'But his home is in Italy, Dr Audley.' Miss Franklin was just as quick. 'Isn't he half-Italian? And more than half-Italian in some respects?'
That was true. But it hadn't been in the file. So Miss Franklin dummy1
had done her homework. 'Yes. But his Italian home may not be too homely for him at the moment.' Now he included them all. 'It isn't just that all the various parties who are involved in this are after him now — not just the Italians and the Arabs and the Mafia, but also Colonel Zimin . . . It's that they knew where to look for him — both Zimin and the Arabs. Which means that his own organization has gone sour on him. So, as there's no one he can trust out there now, his best bet is to cut-and-run back.' He decided to reward Miss Franklin for doing her homework properly. 'That's what I'd do in his place, Miss Franklin. Because he'll have friends here still. And even some family, if I remember correctly.' Then he looked at Commander Pitt again. 'You're watching out for him, are you, Billy?'
Pitt grimaced. 'Yes — well, Dr Audley . . . we're doing our best. And, because we happen to have a SURE-exercise in place, our best isn't too bad.' But then one honesty collided with another. 'Only, if he used to work for Sir Frederick Clinton, then he'll know the ropes. So our best may still not be quite good enough, if he keeps his head.'
'But that doesn't matter.' Charlie Renshaw stirred again.
'Because once he's here he'll be a darn-sight safer. And we stand a darn-sight better chance of picking him up too, I should hope — once he's here, Commander?' Having delivered a Cabinet Office-eye-view of What Ought to Happen, Charlie dropped the unfortunate Commander in favour of Audley. 'You'll be advising how we should go about dummy1
that, I take it, David?'
'Uh-huh.' Audley temporized. 'I think my best advice is to let him come to us — whether he's here or not, Charlie.'
Charlie brightened. 'You think he will?'
'After Capri, I think he must — sooner or later.' It was always a pleasure to do business with the Honourable Charles Renshaw. 'If I'm even halfways right about what happened on Capri, then he'll be in even more of a — ah —a quandary than we are, I shouldn't wonder — '
'Scared shitless, you mean?' Charlie swung quickly towards Miss Franklin. 'I do beg your pardon, Miss Franklin — scared witless, I meant to say.'
'Please don't worry, Mr Renshaw. "Scared shitless" would seem to be an accurate description of everyone's condition at this moment — even Mr Aston's friends in the Russian Embassy, apparently — ' She drew the FCO man into the conversation ' — you were just saying, Leonard — ?'
Leonard Aston gave a dry little cough, and then touched his lips with a very white handkerchief. "There is a certain nervousness, it seems. And there have been comings and goings.'
'More comings than goings.' Charlie Renshaw nodded towards Audley. "They're exchanging old Brunovski for a hard-faced character named Voyshinski — Boris Voyshinski.
Do you know of him, David? Wasn't he on that list of yours?'
'Uh-huh.' No intelligence report ever passed Charlie unread.
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'One of the new promotions. Upped from colonel to general in the KGB in the spring.'
'With a St Mikhail label on his underpants?' Renshaw glanced at Jaggard. 'Told you so, Henry. That makes us the operational centre, eh?'
'And it also confirms what Dr Audley has just said about Major Richardson,' Miss Franklin added her nod to Renshaw's, but then turned to Audley. 'And . . . since you are the expert on the New Order, Dr Audley . . . isn't your old friend Colonel Zimin an associate of General Voyshinski? Or an old army comrade, anyway?'
'Yes, Miss Franklin.' She knew her stuff, quite evidently. But, more immediately, the appearance of Boris Voyshinski in London raised the stakes of whatever game the Russians were playing enormously — almost outrageously. 'Will someone kindly tell me what is happening?'
'We were rather hoping you were going to enlighten us there, David.' Henry Jaggard leaned forward slightly to emphasize the order beneath this superficially polite request. 'We have learnt the bare details of what appears to have occurred on Capri. But we have not yet had an account of your — ah —
your conversation with Colonel Zimin.'
Audley met Charlie Renshaw's eyes. 'Are you going to tell me, Charlie?'
'No.' But then Renshaw grinned. 'You tell him, Billy.'
