I nodded. He gestured for me to follow him. As I did, I looked at his suit, briefcase and impossibly shiny shoes. Whatever his job was, it seemed like a good one, and an easy one. Maybe I could hang around airports chatting to travellers.
My hands felt empty, so I stuck them in my pockets. I’d checked my bag into Aeroflot and battled the sense that I’d forgotten something.
Mr Attridge had arrived at a small counter. ‘Would you like anything to eat?’
I was hungry, but I would have felt uncomfortable eating in front of Mr Attridge.
‘Just tea, thank you.’
‘I’ll bring it over.’
He gestured to a Formica table away from the counter, and I sat down. I smoothed down my new cords. Whenever I put them on I thought of Vasile and felt a little guilty, but now I had the horrible suspicion that Mr Attridge knew what I had brought back from Bucharest and was singling me out. Maybe I could explain it was work-related, if he asked.
Mr Attridge put the two cups of tea on the table, placed his briefcase on the floor and unbuttoned his suit jacket. I straightened my own tweed jacket and checked that my ticket, passport and visa were still in my pocket. I’d dressed for Moscow rather than London, and was starting to get warm in my jacket and wool turtleneck, but Mr Attridge was watching me, so I left them both on. I took my copy of Smith’s Moscow out of my pocket, and put it on the table.
‘Mr Walker, I had hoped to have had a chat earlier, but you didn’t come in as requested.’
‘As requested?’
‘We sent you a letter?’
That Barry. I knew he was taking my letters. And who was ‘we’?
‘I didn’t get a letter.’
‘Ah.’ Mr Attridge took a sip of tea, grimaced, and pushed the cup away. ‘That’s a shame as you could have met the other Britons attending the film festival. We like to have a quick chat with anyone travelling to,’ he lowered his voice, ‘the Soviet Union. There are a few dangers we like people to be aware of.’
‘Didn’t we have this chat about Romania?’
‘Yes, we did. But the USSR is much more sophisticated, so it bears repeating.’
I took a sip of my tea. It truly was disgusting. A smile flickered over Mr Attridge’s lips. I sat back and folded my arms.
‘Go on, then.’
‘Mr Walker, I assure you, this is in your interests, not ours. In Britain, we have laws telling us all what we cannot do. The thing you need to understand about Russia is that they have laws telling you what you can do. If you are told you can exchange your money in an Inturist bureau, you do not change it on the street at a much improved rate of exchange. Obviously, don’t agree to take anything across borders. If an offer looks too good to be true, it will probably land you in the Lubyanka prison, and maybe Lefortovo after that.’
I was unsure why he thought those names should be familiar to me. Taking things across borders was the only bit that meant anything to me, unfortunately.
‘As in Bucharest, if you are approached by a woman for sexual favours, put your ego to one side and assume she is being instructed to pretend to find you attractive.’ He looked back to his tea. ‘The same goes for a man, of course.’
I smiled uncomfortably. It didn’t sound terrible. Nico had looked very attractive, in fact, and I managed to say no.
‘I’m being very serious, Mr Walker.’
I adjusted the neck of my jumper. ‘This all sounds very unlikely. I don’t know anything interesting.’
‘Everyone says that, Mr Walker. All information is of interest to someone at some point. A quick fumble may be of no consequence now, but in the future you may find yourself in a job which would not benefit from photographic evidence of your preferences.’ He sighed. I suspected he had given this speech multiple times. ‘Any Soviet citizen who approaches you will want something from you. No Russian who isn’t working for the KGB would come anywhere near you. Use your best discretion. If you can. And, of course, should anything come to your attention which you think we should know…’
‘Who is “we”, exactly?’
‘Ah, you know.’
He picked up his briefcase, stood and buttoned his suit jacket, before looking me and down once more.
‘You do know that it was 67 degrees Fahrenheit in Moscow yesterday?’
‘But Moscow is cold.’
Mr Attridge shook his head. ‘You’re not very prepared at all, are you?’
I hadn’t found out about the temperature. That didn’t mean I wasn’t prepared. I thought back to my new C&A easy-care polyester trousers, tapped Smith’s Moscow and raised my eyebrows. He sighed and left me to the cold cup of tea.
