‘Good morning, Mr. Marghiloman!’
‘I have the money, sir,’ I said in perfect English. ‘He is what we thought. Shall I caution him?’
‘No, not yet, Petrescu. This is quite a good place to talk as long as the rain holds off. Formerly CIA and now KGB! Don’t you ever consider the British at all, Marghiloman? And now disturbing a couple of amateur archaeologists at their work! What have you to say for yourself?’
It was my English which helped to reduce Marghiloman to pulp—apparent proof that I had fooled him all along the line. He must also have appreciated that MI5 considered him so important a catch that it was worthwhile blowing Petrescu’s cover as a harmless Romanian.
Alwyn was using the half jocular, half deadly manner of the confident interrogator. It was all the more effective because of his shabby appearance. The voice and the air of authority rang true; therefore the appearance must be for some purpose assumed.
‘I have nothing to say, sir. I do not deny that I have worked for the CIA.’
‘Well, well! And here you are paying a cut to an agent of the KGB!’
‘But I do not think you will wish to put me on trial.’
‘Quite right. We wouldn’t like to upset the CIA. Do you know what those mounds are?’
‘Iron Age tombs, sir.’
‘The round ones, yes. The long ones are neolithic. It was not so lonely a spot then as it is now.’
‘I do not believe MI5 would do such a thing,’ Marghiloman answered stoutly.
‘MI5 would not dream of doing such a thing. But that was quite a pull-up for a man in his fifties. A sudden heart attack could be expected. Did the CIA recruit you in America or England?’
‘In England.’
‘By Mr. K?’
‘I was interviewed by him. I have not seen him since.’
‘Your immediate chief was their Mr. F?’
‘He was.’
I have honestly forgotten these names, except for the fact that Mr. K’s was good Anglo-Saxon and Mr. F’s sounded like Polish. Alwyn’s precise knowledge of both men and their responsibilities reinforced his authority.
‘And your duties were to obtain the confidence of Romanians and others who had escaped to England, to report on them and make use of them?’
‘They were.’
‘In fact the CIA didn’t trust us to do the job for them?’
‘They thought you were too kindly, too easily deceived.’
‘What did MI5 tell them about Petrescu?’
‘That they were wasting their time.’
‘A bit patronising?’
‘Very probably.’
‘It didn’t occur to them that we might be watching him—also to see if he was any use?’
‘It may have done. I don’t know. I can only say that my organisation was instructed to keep him under observation. We noticed that he took great pains to prove that he had no connections or friends, which suggested that he had something to hide. It was then decided to use him to carry the message to Mrs. Hilliard and see how both of them reacted.’
‘Why Mrs. Hilliard?’
‘As you know, sir, her daughter was closely connected with Miss Iwyrne and she herself was distrusted by the Americans. She was seen on more than one occasion hanging about the Kingsbridge Estuary for no obvious purpose. It was thought possible that she was receiving enemy agents despatched by Rory.’
‘And all this time you were working for the KGB as well?’
‘No! I swear I was not.’
‘When did they recruit you?’
‘Only two weeks ago. They suddenly found out I was a CIA agent.’
‘Why did you not at once report to the CIA that they had approached you?’
‘The KGB have dossiers on all of us who have come from communist countries—Czechs, Romanians, Poles …’
He went on burbling about refugees and their difficulties, talking and talking in order to put off the next question which he knew must be on the way. I was sorry for the man. There was no reason why he should not have worked for the CIA and he was good at the job—good enough at any rate to fool me, and well-mannered with it.
‘And what was in your own dossier, Marghiloman?’
‘Nothing, nothing! I mean … well, for these days. We all have our tastes. So little to do with daily life. The secret side. Our private necessities. But the other parties were quite willing. An older man and a boy. Fatherly, and I would do anything for them. So beautiful. So full of curiosity.’
‘Under the age of fourteen?’
‘You understand, sir.’
‘I understand it’s a criminal offence. And so?’
‘I was framed. Witnesses. Photographs. Oh dear, how defiling!’
‘And what assignments were then given to you?’
‘They knew I had been involved with Mr. Petrescu and Mrs. Hilliard. Every detail. How they knew so much I cannot understand. Oh, a very harmless assignment. They told me that Rory had never worked for them and never been paid by them. It was a mystery why he should have pretended that he had escaped to Russia.’
‘That was the first time you knew he had not?’
‘Yes. The CIA still believe he is there.’
‘How many of the KGB men have you seen?’
‘Two. One was British, I think. The other was not. And there were men who forced their way into my flat. Oh God, that horrible little actor! Such lies! Such depravity in one so young! I wouldn’t have spied for them whatever they had on me. I loathe them. But what they required me to do was harmless.’
‘Control yourself, Marghiloman! These things happen. Go on!’
‘You know, sir, that it was the CIA who had questions asked in the House and forced the Government’s hand so that a Special Tribunal had to be appointed. They have their favourite Members of Parliament just as the Russians have theirs.’
‘That is beside the point,’ Alwyn retorted with such anger that he could have given himself away. ‘Such sympathies are normal and proper in any discussion of foreign policy inside or outside the House. And thank God we are still free in this country to express an opinion honestly held, however damned silly! And sometimes it turns out to be right.’
