“It is rather sad, contemplating a shrinking empire. Egypt, Palestine, Suez, Kenya, Ghana, Sierra Leone, Nigeria, so much of Africa.”
“Not to mention your American colonies,” said Rocky.
Hempstone ignored him. “India, Ceylon, Singapore, Malaysia.”
As he listened to the British ambassador’s litany of loss, Frank thought of the Shah’s requiem for all the world leaders who had died over the past ten years. All the world leaders and his own close friend. Assadollah Alam. “And soon,” the Shah had said, “we shall be gone.”
“We manage, so far, to hold on to Hong Kong. Gibraltar. Great Britain will survive. Wales. Scotland. We won’t give up Northern Ireland. So we may still call ourselves the U.K. A kingdom, yes, but hardly an empire.” Hempstone pinched the sharp crease of his gray wool trousers. Frank wondered if all his suits were of a gray several shades darker than his hair. “The Soviet Union, on the other hand, is very much an empire. Even more so than in czarist times. The entire East Bloc. They may soon annex Afghanistan.”
Frank remembered what Lermontov had said. Afghanistan would be the end of the end of the Russian Empire. Emperors and empires, crumbling. Caesars, czars, shahs.
“To make matters worse,” said Hempstone, “the bloody Russians have taken so many of our own. Philby, Maclean, Burgess, all that lot. It’s no wonder Mosley wants to bag one of theirs.”
“He agree to back down?” asked Rocky.
“No,” said Hempstone, again pinching the crease of his trousers. “Despite instructions from home, including instructions from his own agency, Mr. Mosley continues to pursue your Russian friend. From what he tells me, he’s tried several ways to try to contact him, even speaking to someone at Savak with whom they both liaise, plus several leftist students and someone with the Tudeh party. Far as I know, no response.”
“But he keeps tryin’?” said Rocky.
“So I suspect. He will, of course, in time, have to desist. Particularly so since Mr. Lermontov quite apparently does not wish to deal with … with our intelligence agencies.”
“What about you?” asked Rocky. “You let Lermontov know what Her Majesty’s Government said?”
“I have not. Our arrangement was that Mr. Lermontov would contact me.”
“How?”
“He did not say.”
He’s keeping us all on the hook, thought Frank. He remembered the unopened envelope in his briefcase. Or maybe not.
* * *
“I gotta believe it’s from him,” said Frank. He and Rocky were alone in the bubble. He tossed the envelope onto the glass-topped table.
“It’s for you, so open the fuckin’ thing,” said Rocky. “If one of your admirers sent you a letter bomb, let it blow your fuckin’ fingers off. Not mine.”
Frank took a ballpoint pen from his pocket and gingerly pried the envelope open. He drew out a single sheet of paper. “Tonight. Same time and place. Alone.” He handed it to Rocky.
“His writing?”
“Looks like,” said Frank. “Maybe my little trip to the university did some good.”
“Maybe,” said Rocky. “But maybe he’s gettin’ the idea the Brits don’t want him. So maybe he figures he’s got no choice but to try us again.”
Frank studied him, thinking hard before he spoke. “Rocky, Hempstone just told us they haven’t been in touch with Lermontov. He doesn’t know the Brits have been told to stand down, and this Mosley is still going after him. So maybe, just maybe, Chuck and I did some good going after our good friend at the university.”
“You want a fucking medal? ’Sides, I don’t know anything about that. You did anything about that, you did it on your own.”
Frank nodded, said nothing.
“So anyway, now we know this waiter Gus recruited, this Hamid, for sure works for Lermontov.”
“For sure,” said Frank. “But at least he didn’t bring us a letter bomb.”
“Might as well’ve been. Soviet Division’s been burning up the wires. Mostly about me making arrangements A-SAP for the division chief no less and his fucking deputy to move in here and take over the Lermontov recruit. ’Course, I haven’t responded yet. Meanwhile, comes another cable from Near East Division suggesting, at the request of NSC, we give you one more crack at Lermontov. I gotta believe NSC did ask the Brits to back off and got an okay.”