That put the unfortunate Commander Pitt midway between dummy1
the Cabinet Office and its Intelligence Service, and in something of a quandary as to which of those two awkward masters to obey.
'Oh, for Christ's sake!' Renshaw produced one of his controlled explosions of irritation. 'It's exactly as Jack Butler's just been telling us: we drag David back from Washington when we don't know what's happening — and now, but for the grace of God, we might have been bringing him back from Berlin in a coffin, too . . . and then we throw him in the deep end in Italy, on the assumption that he'll pull our chestnuts out of the fire —eh?' he looked around the table.
Charlie had always been a great one for mixed metaphors, thought Audley. And they usually came in threes.
'But for once he hasn't — okay?' Renshaw fixed his eye on Jaggard. 'And now he objects to playing pig-in-the-middle, with himself always cast as the pig. And I don't blame him.'
He dropped Jaggard for Commander Pitt. 'Tell him, Billy.
And then we'll see what he can make of it. Which I bloody well hope is more than I can. Okay?'
'Of course — ' Jaggard moved smoothly into the fractional instant of silence before Commander Pitt caved in ' — you're quite right, Charles. And I had taken Sir Jack's point — ' The smoothness oozed over Butler and Audley as well' — when he defended your actions in Italy . . . not to say your courage, in going in like that by yourself, after what happened in Berlin.
You were, after all, only obeying orders —I do agree!'
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Nobody was better at putting the boot in than Jaggard. And now he had very skilfully left everyone with the impression that either Butler had given a defective order, which had then been incompetently obeyed, or (which they were more likely to be thinking) he had unwisely left the decision to Audley himself, who had then cocked things up. And there was just enough truth in each of those alternatives to render any explanations self-defeating.
'Yes — well, it never pays to keep people in ignorance, Henry.' Hugging Jake Shapiro's information to himself helped him to smile pleasantly. 'But ignorance is no excuse, you're also quite right . . . So, Billy, everywhere I go, there seem to be soldiers ... as well, presumably, as your well-armed heavies. And now I gather from the media that you are co-operating with our gallant Russian allies in some sort of anti-terrorist operations? Which I nevertheless assume is not quite the case, eh?'
'No, Dr Audley, it isn't.' Commander Pitt seemed almost relieved to be able to speak at last. 'We had an exercise planned — a short-notice SURE. But it wasn't actually scheduled until next month. But then the Americans tipped us off that something was up.'
Renshaw nodded. 'And they got it from the Israelis, David.
And then the plot really thickened — sorry, Billy!'
'Yes, sir.' Pitt had decided that, if it came to the crunch, it was Charlie who had the edge. 'First, it was the usual form: certain individuals we've been watching — or, other people dummy1
have been watching, anyway . . . dropping out of circulation.'
'Arabs?' Up to now the Arabs had been doing the dirty work.
'Or who else?'
Billy Pitt looked at Jaggard, and Jaggard nodded to Miss Franklin. 'Mary — ?'
"There's been a close-down in Eastern Europe, Dr Audley.' In turn, Miss Franklin also seemed relieved, to her credit. 'And in the Soviet Union.'
'When, Miss Franklin? In relation to Kulik's arrival in Berlin, I mean.'
'The same day. But perhaps a few hours afterwards.' She took the point. 'But Commander Pitt's information preceded our information by a full twenty-four hours.'
'I see.' At least
events had been occurring in the right sequence, both to allow Kulik to get out and (though for reasons unknown) the Arabs to be ready for the Berlin ambush. 'And this was all to catch Kulik?'
'No.' Mary Franklin shifted to Jaggard doubtfully ' —Henry?'
All the while, Audley had been aware of Henry Jaggard more than anyone else, even though Mary Franklin was infinitely easier on the eye.
Jaggard drew a deep breath, to match his final decision.
(Which was, thought Audley cynically, that with General Voyshinski here, and Colonel Zimin somewhere, he needed Major Richardson more than ever. So, however unhappily, he also still needed Lieutenant (demobbed/ retired) Audley.) dummy1
'It seems that there were three of them, David: Kulik, Prusakov and Lukianov.' Having committed himself, he watched Audley like a hawk. 'Kulik, I gather, you don't know.
But what about the other two?'