I had a feeling that he only just checked himself in time from adding: ‘as in the case of Miss Iwyrne’. He cleared his throat and resumed his former manner.
‘And what was this harmless assignment, Mr. Marghiloman?’
‘To find out from one of my colleagues what was the evidence against Rory.’
‘You would have had to go as high as your Mr. K to learn that.’
‘No. I remembered that when the papers were full of Rory’s defection, I had discussed the case with the head of another department. A minor department like mine. But it is their duty to take action when the British are too scrupulous to do so. He said to me: “Yes, we got the bastard and now they’ve lost him.”’
‘By “they” he meant MI5?’
‘Yes.’
‘The CIA knew Rory was guilty?’
‘Of course. Circumstantial evidence was overwhelming. Mrs. Hilliard who brought him up had belonged to the IWW and ran guns for the anarchists in Spain. Her daughter was a friend of the suspect Rachel Iwyrne who lived at Whatcombe Street and whom he introduced to the Minister.’
‘What made them believe that Miss Iwyrne was a spy?’
‘Her opinions, I suppose, and her friends. You do not realise what risks you take. That was why the CIA started to operate in England.’
‘I am aware of that. But Rory—how did they get him?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘What I require is what you told the KGB.’
‘I told them the story as I heard it, sir. After Mornix escaped it occurred to my friend’s department that there might be evidence in Rory’s flat. Unlikely, but the flat could easily be entered, and he might have been careless. So they sent in two of their specialists in that type of work and went through his personal papers.’
Bo
th Alwyn and I saw what was coming. His face quivered just once, but he retained a control lifeless and commanding as any of the ancient stones below us.
‘They found nothing of interest but a number of unopened bank statements which they read and re-sealed,’ Marghiloman went on. ‘Rory had too large an overdraft and did not wish to remind himself of it. The CIA psychiatrist confirmed that this was a common failing. So the department arranged a payment into his account which they knew that MI5 could trace to the KGB. The plan was foolproof. If Rory spotted it and reported it, no harm was done. If he did not, it was the solid evidence which was still missing.’
‘I see. So that was how they got the bastard. Was your friend a reliable informant?’
‘He was rather drunk. Those American Martinis, you know. He should not have washed them down with the good Burgundy I provided. In vino Veritas. They are very clever, but inclined to indiscretion when pleased with themselves.’
‘When you passed on this information to the KGB, what was their reaction?’
‘They showed none. Then they gave me this job of paying Petrescu.’
‘Why you?’
‘Probably because I could recognise him?’
‘So could several of their operators. Why you?’
‘For God’s sake, sir! I don’t know.’
In spite of Alwyn’s rigid expression I knew him well enough by now to detect that there was something in the last two answers which had opened a new train of thought. He appeared to accept Marghiloman’s statement as the end of interrogation and looked straight at me with a plausible air of consulting my opinion. But in fact his eyes did not meet mine at all; he was looking past me in the direction of the Grey Wethers. I would have turned round if I had not been frozen into immobility by the two strained faces and the silence.
‘Marghiloman, you have betrayed to the KGB the fact that both the CIA and ourselves know the number of their Swiss bank account. Why did you not report to your chief when the KGB first approached you?’
‘I didn’t dare.’
‘Did you or did you not do so?’
‘Not at first. I was too frightened.’
‘So when?’
‘When I was first asked to pay Petrescu.’
‘I see. So all you had to confess was that you were meeting him and nothing else. And they answered that if you caught Petrescu for them, they’d fly you to the United States next day in a blaze of glory.’
‘Very discreetly. Very discreetly, I promise you,’ he replied, taking Alwyn literally.
‘What was the plan?’
‘I was to take him down to Avebury for a drink and point him out.’
‘And what were they going to do with him?’
‘Drive him back to London.’
‘Suppose he yelled?’
‘He would be asleep on the journey.’
‘What are you going to tell them now?’
‘May I tell them the truth? That Petrescu is working for you?’
‘And what will you tell the KGB?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You said you did not know why they chose you to pay Petrescu. I suggest they wanted to see if you would double-cross them.’
‘But that would mean we are being watched!’
‘And that they know that you or Petrescu brought a third man to the meeting. If I were you, I should get straight on that plane without talking to anyone. Now get out!’
In the clean silence of the downs after he had gone I exploded my fury at the story we had heard and my delight that he had a chance of clearing his name if ever it could be proved. He cut me short.
‘Later. This is not over.’
When a fold of the ground had hidden Marghiloman we moved off the skyline and into the shallow cradle of a terrace to watch what he did. Below us was the village of Avebury, trees, grey manor and grey church all within the circle of the tall, shapeless stones stationed on their rampart as sentries for ever over the first temple of England. I remember thinking that the priests of that ancient society must even then have fulminated against human treachery, the sin which above all others made their newly settled life uneasy, and have preached that between Earth and the Gods there was another great naked stone, and its name was Honour.
