The Warsaw Document

by Adam Hall

  He stood rather stiffly, his face white and his head down a little and his eyes squeezed half shut as if he were expecting me to do something to him though he knew I could do nothing. It wasn’t much more than a whisper and I only just heard.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Chapter 14

  DEADLINE

  ‘This is Bodkin.’

  ‘Oh hello, old boy. How are things going?”

  The line wasn’t very good.

  ‘Mustn’t grumble.’

  ‘That’s the stuff.’

  I heard someone being sick, outside. It was probably Merrick.

  They watched me the whole time, rather like crows when you cross a field. They weren’t dangerous now. They would have been dangerous if I’d tried to run or throw some of Kimura’s pet numbers at them but there wouldn’t have been any point: it would have been a waste of time and I had a lot to do.

  I suppose they didn’t expect me to pick up a telephone: it had floored them a fraction and one of them had got excited, showing me his gun. Guns are no bloody good, they only make everyone jump.

  ‘This line’s lousy,' I said. ‘Can you hear me all right?’

  ‘On and off.’

  Give them credit: they hadn’t actually let me make the connection myself in case I was calling the Navy in. I gave the receiver to the thin one who looked as if he was in charge and said if he didn’t get me Comrade Foster in double quick time he’d lose his rank when they found out from me he’d refused. It was nice to realise that Foster hadn’t bothered to change his name, though the nearest the thin man got to it was Vorstor. In London it had meant another cosy party with lots of booze but in Moscow it made a much bigger noise. That was where I was now, right in. the middle of them; I might as well be standing in Red Square.

  He wasn’t at the Commissariat. He was at the Hotel Cracow.

  A stray thought came: they’d probably done it with photographs.

  ‘Look,’ I said, ‘you’re rocking the boat.’

  ‘Sorry about that, old boy.’

  ‘You should be. It’s your own boat.’

  ‘Ah.’

  He sounded quite interested. The helpful thing was that I was talking into a brilliant brain that could add up things for itself once it was given the data. If I’d had to talk to some cow-eyed clot they wouldn’t have understood what I was saying and that would have been fatal.

  ‘Let me know if you can’t hear me, Foster, because this is important to both of us.’

  ‘Loud and clear at the moment.’

  ‘I assume you know your little lot’s just ganged up on me, do you?’

  ‘We thought it best, considering.’

  ‘You couldn’t be more wrong. You know what I’m doing out here.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘I’m nosing around the Czyn situation to see what’s in it for John Bollocks.’

  ‘More than that,’ he said, ‘I think! The line crackled like someone frying. ‘What about the diplomatic support that’s expected from the U.K. if - ‘

  ‘Oh for Christ’s sake, if I’m going to save us both a lot of trouble you’ll bloody well have to talk sense like I am.’ He only wanted to find out how much I knew. ‘It was Merrick spreading that guff around and you know it, you gave him the orders. Now listen to me a minute. I’ve been in direct contact with London since you chose to start blocking my signals through Merrick, and my orders are to drop everything and try to make sure there isn’t a revolution here next Wednesday. In other words the reports we’ve been sending in have given them a nasty turn and they’re frightened the talks are going to come unstuck. This means in effect that you and I are now on the same side and although quite frankly I’d rather work with a dead rat I’ve no option.’

  We were the only people in here now. The men and women and the kid with the red plastic guitar had cleared out as soon as they’d seen what was happening. The woman who’d brought our soup was behind the counter again, washing up; her face was gentle and motherly, reminding me of Mrs. Khrushchev’s; I think she was quietly praying there wouldn’t be any shooting because the place had just been redecorated.

  ‘Any questions?’ I asked him.

  The silence went on for a bit and I let it. My impression of him in the Moskwicz saloon had been that he was a civilised person with a soft core of morality that wasn’t giving him any peace: he’d be sensitive for a long time, perhaps all his life, about how the Brits thought of him, and at this moment he was probably taking his time to swallow my last remark. That was all right because I’d made it deliberately to persuade him I was in a position of strength and we could talk on equal terms.