Getting so much so quickly posed a pretty problem, in view of both Jake's information and his loss of face on Capri. So perhaps it would be advisable to compromise. 'Prusakov . . .
don't know.' Prusakov was a dead duck, anyway, according to Jake. 'But Lukianov . . .' He frowned, but encouragingly.
Names, after all, were supposed to be his stock-in-trade.
'Leonid S. Lukianov,' Charlie regarded him hopefully. 'Come on, David!'
He mustn't disappoint Charlie, who had supported him in his hour-of-need. 'Soldier. Originally soldier, anyway —
Spetsnaz, too. Maybe GRU once, but then KGB. Colonel . . .
but maybe General Lukianov now. Served in Afghanistan . . .
And — ' He frowned at Jaggard ' — wasn't he a friend of Brezhnev's son-in-law? The one they've just sent down the river, Henry?'
But Jaggard was frowning at Jack Butler.
'That's very good, Dr Audley,' said Mary Franklin, with a hint of misplaced admiration. 'Especially as he isn't in our records
— or yours.'
Ouch! 'Isn't he?' That would teach him to underrate her!
'Well. . . no, I suppose he wouldn't be, at that.' He looked into the space above her head for a moment, playing for time.
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'Or . . .' Lukianov had to be in the records, somewhere! '. . .
or, are you sure?' Neville Macready came to his rescue: dear old Neville was safely dead. 'It was Neville Macready who mentioned him to me, a couple of years back.' All he had to do was to imagine how Lukianov's career might have gone downhill since then. 'I think he'd just been posted out of Moscow to Kabul, or something like that.' He shrugged at her. 'But I'm only interested in the coming men, not the ones who backed the wrong horse, Miss Franklin.' That would do for the time being. So he could return to Jaggard. 'Where did you get these names, Henry?' (And at least Charlie looked satisfied.)
Henry Jaggard slid a picture across the table for an answer.
'Have a look.'
'Is this him?' It was irritating that he'd missed Lukianov somehow. 'Good-looking chap. But I still don't know him.'
Another picture came across the table.
'Prusakov?' Less irritating. But still irritating. 'Ugly bugger.'
He shook his head. 'Don't know him either.' But now curiosity was in order. 'Where did you get these pictures?'
'Huh!' exclaimed Charlie. 'Where indeed! They've been hawked right across Europe, my dear chap — like "Most Wanted" posters, if not pop star pin-ups.' He twisted a ghost of his usual cheerful grin at Audley. "The Kulik one has now been withdrawn: he's no longer in the Top Ten ... or Top Three, in this instance.'
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So the Russians had been so shit-scared of these three defectors that they'd flooded the market, regardless of consequences, only interested in quick results. Just as, in another age and with the aid of better technology, the British would have transmitted mug-shots of Burgess and Maclean, among others, once upon a time.
'So what else is known about them — ?' He addressed Mary Franklin in order to stop her thinking more about his remarkable special knowledge of General Lukianov. 'Kulik was a military intelligence computer-man, I gather.' He made a face at her. 'According to Sir Jack, anyway.'
'He was only a technician, Dr Audley.' She accepted that, anyway. 'He was perhaps a whizz-kid, technically . . . we're not sure, though.'
'And Prusakov?' It was Lukianov, the action-man — Lucky Lukianov — who really mattered now. But he must be interested in Prusakov first. 'What was he?'
'He was also in computers. But he was much higher up, and into politics too.' But she seemed to be accepting this, also.
'Only ... he wasn't one of your "coming men" either, Dr Audley.' She didn't smile. 'He was a "going man".'
'And now he's gone,' murmured Charlie.
And gone in more ways than one, too. But Mary Franklin was watching him, and he had to keep Jake Shapiro under wraps for the time being still. So he pushed the photos back towards Jaggard and looked at Billy Pitt. 'And you haven't dummy1
had a sight of him?'
'We're on the look-out for him, as well as Major Richardson.
And Lukianov, of course.' Pitt nodded.
'And so is everyone else.' Renshaw also nodded. 'According to Henry these pictures have been scatterd around like confetti by every KGB station in Europe. So they'll know we've got them by now, David.'
'Yes.' Mary Franklin claimed his attention. 'What I was wondering, Dr Audley, was whether you'd had sight of either Prusakov or Lukianov in Italy. But obviously not.'