We saw Marghiloman almost running down to the point where the green road of the Herepath became a metalled track. When he got there he hesitated, buzzing around like a bee on a window pane, looking at the ground, looking back at the bare hillside, trotting off towards Avebury, pulling himself together and walking back.
‘That’s where he left his car, by God!’ Alwyn exclaimed.
‘The CIA has taken it?’
‘No, the KGB. They know as much about double agents as anyone else.’
But Marghiloman was not such a townsman as I had thought. Perhaps his youth in Romania counted and he remembered he had feet. He did not go into Avebury to look for his car. He strode casually south for the Marlborough road, quickening his pace whenever he was in dead ground. That was the last we ever saw of him. In spite of the trouble he had caused me and his infamous private amusements, I hope he reached home before anyone was at his front door to receive him and to prevent him picking up his ticket and catching the first plane out.
At the time, however, I was more worried about my own future.
‘If the KGB get him he’ll tell them Petrescu is MI5.’
‘They won’t believe him for a moment.’
‘But my unknown companion!’
‘They have had a long look at him.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I told Marghiloman how I knew. I think their operator is in among the Grey Wethers.’
I protested that at quarter of a mile a watcher couldn’t possibly recognise him even through glasses.
‘I am sure that KGB 13 would. That’s the training.’
‘Call in Special Branch!’
‘What proof have I?’
‘You can make the CIA confess.’
‘Can I? I doubt it. And if I can, should I? What Eudora said is true. They have learned from the KGB that the end justifies any means. But they are our allies. Their country is our shield. If this story ever comes out, Washington must be free to swear there is not a word of truth in it.’
It was not the first time that I had suspected Alwyn of an indefinable death wish, and I doubted if there were any Russians whatever around little Avebury. At the most there might be sympathisers well paid to do the less dirty jobs: people like the unknown yachtsman ordered to lift Alwyn from the creek or—to take an example from the other side—like the CIA agent who feared he would be trampled into the ground by bullocks: probably a half-witted fanatic whom Whatcombe Street would have called a fascist beast and not been far out.
I said it was unbelievable that they would call in their professional thugs just for me and Marghiloman.
‘Rory somewhere on the run and defenceless,’ he replied. ‘Tessa likely to know where he is. You possibly knowing anything she does. Attempts to check your background—Paris, wasn’t it?—up against a blank wall. On top of all that, Rachel vanished. Almost anything might turn up, and if I were running the show I’d choose operators who were well prepared for it.’
‘How could they get into England?’
He answered with a faint grin:
‘Perhaps off the trawlers, Willie. Off the trawlers!’
Still unwilling to believe, I wanted to ask: why here? But I could answer that myself. All my lies which I had thought so good suddenly seemed amateurish. I had said to my naval officer by the Otter that Marghiloman had me followed here and therefore it would appear to him a natural choice. A weak story! How would a refugee know the locality so well? Advisable to reconnoitre the place beforehand. They would then find it suspiciously lonely. So what’s Petrescu’s game? Perhaps he chose it in order to see all round him. He thinks he can, but he can’t, the poor, unmilitary, little crook!
‘If you’re right about the Grey Wethers, why hasn
’t he risked a shot?’ I asked.
‘Because the country is too open to get rid of the corpse. Now listen, Willie! Since they could tell when it was safe to remove Marghiloman’s car we know that their man up there has a walkie-talkie to communicate with companions down in Avebury. So we’re in trouble. They’ll stick at nothing to find out what you are doing with Alwyn Rory and how long we have been together.’
We were about to move off when a station wagon came whizzing out of Avebury along the Herepath and stopped where Marghiloman’s car had been. Three men got out, leaving the driver behind, and strode up the hill evidently bound for the rendezvous with Petrescu.
‘The CIA has found his car, but no Marghiloman. Straight into action, American style. Always that, or an interminable conference,’ Alwyn said.
We were now in serious trouble. It was easy enough to lie still in the cover of tumulus or ditch; but to move was difficult, for there was no avoiding the long run of the bare grass or a skyline. If we started to make our way below the escarpment towards the Marlborough road, more or less on Marghiloman’s route, we should be in full view of the driver left in the car; and if we took to the top we exposed ourselves both to the three new arrivals and Alwyn’s KGB man in the Grey Wethers—unless he was now trying to bury himself in the tussocks camouflaged as a chunk of sandstone.
All the same we had to risk it. The open downs which I thought so safe had not appreciated my trust, and I longed to get down into the valley of the Kennet and across the river into country still bare and rolling, sprinkled with barrows and standing stones, but with patches of woodland where I knew every path.
We decided to go singly since the CIA party was on the look-out for two men and might not pay immediate attention to a solitary walker. Below us we could see the Stone Avenue running down from Avebury to the water and the Sanctuary, part of the avenue still standing, part dotted with concrete markers where ages less interested in the past had broken up the stones for building. A group of tourists was wandering down it from their motor coach parked at the top.
Alwyn went first, aiming to join the sight-seers and walk along with them. If all was then clear, he was to wait for me near the little bridge over the Kennet. Once there I guaranteed I could get him away from anything but dogs or a cavalry patrol, neither of which were available to these very cautious operators.
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