November Man

by Brian Freemantle

  ‘Agreed,’ said Turgonev.

  Too quick, judged Altmann. It would be easy to get everything he wanted.

  ‘And I also want the guarantee of protection, at all times,’ he insisted.

  Imperceptibly, the Russian relaxed. What a rebuff for Melkovsky, thought Turgonev. At least the request confirmed that Altmann didn’t suspect them of the Vienna attack.

  ‘With a project this important, that’s a foregone conclusion,’ honestly promised Turgonev.

  ‘And I want an investigation,’ pressed Altmann. ‘I want the full resources of the K.G.B. to discover who attacked me. And eliminate them.’

  Again Turgonev hid his face behind the brandy bowl. Oh God, he thought, was he going to enjoy the next meeting with Melkovsky!

  ‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘We’ll do what we can.’

  Safe, thought Altmann. For a few months, at least.

  ‘And I will go to Switzerland every weekend,’ he added.

  ‘If it’s possible,’ qualified the Russian.

  Altmann hesitated. Then he said, ‘And I must know the complete operation.’

  Why, he wondered curiously, did Turgonev pause momentarily at that final demand?

  Melkovsky listened in silence two days afterwards to Turgonev’s account of the meeting with Altmann, grunting occasionally as if in disagreement.

  ‘So Altmann’s loyal,’ he said, when Turgonev had finished.

  ‘Completely,’ said Turgonev. It was a very satisfactory feeling, proving the minister so wrong.

  Melkovsky grunted again.

  The other man hadn’t given up, realized Turgonev. Not altogether.

  ‘Scare the shit out of the others then,’ commanded the Foreign Minister petulantly.

  That wouldn’t be difficult, thought the K.G.B. colonel a week later, examining the two men who sat before him. To induce the fear, Kodes and Junkers had been summoned at short notice and without explanation to Moscow, then kept a day to allow their uncertainty to build up. When they met, it was in the old part of the building in Dzerzhinsky Square. Both knew it was part of the Lubyanka Gaol.

  ‘You have been chosen’, began Turgonev brusquely, ‘to fulfil a function vital to the socialist countries.’

  Kodes and Junkers looked nervously at him, like schoolboys expecting punishment for stealing apples.

  How different the two men were, thought Turgonev – Kodes, an aesthetic, intellectual man, Junkers a boorish sensualist. In a difficult situation, thought the Russian, I’d choose Junkers as a partner; he’d have an animal instinct for survival. Kodes would want to consider the options and would perish in the delay.

  Already hints had been made to Junkers about embarrassing evidence of his extra-marital affairs, but the man would have responded anyway, felt Turgonev, because he would see benefit from it, rather than because of discovery of his sexual activities. Men like Junkers were difficult to blackmail.

  It was far easier with Kodes. Turgonev had ensured several recent conversations with the Czech had included a reference to 1968 and Dubček, and knew the man was terrified.

  Like clay, decided Turgonev; Kodes could be moulded into whatever shape was necessary.

  ‘If the operation is successful,’ continued the Russian, ‘then you will both be rewarded, not only by your own countries, but by the Soviet Union.’

  Junkers smiled gratefully, but Kodes remained uncertain, recognizing the emptiness of the promise.

  ‘You are both scheduled to attend the Leipzig Fair,’ recorded Turgonev. Both men nodded agreement. ‘And are to be involved in negotiations with an Englishman named Jocelyn Hollis.’

  ‘And we are to refuse discussions,’ concluded Junkers hopefully.

  Turgonev sighed.

  ‘If I want you to anticipate me, I shall invite it,’ he rebuked the East German. ‘From this moment you will do exactly as you are told. Don’t for a moment imagine you can foresee your instructions. You’re not clever enough.’

  Kodes pulled away, as if there were danger in association with the German.

  ‘Understand something … and understand it well,’ pressed Turgonev. ‘If the negotiations fail, then you’ll both be back here …’, he jerked his head to the surrounding Lubyanka complex, ‘… within a week.’