I took out some of the money I’d allowed myself and headed towards the duty free. I wouldn’t have to buy any cigarettes in Moscow. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to buy anything at all and my emergency money would return with me.
VULNERABLE CITIZEN REPORT – LONDON OFFICE
Attridge to MOSCOW CONSULATE
(direct to C.H. if possible)
9th July 1975
A British visitor, Reginald Edward WALKER (known as Ted), is on his way to Moscow to attend the biennial Moscow Film Festival. His tickets, arranged through Inturist by Suzanne PROUT, INTERNATIONAL FILM MONTHLY, indicate that he will be in the Inturist hotel 9th-23rd July (arriving one day before the festival and leaving on the final day).
I have met with WALKER on two occasions, neither being particularly productive. He first came to my attention when he was sent to Bucharest by the film magazine he has just started working for (INTERNATIONAL FILM MONTHLY, Plumstead High Street). We have an ongoing interest in this magazine.
The manager, Stanley BENSTRUP, started the magazine in spring 1972 with a small inheritance from his mother. He attended film festivals in Berlin, Locarno, Edinburgh, and the Tashkent arm of the Russian Film Festival (running in even years, the Moscow festival running in odd years). In Tashkent he met a young woman who was given papers to come to Britain with BENSTRUP after a sudden marriage in Tashkent (October 1972). This raised flags, as you can imagine, papers like this being difficult to acquire for those in the USSR.
BENSTRUP has not travelled to any festivals since his marriage, and this may be because Mrs Benstrup wants to remain Mrs Benstrup, and not revert to her previous name. It is a complication of the marriage taking place in the USSR that her name on the marriage certificate appears to be an obvious fake: Nadenka DEVUSHKA (Nadenka being a derivation, and devushka meaning ‘girl’). Enquiries are continuing, but it is unlikely that we will be able to ascertain her legal name. (See cross-check report.)
Due to the urging of DEVUSHKA, BENSTRUP has been looking for a film reviewer who is willing to travel to foreign festivals and be paid very little for it. His aim with this publication has been, since his marriage, more closely focused on the cinema behind the ‘iron curtain’, and it is suspected that DEVUSHKA is the reason for this. As a matter of interest, it is expected that BENSTRUP will run out of money for his magazine by October, so this problem should not reoccur.
(Incidentally, I pulled up WALKER’s passport application and found that the photograph was certified by BENSTRUP who could not have known him long enough. Suggest this is added to BENSTRUP’s file.)
Previously, WALKER worked at ‘Dovercourt Bay Holiday Camp and Lido’ in the summer months (June – September), and assisted his father on a small fishing boat during the rest of the year. In early February 1975 he moved to London without having any work arranged. It is unclear how he arranged this financially. He applied for the post of ‘Chief Reviewer’ with some rather massaged ‘experience’, and was accepted in March. He lodges in a small terraced house close to the magazine’s office (159C Griffin Road, one room and shared use of bathroom facilities).
I met him in May at Heathrow Airport as he left for Bucharest and considered him to be very naïve, sexually inexperienced, and unaware of the political and personal dangers he faced in a Communist country. I then met him on his return very briefly
, just to show my face. He seemed surprised by this, showing signs of anxiety. I did not pursue my doubts as I knew that I would be in touch with him again as we had been alerted to his visa application to the USSR. I sent him the usual letter, asking him to attend the general briefing, but he did not arrive. When I met him earlier today he claimed not to have received this letter. I tried to warn him again, but he was rather blasé about the risks, and suspicious of me personally. He tried me get me to admit who I worked for, and his attitude was, on the whole, insolent and arrogant.
This would not necessarily be cause for alarm. Plenty of stupid British businessmen survive a few days in Moscow, as we know. However, this particular business was already a concern. What is a further concern is that we received a murmur from Bucharest in the last couple of weeks that the Securitate found him to be ‘agreeable’ and ‘malleable’, and that he agreed to undertake a task for them. He has the arrogance of youth, but seems quite unprepared for the sophistication of attack for which we know and admire the USSR. As you know, any idiot can become a useful one. We are unsure what this task might involve.