  But I didn’t like it, the silence on the line. I had to sell him cold in the next couple of minutes or lose the whole thing: a compromise wasn’t possible because the set-up I’d worked out would still function and the timing was a bit near the hairspring.

  ‘You’d better come and see me,’ he said.

  ‘There’s no time.’

  ‘Pity about that.’

  ‘You’re not being very bright, you know. I’ll give it to you straight: call your people off and let me go on doing my thing and as soon as I can I’ll hand you the lot. Those are my new orders from London. Or you can shove me in a cell and three days from now you’ll find out you’ve been losing your grip and you won’t like that, a bloke with your reputation in Moscow. Incidentally you’ll cost the lives of quite a few of your own people and that won’t go down so well either.’

  The line sizzled again and I began sweating badly: it’d be damned silly if I lost the mission just because the Polish telephone system had got dry rot in the selector units. My left eyelid had begun flickering to a rogue nerve: I must be getting old.

  ‘Perhaps you’d just give me a clue, old boy.’

  ‘Would you, in my place? Think straight. I’ve got too much on and bloody little time to do it in so for Christ’s sake get off my neck.’

  ‘You’re being,’ he said slowly, ‘a wee bit proud.’

  ‘All right, I’m rotten with it. At least it’s something you can understand. I represent an Intelligence service whose present interests happen to line up with yours and if you want me to co-operate it’s got to be level pegging and if you think I’m going to start by licking your boots you’ve got another think coming.’

  He kept me waiting again. Then on the line I heard a faint sound that brought his face suddenly into my mind, the puffy eyes in the crumpled tissue-paper skin, the long thin mouth with its hint of private irony. He was using his flask.

  In a moment he said: ‘What’s your field?’

  ‘Czyn.’

  ‘Same old thing.’

  ‘I told you, didn’t I? London wants me to do what I can to help keep the peace for the talks. You’ve been clearing the streets as quick as you can but there’ll still be a nasty lot of T.N.T. going up on Wednesday because there are one or two units left intact and you won’t ever find them.’ When I’d counted up to five I said: ‘I know where they are.’

  Something snapped, near where I was standing. The woman had broken the handle off a cup she was drying, her nerves in her fingers making them clumsy. She put the handle on to the zinc draining board; it looked like a bit out of a puzzle picture.

  ‘Oh, we’ll find them all right.’

  I’d expected him to say that. He couldn’t have said anything else. I’d laid my ace and he’d trumped it.

  ‘And the best of luck.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said reasonably, ‘that, doesn’t mean we wouldn’t be able to do it quicker, with your help.’

  ‘I’m not helping you, Foster, so get it straight. I don’t trade with your type. Our interests are parallel, that’s all, so you’re in luck.’ The line went fuzzy and the sweat came again; this thread was so thin and it was all I had. ‘Listen, you can do something practical as a kick-off. Ten days ago the U.B. pulled in someone from Czyn and we’re going to want him.’ I gave him the name. ‘He’s got a head full of essential info t
hat you won’t get out of him: they grilled him and drew blank. But he’ll tell me.’

  ‘What sort of info, old boy?’ Tone rather lazy.

  ‘Don’t be bloody silly. Put it this way: we’re trying to open a safe and he knows the combination.’

  ‘If they got him ten days ago he’ll be across the frontier by now.’

  ‘Of course. Get him back.’

  ‘I know it sounds easy, but he’s just one of -‘

  ‘Find him and fly him in, use a snow-patrol chopper. I don’t care how you do it, that’s your headache. Hold him for me till I’m ready.’

  It was all I could do now but I believed he was hooked.

  ‘Sorry, old boy, but it won’t work. It’s all so awfully vague, you see. If you could just give me the odd pointer.’

  The wooden boards under my feet started vibrating and the whistle came from the distance, a muted shriek. It would be small at first but it was coming fast and would grow gigantic, a black mountain on the move towards me.