  ‘Perhaps’, said Kodes, his voice a mixture of caution and despair, ‘you’d better outline completely what you want us to do.’

  ‘Be good business-men,’ replied Turgonev obscurely. ‘I want you to secure for your countries unbreakable contracts representing millions of pounds.’

  ‘But we would have done that anyway,’ pointed out Kodes.

  ‘Exactly,’ responded Turgonev. ‘So pay attention to what else you have to do.’

  (7)

  Hollis had become so successful by employing as advisers the best men for the highest salaries, then adding as many benefits as possible. He was rarely liked, he accepted sadly, because rich, successful men always appeared to arouse feelings of resentment, but he was respected for his common sense.

  He usually travelled with a large entourage, feeling the degree of ostentation gave him a psychological advantage. The retinue occupied three cars as they edged away from the Leipzig Fair site and picked up the highway back towards East Berlin.

  Hollis, in the lead car, felt elated.

  ‘I can’t remember a more successful Fair,’ he enthused, sitting hunched forward in the Zil. Gordon Ellidge, his personal assistant, nodded. Ellidge was a slim saturnine man who had been with him for twenty years and whom Hollis knew hardly at all. No man within the organization was better treated, yet he suspected Ellidge was slightly contemptuous of him. That worried Hollis, because he was anxious to be liked.

  Without Ellidge, Hollis accepted, his businesses would be very difficult to control properly. Ellidge had come with him from his first venture with the insurance company, knew as much as he did about the confused network of interlocked companies and ran the millionaire’s affairs with computer-like precision. Soon, thought Hollis, he would have to improve Ellidge’s position in the companies.

  ‘The Czech approach was surprising,’ offered Ellidge.

  ‘Very,’ agreed Hollis. He took a card from his waistcoat pocket, studying it. “Josef Kodes, Trade Secretary.” The man had shown an amazing grasp of Western trade and analysed his own country’s economic problems with great clarity. Perhaps even too frankly, considered the millionaire. He handed the card to Ellidge.

  ‘I want to know about him,’ he said.

  The personal assistant nodded, accepting his employer’s caution. Hollis rarely began negotiations with any company or person without having them thoroughly checked.

  Although his estimates needed confirmation, Hollis thought that the oil Kodes sought would be worth three million pounds a year, making up the country’s increasing short-fall from Russian supplies.

  It had been strange how much the Czech had been prepared to concede about his country’s difficulties, Hollis considered. But then, why not? The man had a case to make. Little he had said would have been beyond the speculation of an intelligent East European observer.

  Hollis felt movement from the third man in the car and turned, politely anticipating the conversation.

  ‘A good convention, yes?’ demanded the East German who had been assigned to them from the Trade Ministry during their visit.

  ‘Very,’ concurred Hollis.

  Konrad Bauer smiled as if he had been complimented. He spoke English in short, precise words, biting off the sentences every so often, as if their length were being measured.

  ‘There is much to be gained by friendship between our two countries.’

  ‘Yes,’ conceded Hollis. He stared past the man into the suburbs of Leipzig. God, it was depressing: a grey country of grey people. How could anyone live here? Marion had been right not to come. What was she doing, he wondered. The strain between them couldn’t go on, he decided, gazing out at the passing houses. They were both avoiding the confrontation, but i
t had to come.

  ‘Through trade we shall become friends,’ said the man beside him. It was as if he were making a selection of approved remarks from a book, thought Hollis.

  ‘I hope so,’ said the Englishman.

  ‘It would be wrong to think that the Democratic Republic is not self-sufficient, however.’

  ‘No one feels that in my country,’ guaranteed Hollis.

  The vehicle cleared the city and picked up speed. Hollis glanced behind. The cars carrying the secretaries and chiefs of his German holding-companies were keeping in close convoy.

  ‘Will you be coming again?’ asked the official.

  ‘Yes,’ said Hollis. ‘I’ve opened many channels of negotiations. Now they’ve got to be examined and turned into positive contracts.’

  ‘I hope I shall be appointed your escort,’ smiled the man.