I would recommend a similar level of surveillance to before, although with any luck he will not become a problem if he can be encouraged to do his job. I am also alerting another experienced festival attendee to make friends with him and keep him on the straight and narrow, which should reduce the time you need to spend on him.
There will be a continuing ‘light touch’ investigation into WALKER and the DEVUSHKA file is attached.
CROSSCHECK REPORT: DEVUSHKA
Despite the earthquake there in that year, the Film Festival in Tashkent opened in October 1968, running in alternate years to the Moscow Film Festival. Both festivals, as well as others in Eastern Europe, are designed around the promotion of communist films and political ideas. The 1970 Tashkent festival had to be cancelled due to an outbreak of cholera, making the 1972 festival the second one held, and the first attended by BENSTRUP.
Stanley BENSTRUP came to our attention in October 1972 when, after attending the International Film Festival in Tashkent (USSR), he came back with a wife. Nadenka DEVUSHKA (per the marriage certificate) had managed to get a marriage licence and an exit visa with suspicious ease. This suggests that she has political advantages, clearly, but why these should be linked to BENSTRUP was very unclear. An investigation has not resulted in many facts, but we have established some key points.
DEVUSHKA is almost certainly a KGB officer, not least because her passport with her married name was available to her within two days. BENSTRUP is a magazine editor. The interest of the KGB in such an insignificant character started to become more evident as the focus of his film magazine shifted to international film festivals held behind the “Iron Curtain”. His first ‘Chief Reviewer’, Joseph NORTH (employed January 1973), travelled to:
FEST Belgrade, Yugoslavia – February 1973
Berlin International Film Festival ‘Berlinale’, West Germany – 22 June – 3 July 1973
Moscow International Film Festival, USSR – July 1973
Pula Film Festival, Yugoslavia – August 1973
FEST Belgrade, Yugoslavia – February 1974
Berlin International Film Festival ‘Berlinale’, West Germany – 21 June – 2 July 1974
Karlovy Vary International Film Festival, Czechoslovakia – July 1974
Pula Film Festival, Yugoslavia – August 1974
Kiev International Film Festival ‘Molodist’, USSR – October 1974
(The specific dates for the Berlin festival are covered in the extensive notes for these festivals.)
NORTH first looked like a problem in Berlin where it is easier for us to carry out surveillance. The decision was taken to watch and wait, rather than intervene. The ease with which we found letters and packages in his luggage convinced us that NORTH was not trained for subterfuge, nor entirely aware of the illegality of his actions. We anticipated that his ‘favours’ were carried out either for BENSTRUP or DEVUSHKA, and we swiftly discounted BENSTRUP.
NORTH went missing in Kiev during the ‘Molodist’ festival. We are unaware of either the date or precise location that he was last seen. It was not until November 2nd that the office secretary, Suzanne PROUT, contacted the local Plumstead police in some distress, and it took some time to be referred up the chain to us. We have people asking around on the ground, but our sources in Kiev are limited in number and scope. The authorities provided documentation that NORTH had boarded an aeroplane back to London, but he did not walk off that plane.
On the positive side this did give us a reason to interview BENSTRUP and PROUT in the magazine office, allowing us to get a good sense of what they both believe was happening. In the course of these discussions, PROUT agreed to answer occasional questions regarding the business. She has told us that she had been ordered by BENSTRUP not to tell WALKER about NORTH.
The addition of interviews with directors to WALKER’S travel made for an unfortunate extension to our remit. While we can cover festivals with fixed dates and multiple attendees, it is much more difficult to watch individuals.
There are clear threats to WALKER who is blithely unaware of the existence of NORTH and his disappearance. However, there seems to be a further threat to BENSTRUP. At 52, he is not of a particularly advanced age, and yet he seems to have acquired a series of chest related medical issues. Until we gain access to his house we cannot be sure what is being done to him, but PROUT has reported on his increasing ill health, most notably a serious and persistent cough. She is aware of his having five visits to the doctor in June during work hours, but the condition is worsening. Meanwhile, she has heard DEVUSHKA tell BENSTRUP to ‘stop complaining like a baby’. Should anything happen to BENSTRUP, DEVUSHKA would be the sole beneficiary. She acquired right of abode on marriage to a British subject, and therefore freedom from immigration control (Immigration Act, 1971).
