It was the following Tuesday that Brinkman took the telephone call at the public kiosk on Leninskiy Prospekt and Orlov told him of the place on the delegation to France.
‘You’re free!’ promised Brinkman, at once.
‘I wish I were,’ said the Russian. ‘You’ve no idea how I wish I were.’
The breathing of Aleksai Panov seemed more difficult than usual, his shoulders lifting and falling with the effort, but despite his illness the inevitable tubed cigarette was in his hand when Sokol entered the chairman’s office, on the seventh floor of Dzerzhinsky Square. The wheezing man indicated a chair, without any greeting and Sokol took it. From where he sat he could look out over the huge piazza and actually see the statue to the founder of the Soviet intelligence service.
‘What’s happening?’ demanded Panov.
‘I don’t know,’ conceded Sokol, reluctantly. ‘But I’m certain that something is.’
‘Set it out,’ insisted the chairman.
Sokol recounted everything, wishing he had more positive evidence to support his convictions, intent for any reaction from the other man. Panov smoked steadily, lighting fresh cigarettes from the stubs of those he exhausted, face expressionless.
When Sokol stopped talking, Panov said, ‘You assembled a large body of men. A lot of equipment, too?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Sokol, unsure of the point.
‘Yet they lost them? Both of them?’
Sokol wondered if there were recordings being made of the meeting, for some later disciplinary action; he thought it probable. He said, ‘There have been mistakes. I’m sorry.’
‘So am I,’ said Panov, unhelpfully. ‘If you’re right in believing there are two definite operations underway here in Moscow you should have maintained personal control from the beginning.’
To plead the pressure that had arisen in the provinces wouldn’t be accepted as an excuse, Sokol knew. ‘It was a miscalculation,’ he conceded, with no alternative.
‘The Americans are sending in more people?’
‘It would appear so,’ said Sokol. ‘The Foreign Ministry have advised me of the visa applications. Described as an archivist and a trade counsellor.’
‘Anything known, from the names?’
Sokol shook his head. ‘There’s no file on either.’
‘Whatever it is – the American situation at least – could be coming to a head if they’re sending in reinforcements.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Sokol.
‘Why don’t we move against both of them, the American and the Englishman?’ demanded Panov. ‘Some sort of technical entrapment could be easily arranged: an allegation of simple lawbreaking would be enough. All that’s necessary is to frighten them. If we want something more elaborate, why not lure them into an espionage situation and we can formally expel them?’
‘If we did that we wouldn’t know what it was that either of them were doing,’ pointed out Sokol, simply.
Panov looked intently at the glowing end of a fresh cigarette, admiring the professionalism. He said, ‘True. But can we risk letting it run? Each day that passes can mean the damage is worsening. Shouldn’t that be the consideration, minimising any unknown damage?’
Sokol decided the question was phrased for whatever recording was being made. He said, ‘They’d pass it on – both of them – to whoever it was succeeded them here. That’s what we’d have our people do, in similar circumstances. So we wouldn’t be closing anything down.’
Panov nodded in further admiration. ‘We’d be gaining some time, though. So far you’ve discovered remarkably little.’
Sokol gave no reaction to the criticism. He said, ‘At the moment I know the people. I’m sure, in the case of the American, that Kr as nay a is the contact point. If we move now and get them expelled I’ll have to identify their replacements and discover the new routines, because the existing ones would be scrapped, for obvious protection. The time that would take would extend rather than limit the period of potential damage.’
Panov frowned, irritated at being out-argued but unable to confront the other man with a better alternative view. He said, ‘It can’t be open-ended. I don’t want the Americans allowed the opportunity of getting themselves organised…’
‘… How long?’ asked Sokol, risking the rudeness of interruption to obtain a positive instruction from his superior.
‘A month,’ determined Panov. ‘If we don’t get results in a month, I want entrapment operations against Blair and Brinkman and we’ll expel them…’
Chapter Thirty-Five
Brinkman had consciously to suppress the euphoria, realistically knowing the danger of over-confidence that the excitement could bring, but it wasn’t easy. Perfect, he thought; everything was perfect. There was an intervening Tuesday before the departure of the delegation, a full seven days before his next telephone link with Orlov, which enabled London to make and then double-check every conceivable part of their snatch plan and actually discuss and refine it with Brinkman over the secure embassy communication wires before he made his final contact with the Russian.
And the plan was perfect, too. Because it was so simple.
On the final Tuesday Brinkman went through the ritual of clearing his trail, because it was professional to do so, but as he moved around the Russian capital on his way to Kommuny he realised that it didn’t matter if he were under any sort of observation, because there was nothing that could stop it happening any more. He was still, however, careful, like he had been with his evasions: aware that today’s conversation would be longer than any others, he carried with him a small transistor radio, tuning it to a programme relaying some mournful Slavik dirge as he walked towards the kiosk and placing it on the shelf as he moved in to pick up the dutifully ringing telephone precisely on time. The tune was a minimal distraction to him but Brinkman knew it would block any sort of listening apparatus directed at him if he were under surveillance, which he was sure he wasn’t.