I think maybe I made something happen, thought Frank. He suppressed a smile.
“Soviet Division ain’t gonna like it,” said Rocky, “but far as I’m concerned we got a green light for you to go tonight without me askin’ permission. As per suggestion of the National Security Council via Near East Division, KUPEREGRINE met with the KGB motherfucker who’s fuckin’ us over. Or words to that effect is how I’ll cable them soon’s you get back here and tell me what the fuck happened.”
“Are we clear for me to hit him with my idea?”
“We, as in you and me. Yeah, we’re clear. Why not? Nobody else knows about your fuckin’ idea. So hit the Russkie over the fuckin’ head with it. Hard as you can.”
* * *
“You bastard,” said Lermontov before he’d struggled halfway out of his white Peugeot. He loomed over Frank in the semidark garage and added, “You betrayed me.”
Upstairs, he ignored the blue vase. His curiosity about other possible listening devices seemed to have evaporated. “And then, showing up at the university, you not only humiliated me in front of those students, you put us all at risk. Don’t you realize you could have gotten us all killed?”
“I had to see you,” said Frank. “And it worked. You finally showed up.”
“It worked,” snarled Lermontov. Frank took a step back, half expecting Lermontov to pounce on him. “Don’t you realize, you bastard, for me this is a matter of life or death? I must get to America. Your fucking rezident and all your other fucking bureaucrats look at me and see promotions, commendations, medals. But look at me. You, you look at me. What you see is a man whose bones ache when he moves. A man whose face cracks with pain when he chews his food. A fool whose brains will explode.”
“I warned you he’d be there,” said Frank.
They stood on opposite sides of the dining room table, Lermontov still in his heavy coat and lamb’s-wool hat. Frank thought the table shook, then realized it was himself.
“I suppose you call that fair play,” sneered Lermontov. “You bastards. You play your games, but for me this is not a game.”
“I know,” said Frank. He remembered Anwar’s words when Iranian military intelligence had stopped their van the night before. For you Americans it’s all a game. For me it would be death.
“That’s what bothers me most,” said Lermontov. “You know better. And still you play games with me.” He tossed his hat across the room, then tugged off his coat and let it fall to the floor. Apparently exhausted, he slumped into a chair and let both hands fall to the table. “You bastard,” he repeated, now in a voice so low Frank had to guess at the words.
“I’ve got some vodka.”
“Good.”
He’d brought a bottle of his own Absolut along with a tin of Mina’s caviar and two spoons.
“It’s Iranian,” he said, nodding at the caviar.
“I prefer it.” Lermontov sampled the caviar.
His jaws did not move, and Frank suspected the giant Russian let the tiny eggs melt in his mouth. The poor bastard can’t chew, thought Frank.
“Excellent,” said Lermontov. He sipped the vodka. “I am a traitor to my motherland. I prefer this Swedish stuff even to export quality Stolichnaya.” He finished the Absolut in a gulp. Frank replenished his vodka. Lermontov drained the glass and held a hand over it. “More, perhaps, later. What response have you had from your people?”
“I’m here,” said Frank. “Despite what you’ve been up to with the Brits.”
“You know about that?”
“And the Canadians.”
“I needed to see what other avenues might be open for me. After
you betrayed me.”
“I didn’t betray you,” said Frank.
“Trying to turn me over to Mr. Novak felt like a betrayal. But the British proved no better. I told the ambassador, Hempstone, I would not deal with MI6. I was very specific, and I told him why.”
“Can you tell me?” asked Frank.
“You can guess. British intelligence has been overloaded with traitors. Whole libraries have been written about them. It would be madness to think there are none left—and fatally dangerous for me if one of MI6’s current traitors let his Moscow handlers know that one Vassily Lermontov wanted to defect.”
“What about…” Frank did not know how to phrase it. “My shop?” he tried.
“CIA has its own problems, but I thought I could rely on you to protect me as best you can. Instead, you turned me over to an anti-Soviet relic of the Stalin era.”