  ‘I’m ringing off now, Foster. You’ve had your chance.’

  ‘Just the odd pointer.’

  The thunder gathered, beating at the windows; a glass on the shelf tinkled against another. An express from the north, from Olsztyn, running through to Warsaw Central.

  ‘Where’s your pride?’ I had to shout a bit above the noise. ‘You’re asking an intelligence officer in the other camp to give you clues and pointers, you know that? Christ, you’re far gone, no wonder you got yourself blown!’

  He was saying something but I couldn’t hear properly, something about surveillance

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’d have to keep you under surveillance.’

  I let my eyes close. I wanted to sleep.

  The train went through and smoke billowed against the windows, dimming the light as my eyes came open.

  ‘As long as they don’t get in my way. Tell them that. Tell them to keep their distance, and no tricks. For your own sake, you get that?’

  I handed the receiver to the thin man.

  The sound faded. The floorboards were still again. ‘Yes,’ the thin man said. ‘Yes,’ he kept saying. ‘Yes, Comrade Colonel.’

  They were all standing to some kind of attention because they knew who was at the other end.

  An honorary rank. He must have hated that, to have his brand of subtle and specialised intelligence brought by implication to the level of the bovine military mind; but they’d thought it was a compliment and his courtesy wouldn’t have let him refuse. A private Englishman, Colonel of the Red Army. His own bloody fault.

  ‘Yes,’ the thin man said. Then he put down the telephone and turned away from me, speaking to the others. Two of them left, by the door to the street. The rest didn’t move.

  I went out to the platform and noticed Merrick on a bench, sitting alone and crouched over his gloved hands, staring at the ground; he didn’t look up; he may not have heard me. I walked past the dark-windowed saloon and came to the open street.

  The first pair were already ahead of me, looking back sometimes; the other two had taken up station behind me. It was a box-tag and we don’t often meet with it, especially towards the end of a mission, because when the heat’s on there’s no time for either side to formulate rules; but this was a specific situation and the rule was that if I didn’t try any tricks they’d leave me alone except for overt surveillance.

  I led them to the Hotel Kuznia, thus blowing my new cover. I wouldn’t need it again. By the time I’d reached Room 54 they were checking the register at the desk and getting the passport number of the anglik who’d just taken his key, very well, the West German, yes, Karl Dollinger, this one. By the time my shoes were off and I was propped on the bed they were passing my cover to Foster. That was all right: he had to feel reassured until I was ready to start the thing moving. It would have to be tomorrow and I didn’t care for that but it was fragile and haste could break it.

  Thought began streaming. I couldn’t signal Egerton that the untrained novice he’d sent me to look after was a double agent for the K.G.B. because my only communications were through the Embassy and through Merrick himself. There was nothing wrong with the cypher-room staff: when Foster had bottled me up he hadn’t left the cork out. The cork was Merrick. They would have been content to sit back and wait for me to spring the trap but when I’d asked Merrick to get me three people from Czyn as a back-up team he’d passed it on and Foster had decided not to risk anything: he’d been afraid I’d got some kind of coup lined up, fancy him thinking a thing like that.

  Merrick himself hadn’t known they were going to pick me up or he wouldn’t have bothered to give me the signal from London.

  My hand moved and I stopped it, have to do better than that. The phone wouldn’t be bugged: they’d just put a man in the switchboard room and leave him there. I’d have to do it from outside in forty minutes from now at 16:00.

  She was there and all I said was that I’d phone her again tomorrow on the hour or the half-hour. She sounded edgy about something.

  ‘You all right?’ I asked her.

  They watched me from the corner by the state supermarket. The others were across the road.

  ‘Yes. But the police came here.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Not long ago. An hour ago.’

  ‘Your papers were all right.’

  Nothing could have happened because she was still there but I had to relax my hand on the receiver, do it consciously.

  ‘Yes.’ She’d been unnerved, that was all. ‘Yes, they looked at them, and went away.’

