by Eddy Shah
'We think it was deliberate.'
'We?'
'The Head of Administration and myself. And the chief of internal security who came to us in the first place. Nobody else is involved yet.'
'Explain.'
'The room where the fire took place was rarely visited. But, due to the sensitive nature of some of the archives, those from the end of the War until 1956 dealing with counter-intelligence information, the area was sealed off with high security locks and alarms. All the keys and alarm codes were kept in a safe in my office. There were also duplicates kept securely in the Administration Section. When the fire was discovered, fortunately by chance when a cypher clerk had to visit a nearby room for some information, our people reacted quickly in gaining access to the room and quelling the fire. Afterwards, when things returned to normal, they attempted to determine what the cause was. It was an electric heater, of the open kind with filament bars running across, which had shorted and caught fire.'
'Why is that suspicious?'
'Because it wasn't a room we normally heated, certainly not with a single electric fire.'
'Had someone been working there, wanted to keep warm?'
'Nobody has asked for a key to that room for over two months.'
‘Sabotage?’
'The consensus is that someone left the fire on and draped a wet cloth over it. That would have given them time to re-lock the doors, set the alarms and leave the area before the cloth caught fire. It was an old method we used to...'
'I know the methods we used,' growled Rostov. 'But even that would have only given whoever it was ten minutes at the most. Did the cypher clerk see or hear anything unusual?'
'No.'
'Is he above suspicion?'
'She, sir. We think so. She's an old lady, in her sixties. Due to retire soon. She was an intelligence officer at the end of the war, a language expert who went with our troops into Germany. Was part of our occupation until 1975. Anyway, if she had started the fire, then she would have let it burn, not reported it before it got going.'
'Investigate her. The cabinets near the heater. I presume they were the ones that were destroyed. Do we know what was in them?'
'Some were totally destroyed. But others, of German manufacture, were designed to be fireproof. We managed to salvage most of their contents. They're at the back, over here, sir.'
He led Rostov to the rear of the room, where were some twenty scorched metal cabinets had been gathered.
'Much of the contents are singed, sir. The flames got through the metal joints and hinges. And of course, the water and fire spray got everywhere. Ruined most of it.'
'I need a list of all those documents. And what they referred to.'
'It's being prepared now.'
'How long?'
'A week, sir.'
'Too long.'
'A lot of the paper is stuck together. We have to let them dry naturally, we can't force that process.'
'Then get me an index of what you have already identified. Within the hour.'
As Rostov returned to his office, an Aeroflot Ilyushin 62M with four Soloviev D 30KU jet engines strapped to the rear fuselage took off from Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport.
On board were a group of Russian space scientists, some forty of them. They would change planes at Kennedy to an American Airlines Boeing 757 which would transport them to the first joint manned space conference between the USA and the USSR.
The final destination of the Boeing was New Orleans.
Ch. 26
CIA Headquarters
Langley
Virginia.
The DDA went through the list that had just been placed in front of him, an index of the files that had been contaminated by the computer virus.
The list, ninety three pages in all, gave little away. It was no more than a list of single line headings that related to events and personnel that the counter-intelligence agencies had been involved in in the European theatre from 1945 to 1958. There were one hundred and twenty lines to the page, over eleven thousand subjects to choose from. Each heading could have between one hundred and five thousand files dealing with that subject. That meant there were between thirty and forty million single items on that segment of the computer being systematically wiped out every time someone switched on the machine.
He put the list down. He'd been through the list four times in the last few days with no idea of what he was looking for.
It was time to open up the game.
He decided not to tell the DDI. He'd object anyway.
He picked up the phone and asked his secretary to get him Phil Nowak on the phone.
'I want to open up to the Russians,' he told Nowak. 'How far will they go?'
'I think they want this resolved as much as we do.'
'Okay, I'm convinced that there is a direct link between the problem on the computers and this attack on our asset base. The fact that Russian agents are also getting hit means we're on the same side. Unless they're pulling a fast one on us.'
'I can't see what they'd gain.'
'Neither can I. I have a list here. Headings of the various files that have been contaminated on the computer. I think we should show them that list.' He heard Nowak draw his breath. 'I know, but I don't think we've an alternative. I would like that list to go through you and your contact. There may just be something that is common to us both, something we can't see without the other half of the puzzle.'
'Is this cleared with the Agency?' Nowak meant the Executive Director.
'Yes.' The DDA didn't add that the Exec had told him he was on his own on this one. But then, if it produced the goods, the DDA wouldn’t give a damn.
'Okay. I'll arrange that.'
'I'll get it sent over. Tell your man, Sorge, what you're going to show him. Give him time to contact Moscow and see if they've got anything to share with us. I want to see how open they are before we're committed.'
'I'll get on to it now.'
The phone went dead and the DDA put his own receiver down, gently placing it on the cradle. Before he had removed his hand it rang sharply. He picked it up once again.