“I had no choice.”
“Exactly,” said Lermontov. “Which is why I have to see what other choices I might have.”
Frank noticed Lermontov’s use of the present tense. “I have to see,” not “I had to see.”
“And now?” he asked.
“If I had to choose between you and Ambassador Hempstone, that’s relatively easy. I know you. And I would choose you. If I had to choose between Gerald Mosley and Roger Novak, a much closer call. But I would have to say Novak.”
“Why?”
“Novak is smarter. He waits to hear from me. Mosley pursues me.”
“Still?”
“Yes,” said Lermontov. “And I allow it. Just in case.”
“In case?”
“In case,” said Lermontov, “I discover for sure I cannot trust you Americans.”
“I’m here,” said Frank.
“Yes,” said Lermontov. “Despite what happened with your Mr. Novak, you are here.”
“That shows interest, great interest,” said Frank. “But…”
“But your people want an agent in place.”
“And you want to defect.”
“No,” said Lermontov. “I do not want to defect. But I must get to America. Soon.” He wrapped his right hand around his left wrist, covering his watch.
Time is running out, thought Frank. For both of us.
“I must get to America,” Lermontov repeated. “And be safe there. And get medical treatment there. And … my problems have become even more acute with KGB since this Nazih business. Another failure. Another embarrassment.”
“You ran him,” said Frank. “And you ran him against me.”
“No. He worked for me. I paid him. But his little clique of left-wing Qazvini queers ran him. Even now I don’t know all the details. Also an embarrassment. Evidently they were tied in with some Tudeh party dissidents.”
“What did that have to do with me?” asked Frank.
“In common with others, Major Nazih feared your influence with the Shah. Access to the Shah is power. Nazih had access and did not want to see his power diluted by an American spy.”
“And now he’s gone.”
“Despite his many shortcomings,” said Lermontov, “he gave us excellent access to the palace. The blame for his loss falls on me, but this time, at least so far, you have saved me.”
“I have?”
“Yes. In Ethiopia, based on information you provided, the government expelled me. And others who reported to me. Here, not because of you, but because of Nazih’s stupid intrigues, the government would have expelled me. The little fairy tried to play many games—against you, against me. I put my trust in that bastard. But the Shah, who of course is aware, thought it would be helpful to you if I remained, so you and I could discuss my … my need to get to America. So now we are even. Once you had me expelled, and now you have kept me from being expelled.”
“But you still aren’t in America.”
“But I am still not in America. And your people don’t want me there. If they did, they would have been smart enough not to send your stupid chief of station after me.”
“What they want is an agent in place. I have an idea, if you agree to it and can take the risks, it could give them what they want and still get you to America.”
“How?” asked Lermontov.
“Recruit me,” said Frank.
“What?”
“My idea is for you to recruit me. Here and now. I can start feeding you information useful to you but not damaging to America. I can give you my justification. My disillusionment with the agency. My need for money because I can’t save enough to do what I want to do without more money than the agency pays me.”
Lermontov studied him. “And what is it you want to do?”
“I’ve got a son to support. He’s smart enough, and public schools in America are bad enough, he deserves private school and, before too many years, college.”
“What about that writer’s nest egg you want?”
“Yeah, that’s real enough,” said Frank. “You know about it. I know about it. But I don’t think the upper reaches of the KGB will want to finance me to write books, including maybe some books about them.”
“Of course not,” said Lermontov. “We would only want you as an agent in place.”
“Of course,” said Frank. “In place and hungry for money right now. I’ll stay in place here for as long as I can. The job I go to when all this is over and I get back to the States is a job with the highest-level security clearance and access to intelligence from all over the world. I’ll be in that job for the long haul, and I’ll need a contact in the States I can trust, and I don’t trust any Russian but you. It’s up to you to get assigned to Washington, and something tells me you can make that happen. The agency gets what it wants. The Soviets get an agent inside the CIA, run by you. And you get to America, not as a defector, but as an agent in place still within the KGB.”