  ‘They come to see you, or was it just a routine check?’

  ‘They checked everyone in the hotel.’

  ‘Fine. You won’t see them again. You know it’s all right’ now, you can rely on your karta.’

  They stood like penguins, their arms hanging by their sides and their heads raised slightly. They were damned good, I knew that; on the way to the phone kiosk I’d thrown a feint, doubling and using a street repair gang for cover, nothing too patent because it didn’t have to look like a test, and they’d closed in very fast and revealed a third pair on the flank across the road: it was a six-box and it wasn’t going to be easy when the time came.

  She said goodnight. For me to take care, and goodnight.

  On the way back to the Kuznia I slipped on a patch of packed snow, just in front of a parked taxi, and the driver got out to see if I was hurt.

  ‘Where do they go?’

  ‘To the Hotel Cracow.’

  ‘Nowhere else?’

  ‘Always to the Hotel Cracow.’

  I hit the dirty snow from my coat. ‘I won’t need you again.’ After I’d gone a dozen paces I heard the loose thrust of the starter.

  The forecast had been right: snow began falling on the city before midnight, the wind bringing it from the forestlands in the north.

  Wtorek. Tuesday.

  The streets had become altered, the new whiteness covering the soot and making the sky seem lighter. During the morning I went out twice and made a show of telephoning, talking with the contact down and using the chance of thinking aloud, going over the major points and looking for trips, not finding any. I couldn’t give it much longer now and the nerves were playing up because once I’d hit the switch the pace was going to be fierce and there wouldn’t be time to rethink. I’d give it till noon.

  The time factor didn’t balance. I had to go slow to keep him happy, letting them observe and report, letting him see that I was ostensibly in contact with Czyn; and I had to go fast, bringing the deadline back as far as I dared: to noon. The waiting was unpleasant and I sensed being caught up in the feverishness that today had come to Warsaw, showing in people’s eyes, in the sudden movement of their heads when they believed someone was near them, in small accidents as the snow thickened and the traffic tried to keep up speed, impatient with the conditions, in the increasing efforts of the police to search out the last of the suspected hostile elements: a man
in the Hotel Kuznia itself, going with them peaceably through the lobby and then making a bid at the doors, glass smashing and shouts and a shoe wrenched off and slithering across the pavement and under the wheel of a bus as they crowded him and threw him limp into the back of the saloon.

  The fever had a name: Sroda.

  At 10:40 I was in my room and used the phone to book a call to London so that the man in the switchboard room could confirm what I’d told Foster: that I was in direct contact. The delay was estimated at two hours and that was well across the deadline so I made it the Foreign Office, Governmental Communication Headquarters, and told them to give me what priority they could.

  At 11:00 I blanked off mentally and let the subconscious review the whole set-up without disturbance while I thought of irrelevant subjects: they’d probably done it with photographs and I’d have to deal with that; it had been a light brown shoe with arrowhead indentations on the sole for better grip, still lying there when they’d driven away, would they find a pair his size? Foster hadn’t telephoned me although he knew my room number: I’d half expected him to get through, how are things going, old boy, to remind me that I was entirely in his hands, but perhaps he’d found a bit of pride at last, didn’t want me to think he’d started panicking, afraid of losing me.

  At 11:45 I rang the switchboard and asked if they were giving my London call priority. They said there was nothing they could do: there were many visitors here for the coming conference and the pressure on the lines was heavy. I asked for a precise time-check and rang off and set my watch.

  No point in packing anything: washing tackle could stay where it was on the shelf over the basin, g chance, a thin chance, of coming here again. Check shoe laces and making double knots. Couple of glucose tablets. All.

  Sweating a lot. Stress reaction developing hypothalamic stimulation, pituitary and adrenal cortex, secretion of cortin, pulse rising, the organism responding to the brain’s warning of danger to come. Normal therefore reassuring.

  At noon I left the room and took the stairs and handed the key in at the desk and went through the doors and down the steps into the street and began walking.