'Why should they be in Italy, Miss Franklin?' inquired Renshaw. 'Do you mean . . . one of them was going to be bait for Richardson, the way Kulik was the bait for David here?'
'Something like that, Mr Renshaw.' She still watched Audley.
'What do you think, Dr Audley?'
'I think . . . I'd like to know more about General Lukianov, Miss Franklin.' He was tempted to smile at her, but decided against it. 'Then I'll tell you what I think. For what it's worth.'
'Very well.' She accepted his serious face at face-value. 'But I'm afraid we don't know much more than you do. He was a Spetsnaz specialist, as you know. And the Americans say he was a European expert originally — they think he made a special study of our own Special Forces, too. But then he may have transferred to the GRU or the KGB, they're not sure.
But after that he did a tour in the Middle East, they believe, in the late 1970s.'
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That would be the Israelis feeding the Americans most likely.
'So he could have had contacts with the terrorist groups? As a trainer, maybe?'
'It's possible.' She was properly cautious of guesses tacked on to nebulous second-hand information. 'Then he was posted to Afghanistan. And he was with Spetsnaz there — that's certain, Dr Audley.'
Audley nodded. It was certain because the Americans had worked hard on analysing the Soviet Army's personnel, as well as its performance, in its first hot war since '45. But there was something more, he could see. 'Yes, Miss Franklin
— ?'
'There's a story about him.' She paused for a moment. 'He went on a raid into the mountains with one of his units — a unit he'd once served with. They were dropped by helicopter, to block a Mujahadeen escape route. But then the weather closed in, and the main attack was delayed. So they had to hold out for a week, instead of three days. There were only three survivors, all of them wounded. And two of them died afterwards. The youngest one died in his arms, apparently.'
"Lucky" Lukianov, indeed! But also a real front-line general, thought Audley.
' Beau Geste stuff!' Charlie Renshaw frowned at Jaggard suddenly. 'And this Lukianov is now a defector, you say, Henry? He doesn't damn-well sound like one — if that isn't just a propaganda story, anyway.' He took the frown to Audley. 'Eh, David?'
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Leonard Aston emitted one of his dry little coughs. 'Defeat, Charles, does strange things to heroes. Especially humiliating defeat.'
Audley saw Charlie's eyebrows lift, and realized that his own ha
d also gone up. Coming from little Len, who was as dry as his cough, such an insight was surprising.
'I have had no first-hand experience, of course.' Aston touched his lips with his ever-ready handkerchief, aware of their astonishment but quite unembarrassed by it. 'I am not a military man, and never could be. But... I was in our embassy in Washington during the last days of Vietnam, and for two years afterwards.' He gazed from Renshaw to Audley and back like a tutor with two rather thick undergraduates. 'And during that period I observed some very strange behaviour among some senior officers, as well as a predictable disorientation among those beneath them.' Aston's voice became more pedantic as he spoke. 'It was no surprise. For a long time they believed they were invincible ... in the knowledge that they had never been defeated, or in any real danger of final defeat ... at least, not since 1814. But then, long before the final debacle, the senior officers knew better
— knew better that it was a matter of political will, anyway.
So then they knew that defeat was inevitable, and all their men had died for nothing.' He nodded at them. 'It was more a long corrosion of the spirit. And it happened among some of the very best and bravest of them, who had fought hardest.
One or two behaved quite irrationally, even though their dummy1
actual careers were still assured.' Now he dropped them both, turning to Henry Jaggard. 'And, in General Lukianov's case, I believe you indicated that his career-future is not assured, Henry?' Finally he embraced them all. 'We need to know a great deal more about him, I would think. Because while he may not have been the moving spirit behind whatever plot the three of them have hatched, he will be the action-man.' He even managed a thin smile for Mary Franklin. 'I do not know what the motto of the Russian Spetsnaz force is. But for our own SAS it is "Who dares, wins", I believe? And I would guess that General Lukianov is daring now. So it is up to us to see that he does not also win.'
He settled on Audley himself. 'Is it possible that, while he was working for you ... or, rather, for the late Sir Frederick Clinton . . . your Major Richardson may have encountered this man Lukianov?'
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