'Yes,' he said.
'Any news?' asked the DDI.
'Nothing,' he lied.
'Where's Dirty Harry?' It was his nickname for the Englishman.
'About to leave for New Orleans.'
'Call me if anything breaks.'
'Of course.'
He put the phone down again. He picked up the list and flicked through the pages.
The answer was in the computer. He suddenly regretted sending Tucker to look after Trimmler. Tucker was a computer man, would have the nose to dig into this thing and get an answer. But it was too late now. What they needed now was a sliver of luck.
Maybe the Russians would provide that.
Or maybe they could just blow the whole thing up in his face.
The phone rang again. It was the Executive Director.
'You better come on up,' said his superior's voice. 'We've got to discuss the President's trip. The one to Berlin.'
BOOK THREE
Ch. 27
American Airspace
35,000 feet
East of El Paso
Texas
The desert landscape had changed and Adam saw rivers now, running like twisted ribbons through the green earth, the sand and water reflecting each other as the sun bounced upwards and glistened in blinding brilliance.
'Very poetic,' he thought as he looked down out of the aircraft window. 'Very bloody poetic.'
Billie sat next to him, her head tilted down as she read the latest copy of PEOPLE magazine. Across the aisle, Phil Tucker had fallen asleep, his head tilted sideways as his snores rumbled gently on.
They sat in Executive Class. Trimmler and his wife, Trudi, were up front in First. Adam had decided not to follow his usual habit and upgrade himself to First Class. It would have alienated him from Billie and Tucker and he felt no desire to do that, at this stage anyway. He grinn
ed as he thought of the effect it would have had on Trimmler. Maybe he should've upgraded, if only to annoy the touchy little scientist.
'Ever been to New Orleans before?' Billie asked, putting her magazine down. She was relieved the airline had a total restriction on smoking throughout their fleet, it was his one habit she couldn't tolerate.
'No. You?'
'Yes. For my honeymoon.'
'Good timing.'
'Isn't it?'
'Did you get hold of your lawyers?'
'Yes.'
'I thought in California the wife automatically got half her husband's money?'
'I signed a settlement waiver. When we got married.'
'Waiving everything?'
'I was in love. You don't think about things like that when you're in love. And when I signed, he promised that he would always look after me. Some promise.'
'What do your lawyers say?'
'That I might win. They don't care, do they? They win either way.'
'That's the same all over the world. The worse the news, the richer they get. How long were you married?'.
'Twelve years. And separated for six. They were good and bad years. The highs were high and the lows were even worse. Shit. Some mess.'
'Miss him?'
'What are you? A detective?'
'Sorry. I just sensed that.'
'Well, you sensed wrong.'
They sat in silence for a while, still unsure of each other.
'There's nothing wrong with missing someone you lived with for twelve years,’ she said eventually.
'I’m not sitting in judgement.'
'Whatever. So I miss him. So what?'
'No chance of getting back with...'
'If I want your advice, I'll ask for it.'
'Okay.'
'There's no chance of getting back. I tried for long enough.'
'Why did you split up?'
'You really keep pushing, don't you? You can't let go,'
‘ Except you keep coming back to it. But then, that’s what my Mother always said.’
‘We're here working, not on some agony aunt tour.'
'I'll shut up.'
'Good. Anyway, what did your mother always say?'
'That my lips moved faster than my brain.'
'She was right.'
'So why did you split up?'
'Because I grew too old for him. Just like you said, tough guy?'
'When?'
'First time we met. That I was too old for the job.'
'No. I wasn't talking about you as a person. I was talking about you as a field agent.'
'Old and inexperienced, huh?'
'Don't knock yourself. You don't need to.'
'You're right. I don't need to when you're doing it for me.'
'And stop feeling sorry for yourself.'
'Fuck off,' she hissed at him.
'Chance would be a fine thing.'
'What?'
'Chance would be a fine thing. It's an old English saying. You really want me to fuck off?'
'Course not.'
'So why did you split up?'
She started to laugh, his cheek winning through her defences. 'I told you why. Because I grew too old. No, that's not true. He wanted to stay young. Suddenly developed an interest in teenage girls. The older he got, the younger they got. You know, I found him crying once. After we'd broken up and I called round to pick up some things. You know why he was crying. Because this girl of twenty, the one he was living with, didn't walk up to him and touch him. Said that made him feel old. Because, before he went out with her, he'd seen her with her boyfriend at a softball game in the park. She'd walked up to her boyfriend from behind and just put her arms round his shoulder. Hugged him, I guess. Peter said it was the most natural thing he'd ever seen. And he was fucking crying because in three months together she'd not done that to him. You know what I did? I walked up behind him and put my arms round him. I felt sorry for him. He deserved better.'
'What did he do?'
‘Pushed me away. He was embarrassed. He didn't love them, you know. He was obsessed. By their fresh bodies, their soft pubic hair and their wide eyed innocence.'