There were a total of fifteen KGB men within a hundred yards of him on the street, with a concealed camera operating from an enclosed van and another technician in a separate vehicle directing the pistol microphone that was – as Brinkman unknowingly intended – completely baffled by the radio.
‘It’s arranged?’ demanded Orlov, at once.
From his end of the line, Brinkman was conscious of the Russian’s nervousness. It was understandable, he supposed: dear God, don’t let everything fail through the man’s collapse. He said, trying to infuse the confidence into his voice, ‘Everything. It’s guaranteed and nothing – nothing at all – can go wrong. It’s only two more days. This time on Thursday it’ll all be over. You’ll be safe. With Harriet.’
‘How?’ demanded Orlov.
‘Listen,’ urged Brinkman. ‘Listen very carefully. But don’t take any notes.’
‘I understand,’ said Orlov. Appearing to realise Brinkman’s concern, he added, ‘I’m, all right. Really all right.’
‘The delegation is flying direct to Charles de Gaulle airport by the scheduled Aeroflot service, departing Sheremetyevo at seven,’ began Brinkman, telling the Russian something he already knew but including the detail to show the uncertain man how well everything had been planned. ‘You go along as a normal part of that delegation. You go through all the usual formalities, bothering about nothing. Because everything is being done for you. London are sending a complete contingent to Paris well in advance of the Moscow flight. They’ll all be briefed from the photographs we have of you how to recognise you… they’re professionals, don’t worry. There will be men lingering from incoming international flights within the baggage claim and immigration areas. And more outside. Being an official government party, the normal regulations will be waived. Follow whatever routine the French insist upon. Don’t try to make any identification – or seem to be looking for anyone – until the moment you emerge into the public part of the airport. At the moment you do emerge, there’s going to be a diversion. It will be an incendiary explosi
on in a washroom. It will cause an instant fire. At the very moment that happens, you’ll be aware of men around you, hurrying you away. Just go. Don’t do or say anything. It doesn’t matter what’s happening to the rest of the Russian party: there’ll be men to intervene and confuse them. A car will be waiting. Three times, you’ll change cars, in fact, transferring until you reached a military airfield near Orly. A British military aircraft will be waiting there, a designated flight plan already filed to a British military airfield at Northolt, near London. The passenger manifest will have you listed under the name entered into a valid British passport that you will be given during the drive to the Orly airstrip, a photograph and a satisfactorily forged signature already in it…’ Brinkman paused, breathlessly. ‘You got all that?’
Orlov did not immediately respond. Then he said, ‘You will not be with me? I’ll be alone?’
Brinkman was very conscious of Orlov’s fear. He said, ‘Not on the flight from Moscow. The men who are going to snatch you are experts. There’s no need – no need at all – for you to be frightened that everything won’t go as I’ve said it will. An hour after the Aeroflot flight, there’s a British Airways service to London. I shall be on it. By the time you get to Northolt, I’ll be there to meet you.’
‘You promise?’ demanded Orlov, urgently.
‘I promise,’ assured Brinkman. It was fortunate they had time to consider everything and recognise Orlov would have the need for someone he knew. He said, ‘I’ll be there to meet you and I’ll stay with you.’ That hadn’t been part of the planning but Brinkman couldn’t imagine Maxwell objecting.
‘What about Harriet?’ said Orlov.
‘We’re doing exactly what you asked,’ said Brinkman. ‘The moment you’re safe people already waiting and ready in New York will bring her to you, in England…’ He allowed the pause. ‘Believe me,’ he said. ‘Everything has been thought of.’
‘I wish there wasn’t so long to wait.’
‘Only two days!’ insisted Brinkman. ‘You’ve waited a long time. You can wait just two more days.’
‘You mean what you say? You won’t try to cheat or trick me?’
He deserved the question, Brinkman accepted, unoffended. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ll not cheat you. Everything will happen as I’ve promised it will.’
‘We will not see each other again, until London?’
Brinkman knew there was nothing he could do to allay Orlov’s fear of being left alone. He said, ‘Not until London. But you can do it!’
‘I hope I can,’ said Orlov, honestly.
‘Until London,’ said Brinkman.
‘There’s no way we can get into contact?’ blurted Orlov, not wanting Brinkman to put down the telephone.
‘You know there isn’t,’ said Brinkman sternly, trying to infuse confidence into the other man.
‘Until London,’ accepted Orlov, his voice uneven.
‘I’ll buy the champagne, for you and Harriet,’ said Brinkman, grandiosely.