It must be assumed that someone in Moscow may try to pass a letter or package to WALKER, and anything to avoid this scenario would be welcome. It has been decided that it would be better to keep him ignorant of events.
MOSCOW
CHAPTER 12
Although I’d made a good start on Smith’s Moscow, I started to feel less confident about what he described as I queued up at Sheremetyevo Airport, passport and card visa in my increasingly sweaty hand. There were stern faces and uniforms everywhere, dark green with flashes of red and gold on the shoulder and cap. That’s when it hit me that I was in the Russia of the films, not the version sold by Smith with a pleasant wave through customs. I could have seen the Donald Pleasance from Telefon, or the Angela Lansbury from The Manchurian Candidate, and I wouldn’t have been surprised. Although, they were both English, I realised now. I wondered what the Russians thought about that.
I was called forward, showing my papers, like offerings, to a scowling guard. My suitcase was rummaged through (new pants, luckily), and I found myself in the arrivals hall where a driver was waiting for me with a sign: ‘Waker’. Could have been worse.
Getting into the car, I noticed it was a little chilly and I wished I hadn’t struggled to remove my turtleneck in my plane seat. Mr Attridge wasn’t as reliable as he thought. I’d mention it when I got back to Heathrow, as I seemed destined to always bump into him.
Still outside the car, my driver lit a strong-smelling cigarette and looked up at the heavy grey sky. He opened the passenger door, took some windscreen wipers from the foot well and fixed them onto the car. He didn’t say a word to me, just got in, started it up and drove away from the airport.
It was a longish drive, but the car was big and I didn’t have to think about where I was going. It was relaxing after the rigour of customs. I knew I would be assigned a hotel, but I’d forgotten to ask Suzanne if she knew which one. I felt it was probably written down somewhere, but I didn’t have a choice so I didn’t worry about it.
Although I had read through Smith’s description of the journey in by road, it was different seeing it.
The trees and fields, with the occasional small wooden houses in the drizzle beyond turned into pale concrete shapes studded with dark windows. The buildings were enormous, over twenty storeys, the roads wide and quick, and it made the smaller dark outlines of people look tiny. I didn’t think that London’s roads would ever be so clear, or the cars so quiet. I didn’t hear anyone beep their horn, but there was a lot of lane-changing and acceleration. As we neared the centre of Moscow, the buildings shrank a little, to five or six storeys, and it felt less intimidating.
The car pulled up at a doorway. The driver took my case from the boot, and stood beside my door. I got out. The rain was pouring down now and had found a route down the back of my neck. The driver handed me the case, pointed to the door, and said, ‘Hotel.’
‘Thank you.’
I walked past the doorman, through a cloud of cigarette smoke, and up to the desk where there was a slight young woman, smiling at a man she was talking to. I waited for them to finish. She looked at me and carried on talking.
‘Hello,’ I said.
She looked at me again. ‘Wait.’ She carried on talking, as the man reached out and pulled at a tendril of her curled, brown hair.
The rain dripped from my own hair, and I tried to brush it back with my fingers. She kept talking.
I put my case down and looked around. It was poorly lit although, as far as I could tell, all the lights were on. There was an Inturist booth, written in English letters. At least I could read that. They were the people who would organise everything I needed. An older man came in with a suitcase to keep me company at the desk. The bald patch on top of his head looked wet, and I was surprised he didn’t have a hat. Most men here did. He took his jacket off and gave it a gentle shake. I glanced back at the receptionist who was still ignoring me, and looked towards the entrance but I couldn’t tell if the rain had stopped. There was a couple of red chairs near the doors which had men lounging in them, hats still pulled low over their eyes, and papers in front, smoking but not drinking. The smoke was thick and heady.
The Starlings of Bucharest Page 8