'Maybe you expected too much?'
'No. I knew what Peter was. I just didn't want to let go. I never wanted anyone else. And here I am, sitting in this metal tube, going to New Orleans where I had my honeymoon, watching over some nothing scientist with a crazy gunman for my partner. And back home the lawyers are moving in to take away everything I've got. It’s crazy, is it?'
'What about Gary?'
'What about him? Probably move out while we're in New Orleans. No, that's unfair. But he does his own thing. It's not...permanent. Not for Gary. Maybe Peter isn't the only one holding on.'
'To what?'
'To whatever it was we were. He's just frightened. Middle age is like sand. The tighter you hold it in your hand, the faster it runs through your fingers. You're a great person for asking questions. About other people. What about you?'
'What about me?'
'Don't answer a question with a question.'
'Why?'
'Because it's rude. I thought you English types were always polite.'
'Sometimes.'
'You married?'
'No.'
'Girlfriend?'
'No.'
'Divorced?'
'No.'
'Gay?'
'Only when I'm happy.'
'Meaning?'
'I prefer queer. When they adopted that phrase they took a great word out of the English language.'
'Macho type, huh?'
'Just normal.'
'You rich?'
'A little.'
'And you like your job?'
'Yes.'
'You good at it?'
'Better than most.'
'Don't let much out, do you?'
'No.'
'If we walk into trouble, and my back's against the wall, will you come and save me?'
'You'll have to wait and see.'
'Whatever happened to the age of chivalry?'
Adam laughed. 'I'll tell you that when your back's to the wall.'
Ch. 28
KGB Headquarters
Dzerzhinsky Square
Moscow
'Dimitri tells me that the Americans have uncovered a problem with their records regarding all counter-espionage action from 1945 until 1958.'
'What problem?' asked the Director.
'Nothing specific. But they believe it could be tied up with our common predicament,' said Rostov.
'And what do they expect from us in return?'
'They have an index of all the subjects that their records deal with during that period. They would like to see if we would be willing to provide a similar list so that they could determine if there were any common factors.'
'Our little fire in this building suddenly takes on a new complexion.'
'It'll be interesting to find out what problem the Americans have with their records.'
'There are things in those files, in those cabinets, that would cause us great embarrassment if they were ever to get out,' grunted the Director.
'We can't always be responsible for the past. It is a chance I feel we have to take.'
'And if the Americans are out to deceive us?'
'We have people on the ground over there.'
The Director raised his eyebrows. 'Nothing against the spirit of cooperation between our two great countries, I hope.'
'Of course not,' Rostov lied, as was expected of him. 'We'll follow their actions as closely as we can.' He wasn't prepared to say any more. They both understood that the Director was to be protected when faced with awkward questions from the Kremlin. 'We'll take it step by step. If they're prepared to show us the outline of their files, without giving away any specific details, then we can do the same. I already have an index prepared. It was for my benefit. Maybe there is some common ground.
'We have little choice. But be wary. Wat
ch your back at all times.'
'Yes, sir,' replied Rostov.
'You know what the Americans call counter-intelligence?'
'Dante's Inferno. With ninety nine circles.'
'Exactly. It'll be strange,' said the Director, 'working this close with them. Ten years ago we were at each other's throats. Now we're allies. But where, my dear Alexei, is the real enemy?'
Ch. 29
International Airport
New Orleans
Louisiana.
There was no delay and the twin engined, wide bodied Boeing screeched onto the runway exactly on schedule.
Tucker had slept for most of the flight and was now sleepily gazing out of the window, frantically trying to bring his senses into focus as the plane taxied in.
'Please stay seated until the seat belt light goes out,' a stewardess shouted at Adam, who had stood up before the aircraft left the runway so that he could take his overcoat from the upper lockers. His weapons were in the suitcase in the hold, cleared through security at San Diego by the local Agency operatives.
'Okay,' replied Adam as he continued dragging his belongings from the shelf.
'Please sit down, sir.'
'Okay,' repeated Adam, finishing his task. He grinned cheekily at her and sat down, his coat and case draped across his lap. His duty was to protect Trimmler and he wanted to be ready in case the scientist was the first off the aircraft.
'Rebel without a cause,' quipped Billie.
'The lost generation. That's me,' he replied.
Adam's instincts were correct and Trimmler had elbowed his way through the other passengers, dragging his wife by her arm, as he became the first passenger off the plane once it had docked. The Englishman wasn't far behind, his passage far less strenuous and impolite.
The other two caught up with Adam at the baggage carousal, where he stood under the exit sign, watching Trimmler anxiously waiting to retrieve his suitcases.
'Why the rush?' said Tucker. 'He had to wait for his cases.'
'I hope he doesn't get his before yours arrives. Otherwise he's going to get away from here without you,' said Adam.
'Shit. I better go and tell him to wait for us.' Tucker turned to Billie. 'Transport ready?'