  ‘I hope so too,’ replied the millionaire emptily. He found the constant attention of the young man irritating. He looked almost imperceptibly at Ellidge, who immediately engaged the East German in conversation, freeing Hollis of the responsibility.

  An excellent personal assistant, judged Hollis. He’d appoint Ellidge Chief Executive, he decided.

  There were contracts to explore, he thought. Apart from the Czech approach, there had been an incredible response from East Germany for the aircraft landing-system. It would be a fantastic order to complete, he thought, providing there were no government objection.

  Although it was quite independent of the guidance-equipment that was being installed in the aircraft of three countries under the NATO umbrella, he felt sure the Ministry of Defence would insist it remain linked on the secret list. Important for Ellidge to clear the following day, he determined. It would be a pity if they couldn’t export it; the contract would be worth five million pounds a year.

  In fact, he reflected, the session with Wolfgang Junkers had been as beneficial as that with Kodes. He had not anticipated the interest they would show in the educational cassettes.

  He hauled his briefcase on to his lap, opened it and began to sort through the papers, finding the file he had begun after his conversation with the Czech. Apart from the oil, there had been brief discussion about car-manufacturing possibilities. He wondered if it would be possible to operate a car factory in the country, under licence. Certainly the Italians did it in the Soviet Union, so there was a precedent. The man who established permanent trade links with Eastern Europe would make a fortune, he thought.

  His mind slipped away from the papers before him. Not just a fortune, he enlarged. But prestige as well. Properly financed and guaranteed with internationally binding contracts the Czechs could not break, he could be responsible for massive trade-development. Then his contribution to the country’s welfare would have to be recognized, he decided.

  He stopped, cautiously. Once before he’d almost ruined himself in the pursuit of an honour, he recalled. He’d have to be careful the thing didn’t become an obsession with him.

  Outside he saw the beginnings of Berlin and smiled. He was anxious to get into the West. There was a reception that night for British business-men who had been to the Fair, and Hollis enjoyed such functions.

  At the Wall, there were effusive farewells while his team of men bustled round, collecting luggage and presenting documents. Hollis walked across into the American sector encircled by his staff, two of whom hurried ahead, and there was hardly a pause when they reached the checkpoint. A Rolls-Royce stood waiting, the fitment for the official flag empty but the C.D. plates clearly designating it a British Embassy vehicle.

  There was a movement from the rear of the booth and a man pushed forward into the group. Hollis saw Ellidge nod, then turn to make the introductions but the man moved on, to complete it himself.

  ‘Mr Hollis?’ said the newcomer, extending his hand. ‘Burke, Valentine Burke … British embassy.’

  Hollis took the proffered hand.

  ‘This is very kind,’ said Hollis, flattered.

  ‘Not at all, sir,’ said Burke. He was a typical career diplomat, assessed Hollis, a slight stoop reducing his height, perfectly dressed in regulation pinstripe and Eton tie, his greying hair brushed like wings off his pink, shining face. Another year, maybe two, guessed Hollis, before the man gets the ambassadorship for which he’s been waiting twenty years.

  ‘Sir Geoffrey wondered if you’d like the embassy Rolls …’

  The man made dismissive movements with his hand, and Hollis noticed the heavy signet-ring with the family crest on his finger. He talked quickly, as if afraid of being interrupted, but left the sentences unfinished, permitting a change of direction if the opening remarks met opposition.

  ‘… Hope there’s no problem about your attending the reception tonight …’

  He laughed and Hollis detected the nervousness in it.

  ‘None,’ responded Hollis. Honestly he added, ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  Burke fell into step beside him and Ellidge moved ahead, supervising the loading of luggage into the waiting company Mercedes. It was a grey, damp day and everyone walked hunched inside overcoats.

  ‘We think about a hundred people will be coming,’ volunteered the diplomat as they approached the embassy vehicle.

  ‘It’s been an interesting three days,’ generalized Hollis.

  Burke smiled, a man sharing a secret. ‘From what we hear, you did particularly well.’

