov?’
‘As you say, James, Kolya Chernov – to his few friends. The Chief Investigating officer of Department 8, Directorate S, which was once Department V, and before that . . .’
‘SMERSH.’
‘With whom you have had dealings on several occasions.’ Smolin spoke slowly, as though each word had a hidden meaning. ‘And Konstantin Nikolaevich has a reputation that makes my own appear blameless.’
Bond frowned. Not only was he aware of General Chernov’s reputation but knew his file intimately. Kolya Chernov was responsible for dozens of black operations that had caused mayhem within both the British and American intelligence communities. He was also a man of crude and cruel cunning. Bond guessed he would be hated by many in the Russian services as well. Blackfriar was a living nightmare to Bond’s Service.
He conjured up a picture from the photographs on the file: a slim, tall man with his body well toned by exercise. Blackfriar was known to be a health fanatic who neither smoked nor drank alcohol. His IQ went off the scale, and he was well established as a dirty tricks planner of immense ingenuity. He was also a tenaciously shrewd investigator. His file showed that he had sent at least thirty members of the KGB and GRU to their deaths or the Gulag for infringements of discipline. One defector was on record as saying, ‘Being what he is, Blackfriar has the knack of scenting even the tiniest deviation at ten paces, and he follows it up like a hell-hound.’ Bond closed his eyes and let his head droop. Suddenly he felt both exhausted and worried, not for himself, but for the two girls.
‘It must be important if he’s coming into the field,’ he murmured.
‘It is the first time in my own memory.’ Either Smolin was a very good actor or he was filled with dread even discussing the General. ‘Let me tell you, James, when I first blew Cream Cake, it was a matter for the Germans, for HVA and of course GRU. It has taken time for KGB to sniff out the existence of Jungle, the turning of Susanne Dietrich and of Maxim Smolin.’ He banged his own chest with a balled fist.
‘It has taken them five years.’ Bond’s voice was flat, as though his mind was elsewhere.
‘Four, to be exact. It was last year that KGB reopened the files and decided to investigate the case, going over our heads. They do not like GRU to feel that they are an élite body. They dislike our methods, our secrecy, our way of recruitment from within the Army. I have heard Chernov himself say that we smack of the hated SS from the Great Patriotic War.
‘At first the reinvestigation was fairly low grade. They did some cross-checking here and there. Then Chernov arrived in Berlin. I flashed warnings to your people, but I dared not make a move. After only a week there were a number of field changes and it didn’t take a lot of brain to work out that the KGB were boxing me in. I have been watched and monitored for the past six months. It is Chernov’s own team who are on the loose and his orders are that the girls are to be rooted out, killed and left with their tongues cut from their mouths – as the French say, pour encourager les autres.’
‘So you do all in your power to assist Blackfriar, eh, Basilisk? You pick up Ebbie and go to great lengths to trap Heather and me on the road.’
‘Only on Chernov’s orders. I’ve told you, KGB are all around us. I thought of botching the job, but how could that help? James, I want your help. I need to get out now and take you and the girls with me. In front of the others, naturally, I have to keep up a pretence of obeying Chernov’s orders. But not for long.’
‘If you want to prove your intentions to me, Maxim, tell me where we are. What is the location of this castle
?’
‘It’s not far from where we picked you up. The track to the road is about two miles. At the entrance we turn left and it’s straight on downhill until we reach the Dublin–Wicklow road. In an hour, two hours at the most, we can be at the airport and away.’
Bond still lay back with his eyes closed. ‘If I accept your version, I too need help.’
‘You have it. Don’t move suddenly but I’m unlocking the cuffs now. I have your gun with me – a nice piece of work, the ASP 9mm. There . . .’
Bond felt the heavy metal drop into his lap. ‘So we just shoot our way out?’
‘I fear we would be outnumbered. We could probably deceive my own men, but certainly not Black Ingrid, and those Chernov has planted.’
‘Again assuming I accept your word, how long have we got?’ Bond’s hands were free now. He could feel the cuffs drop away.
‘An hour. An hour and a half with luck. He has to land here while there is still enough light.’
‘And the girls, where are they being housed?’
‘They’ve been locked in the guest suite, I expect. Those were my orders. The problem is getting to them. After an interrogation such as I am supposed to be making, you would be semiconscious. The men will be waiting with a gurney trolley to take you along the passage. Then they’ll carry you up the stairs. There.’
Bond felt the shackles on his legs being freed. ‘Do you have any suggestions?’
He lifted the ASP, weighing it carefully to be certain there was a magazine in place. It was something he had practised many times, even in the dark, with empty magazines, blanks and the real thing. Now it was fully loaded.
‘There is one way . . .’ Smolin began, then wheeled round as the door smashed open to reveal Ingrid with the three dogs straining at their leashes.
‘Ingrid!’ Smolin used his most commanding tone.
‘It’s all been very interesting.’ Ingrid’s voice was thin and sharp. ‘I have made certain changes to the interrogation room since you were last here, Colonel – on General Chernov’s orders, naturally. For one thing, the switches for recording have been reversed. The General will be fascinated by the tapes. But we have listened long enough. He will be here soon, and I want you all locked away before he arrives.’