Lermontov studied him, then shook his head.
“I know the risks involved,” said Frank. “It means hanging on here for a while, and it means going back to Moscow before you could get reassigned to Washington. And it means the KGB still has control over you, even in Washington.”
“You don’t know all the risks,” said Lermontov. “I doubt this can work.”
“It has to work,” said Frank.
“You’ve cleared this with your people?”
“With my chief of station. He doesn’t want to try it on Langley unless you go for it.”
“I don’t like the idea of going back to Moscow,” said Lermontov, “or staying within KGB. But I’m willing to take the risks. And I will tell you how serious the risks will be.”
* * *
“What happens next?” said Rocky, alone with Frank in the bubble. “Think we can bring him in?”
“First, if anything’s going to happen, we need quick approval on the scenario. Release on stuff I might have access to here, sanitized as necessary, that I can start to feed him.”
“You know this means we’re gonna have a shitload of desk jockeys descend on us, all wantin’ a piece of the action, wantin’ to change your scenario so they can claim it’s their scenario.”
“All willing to fuck up the recruitment,” said Frank.
“Fuckin’-A. All in the greater national interest of promoting their own careers,” said Rocky. Just like you did, thought Frank. They exchanged a glance, and Rocky looked away.
Frank recognized Rocky’s effort to make peace, but he knew their war continued. “Can we, I guess that means can you, convince the Langley types it’s in their interest to give us some room? Let us bring it off and let them take the credit.”
“I can try,” said Rocky. “You said he gave you some other stuff that might help. What is it?”
“I’m almost afraid to tell you.” He reached for his bulky, battered briefcase. “Let me start with the easy stuff. This is a draft, in Russian, of a statement some top advisers to Brezhnev, foreign affairs and military, want him to make. Says the Soviets will move into Azerbaijan, the Iranian part of Azerbaijan. Move in in
force if the U.S. doesn’t cancel plans to move the Seventh Fleet Carrier Force into the Indian Ocean, close to the Gulf, and send a squadron of F-15s to Saudi Arabia.”
“We’ve got such plans?”
“The Russians seem to think so. Lermontov says their embassy here thinks the statement is a big mistake, that it will freak out leftist Iranians who other-wise support the Soviets, not to mention other Islamic countries. He hopes if the Americans know about it they can use some quiet diplomacy to discourage Brezhnev from coming out with it. ’Course, the Americans have to handle it so it looks like the leak came from Moscow or someone in Washington, not someone in Tehran.”
“He gave you this?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure that’s what it says?”
“Hell, no. I don’t read Russian. Rocky, have you got anybody who reads Russian?”
“Yeah, I told you. Me. Belinsky reads it better, but I’m not sure I wanna share this. When’s Brezhnev supposed t’ make the statement?”
“The Constellation—he said the Constellation’s the carrier force flagship—is in the Pacific but heading toward Singapore, just around the corner from the Indian Ocean. If the Constellation keeps coming in this direction when it leaves Singapore, they want Brezhnev to go public.”
“He’s already made one statement telling us to stay away.”
“And real quick we said we had no intention of intervening. But all this gets a lot more specific. The Constellation to the Gulf. F-15s to the Saudis. Russian troops into northern Iran.”
“And we react and maybe World War III starts right here,” said Rocky.
“Maybe, in a way, it’s already started,” said Frank.
“Best we can do,” said Rocky, “draft the cable quick as you can and pouch this to Langley.”
“We better copy it first,” said Frank. “In case somebody over there loses it.”
“We aren’t that incompetent,” said Rocky. He looked from the Cyrillic document to Frank. “Maybe you’re right. We’ll copy it. Sully, I gotta tell you. If Lermontov is playin’ us, this could be part of the game. It could be disinformation. It could be usin’ us t’ affect American policy. When you draft, get those caveats into the cable. But if we are bein’ played, our caveatin’ won’t help but so much. I’m almost afraid to ask what else you got.”
The Peregrine Spy Page 30