  So they knew about the Czechoslovakian and East German approaches, realized Hollis. He entered the car, nodding his head. ‘I’m very pleased,’ he said, non-committal.

  Again Ellidge saved him from polite conversation as they drove towards the Am Zoo Hotel. At the entrance they parted, Burke promising to collect them within two hours for the reception.

  Fresh clothing had been brought in from London that morning in the company aircraft, and flowers had been arranged in the suite, so that it already had an occupied feeling. Copies of all the British morning newspapers were arranged in an orderly row on a side-table near the desk, where in two folders were documents needing his final authorization. Hollis nodded, briefly, indicating his approval of the preparations, then sat behind the tiny desk with Ellidge, two male secretaries and the two Germans who headed his Bonn operations. He worked incisively, with a complete awareness and understanding of every contract discussed during the preceding days.

  He repeated the instructions to check Kodes as far as possible through the Czech embassy in London and possibly with any friendly lecturer in East European studies at an English university, hesitated, and then ordered the same to be done with Junkers. He demanded the complete verification of the oil short-fall figures and trade restrictions between Britain and Czechoslovakia, asked for a study paper to be ready in three days on the feasibility of a motor assembly plant in Czechoslovakia, instructed that lawyers start drawing up draft contracts on the East German cassette-order and asked for all export problems involving the landing-device to be examined.

  It took just thirty minutes and he spent a further fifteen studying the documents brought from London. Two he discarded, underlining the errors and thrusting them towards Ellidge, who took them without comment. The rest he signed.

  He finished by ordering flowers to be sent to Marion, together with his reply to a cable he had received from her in Leipzig, agreeing to fly direct from Tempelhof airport to Paris for her brother’s farewell banquet.

  As Ellidge led the party from the room, Hollis got up from the desk and went to the refrigerator near the bathroom to take out a quarter-bottle of champagne. He deserved a celebration, he told himself, extracting the cork. Glass in hand, he stood staring over the city, bursting into gaudy flares of neon as darkness fell. He suddenly laughed aloud. Despite the money and the prestige and undoubted political preparation, James might still fail if he entered the coming election.

  He lifted his glass and with unknown irony muttered, ‘To the Presidency.’

  He became embarrassed by the theatricality of the gest
ure and turned back into the room, frightened of having been overheard. It was empty and he relaxed again.

  He bathed leisurely and dressed with care, choosing a blue suit that had been re-pressed after arriving in West Berlin. The efficient Ellidge was at the door five minutes before Burke’s promised return and the diplomat was punctual, emerging from the elevator promptly at 7 p.m. They passed the journey to the embassy in small talk, Burke playing the patient guide, picking out landmarks he thought might be of interest.

  Burke’s accompaniment caused instant recognition, and Sir Geoffrey Walton actually moved from the reception line, coming forward to greet Hollis. The ambassador was a diminutive, plump man, hair like a disordered hedge round a bald dome, and with full, almost feminine lips that he pursed with every sentence, each of which concluded with a question-like ‘eh’, forcing people into confused agreement.

  It was a cultivated mannerism, guessed Hollis, accepting the introduction. The ambassador took him by the elbow and personally escorted him round the room, re-introducing him to business-men with whom he’d spent the last three days as if he’d never met them before.

  ‘London is very keen to get an over-all picture of how much trade was done,’ said Walton, after they’d completed the perambulation. Hollis gestured to where Ellidge was talking to Burke.

  ‘My personal assistant has the details. I’ll see he passes them to you,’ he undertook. So detailed information was required. Some minister anxious for publicity wanting to make a Commons statement, he thought. He made a mental note to have a statement issued through his publicity section. Walton was talking in his jerky way of the post-war West German economic boom, dismissing the danger of inflation seriously endangering it against foreign trade surpluses in excess of five hundred million pounds a year. Hollis listened politely, knowing the man was reciting a report that would have been created by the economic section of the embassy for Whitehall.

  People drifted in and out of their group, and to all Hollis was immediately attentive. A good party, he thought. Probably better than James’s would be the following evening. There was movement near the door and Walton turned, smiling.