He replaced the receiver, switched off his radio and hurried away from the kiosk in the direction of the nearest metro station. Everything settled, he thought complacently, settling himself into a seat and watching his own reflection in the darkened glass facing him. Everything except Ann. It was while he was thinking of her that his mind ran on and he realised, worriedly, that his planning might not be as perfect as he thought. Brinkman came slightly forward in his seat at the awareness, worried at the oversight. He had intended going back to the apartment but instead re-routed himself to the embassy, where the files were. It took him two hours of concentrated reading to go through the back copies of Pravda and Izvestia and the smaller publications and the Tass tapes, alert for any disclosure of the delegation. He found it in an issue of Pravda eight days earlier, his apprehension immediate until he read it through. It was an announcement of the delegation and the countries it was visiting but contained no details of its composition. With a date as a guide, Brinkman checked the Tass wires for that day. They’d carried the story but again omitted any names. He’d been lucky, Brinkman decided, relaxing; there was no way Blair could have learned that Orlov was among a group of people going abroad.
Now it really was only Ann. Brinkman risked the call to her apartment – something he didn’t normally do because of the danger of Blair being there – and, intent once more upon omens, decided from the tone in her voice that she was pleased to hear from him.
‘I’m leaving,’ he declared abruptly.
‘What!’
There couldn’t be any mistaking the feeling in her voice that time, thought Brinkman.
‘Thursday,’ he said. ‘Everything’s happened very suddenly.’
‘For good?’
‘Yes.’
It was what she wanted, thought Ann, at the other end of the telephone. Or what she imagined she wanted. Now it was happening – happening the way she’d prayed it would, when he was last in London – she wasn’t so sure. ‘Will I see you again?’
‘That’s the decision I’ve been asking you to make, for weeks.’
‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘I’m not going until Thursday night.’
‘I think Eddie is going to be at the embassy all day. I could telephone.’
‘I’ll wait for your call. And Ann?’
‘Yes?’
‘I want a decision.’
And he knew how to get it, Brinkman decided. He’d held back, until now, but he couldn’t any longer. He’d spell out to her how long she’d have to stay in Moscow – exaggerate if he had to – and tell her if she doubted him directly to challenge Blair to try to get a definite time. Brinkman was sure that would sway it. He wished he hadn’t had to use it, as the final pressure; that she’d found it easier to choose between them. But she hadn’t; so there it was.
He intended to leave Moscow with everything he wanted. Everything.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The senior of the two men whom Langley sent was a supervisor -the same grade as Blair – named Art Blakey. The younger man was Harry King who said please call him Hank: everybody did. There was an understandable embarrassment between them, more for the newcomers than for Blair. Blakey said they were sons of bitches at Langley, stretching the metaphor by saying all they did was piss up each other’s legs and that he was sorry they’d been sent and he knew damned well Blair didn’t need any help on anything. Blair said it didn’t matter, but thanks. He suggested they carry out a full reconnaissance of Krasnaya and they both agreed at once, deferring to him and making it quite clear they expected him to act as the leader of the group. It was obvious, of course, that they couldn’t go together. Blair identified Krasnaya on a map and explained the subway system and how the buses worked and what the route numbers were and isolated the hotels and the stores – GUM naturally first – which he thought best to clear their trail.
They let King go ahead. It was his first foreign assignment and the better experienced men realised he might need more time to find his way around an unfamiliar city. Paradoxically it was King who managed to evade the surveillance, cleverly mingling with a group of American tourists leaving the Druzhba Hotel on Vernadskovo Prospekt and managing to reach Red Square on their coach before the Intourist guide discovered him. King disembarked pleading confusion and spent more time losing himself among other visitors around Lenin’s tomb before setting out for the destination where they were to rendezvous.
The KGB observation team located Art Blakey as he left the embassy and by the time Sokol gained the communication centre the news had already been received of Blair’s departure. Sokol hunched over the now familiar table, unnecessarily reciting the coordinates of the two men’s movements around the capital as they were radioed in, marking fresh route marks on his map. Both were making obvious attempts at evasion. So could this be it, whatever it was? Sokol checked his duty roster, reminding himself that he had forty men assigned to the surveillance, deciding at once to increase the cover. He snapped out a series of ord
ers to the men grouped around in the control room, ordering mobilisation of the street reserves and demanding access to every vehicle and operator in the basement motor-pool. As he issued the instructions Sokol realised that the information of such an assembly would naturally be communicated to the chairman four floors above so having made his dispositions he called Panov on the internal telephone. The KGB chairman listened without any interruption until Sokol finished and then said, ‘I think you’re right to take the precaution.’
It was obviously unthinkable that the chairman of the KGB should descend to the control room but he had the technicians activate the switching apparatus that enabled him to listen simultaneously to the information that was being relayed in and to Sokol’s instructions, on the outward channel.
It meant, Sokol realised, that he was under as much observation as the Americans he was following. It wouldn’t be necessary for Panov to turn on the recording machinery in his office. All traffic into the communication centre was automatically taped.
The Lost American Page 28