by Ted Allbeury
“He thought he might be criticised for taking too many journeys to Warsaw Pact countries.”
“He could have avoided such criticism by not going. So why was it so important to him?”
For long moments Grushko was silent and then he said, “If I tell you everything do you promise that I’ll not be drawn into it and nothing will go back to Moscow?”
“If you co-operate—really co-operate. We’re prepared to let you carry on as a journalist for six months. After six months you will tell Moscow that you think that you’re under surveillance and you think you should be withdrawn back to Moscow. Tell them that you’ve had enough of the West and you want to be back in Moscow.”
Grushko seemed to be considering what Shapiro had said and then he took a deep breath. “Maguire-Barton gave me profiles of Members of Parliament. Their lifestyles, their finances, their sexual habits—the usual stuff. And he gave me reports on his colleagues’ attitudes to the Soviet Union. Who might be influenced or bribed with money or sex. Nothing more than that. I passed the information to the embassy KGB so that certain MPs could be recruited as agents of influence.”
“Tell me about Lonsdale.”
The Russian looked back at Shapiro, shaking his head. “I daren’t. If I talked about him they’d know that your people could only have got it from me.”
Shapiro said quietly, “We arrested Lonsdale today. About an hour ago. We’ve arrested his network too.”
Shapiro could see that the news of Lonsdale’s arrest had really shaken the Russian. It was best to let the news sink in.
“When were you recruited to the KGB?”
“I never was.”
“Was it the GRU then?”
“I was never a member of either organisation. I genuinely am a journalist.” He shrugged. “But as you know we get used by the KGB for odd jobs from time to time.”
“What did you think of Maguire-Barton?”
“As a man you mean?”
“Yes.”
“He’s what we call in Moscow “a skater.” A chap who just skates on the surface. Likes to be seen around but no real interest in anything. He’s a kind of playboy. A political playboy. Likes publicity. Likes women of course. Especially if they help in getting his picture in the papers. He’d like to be a TV personality doing chat-shows. Recognised wherever he goes but not needing any real talent. I think he knows he’s second-rate. He’s not really ambitious. Just wants the good life. Or what he thinks is the good life.”
“What kind of money did he take?”
“A few thousands a year. Not a lot.” He shrugged and smiled. “He didn’t do a lot either.”
“Did you get receipts for the money?”
“Yes. Moscow wanted to have a hold on him.”
“Have you got them?”
“I’ve got photocopies.”
Shapiro looked at Grushko’s face. “Anything else you think I should know?”
“You’re not bluffing about Lonsdale being arrested?”
“No way.”
“What were the names of the others who were taken?”
“Do you know their names?”
“Yes.”
“OK. They were Harry Houghton, Ethel Gee and a married couple named Kroger.”
Grushko sighed. “Lonsdale is KGB. I’m not sure what his rank is but it’s senior, major or lieutenant-colonel.”
“What was your role in the network?”
“I was just a post-box for his material. He’s an illegal so he has no contact with our embassy. Not even a KGB contact. He was mainly responsible for getting naval information.”
“What kind of naval information?”
“I’ve no idea. I should imagine anything he could get.”
“Who ordered you to co-operate with him?”
“Our embassy in Ottawa briefed me. Told me to assist him in any way he needed so long as it didn’t compromise my position here.”
“And what did you do for him?”
“I took his material and passed it to the embassy and they forwarded it in the diplomatic bag. They thought it was mine. I arranged meeting places and drops.” He shrugged, “That’s about it.”
“Tell me about him. What sort of fellow is he?”
“He’s an arrogant bastard. Sees himself as the master-spy. The spider at the centre of the web and all that rubbish.” When Shapiro smiled Grushko said, “I mean it. I got the impression that Moscow didn’t like him much either, so he must have been useful. Women go for him. God knows why. He’s an ugly bastard. You’ve only got to look at his eyes and you’d know that he’s a crook. He was a born capitalist. Fancied himself as a tycoon with his tatty little business. He told Moscow it was just as a cover for his movements but it wasn’t. He told me he was aiming to be a millionaire. He’d have probably ended up staying here permanently if you hadn’t spotted him.”
“Who’s your girlfriend? The dark-haired one. Lives in Cardiff.”
“I don’t know who you mean. I’ve never been to Cardiff nor had a girlfriend who lives there.”
“You’ve been seen with her and she’s been to embassy receptions with both you and Maguire-Barton.”
Grushko smiled. “I know who you mean now. Do trains to Cardiff stop at Birmingham?”
“Most of them do.”
“She’s the girlfriend of a Party member who lives in Birmingham. She brings material from him for me and takes instructions back to him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Holloway. Jake Holloway.”
“And what does he do?”
“He’s a left-wing activist, a lecturer in Birmingham at the university.”
“Tell me about him.”
“I don’t remember much about him. He’s a friend of Maguire-Barton. He put me in touch with Holloway. Said he was a Marxist activist. I had brief contacts with a lot of these grassroots types.”
“What sort of contacts?”
Grushko shrugged. “Sometimes they needed aid but usually they wanted to talk politics.” He half-smiled. “Wanting to tell Moscow how to run our foreign policy.” He paused. “Was this fellow bald with a beard?”
“Yes.”
“I remember him now. He saw himself as the leader of the revolution in Britain. Used to give me messages to Gromyko and the Politburo. When was the revolution going to start? Had they forgotten Marx’s article in 1855 about tearing off the mask of the bourgeoisie in England? The usual crap these people go in for.”
“Did you pass money to Holloway?”
“I don’t remember. I never met one of them who didn’t want funds for some wildcat scheme. I gave them small amounts and just kept them happy.”
“Is that all Moscow wanted?”
“Moscow was happy to keep them on the boil. They had a nuisance value.”
“Does Moscow give you leads to these people?”
“With people like Maguire-Barton—yes. But people like Holloway they get in touch with the embassy and if they’re not interested they pass them on to me.”
“What do they expect from you?”
Grushko sighed. “Free trips to Moscow, cash, moral support—whatever feeds their little power struggles.”
“Would Lonsdale be interested in coming over to us?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know him all that well. I shouldn’t think so. He’s got a family. And he’d rather play the hero. If you put him in court he’ll love it. Every minute of it.”
“Did he have much contact with Maguire-Barton?”
“I’m not sure. They’re rather like one another in a lot of ways so they disliked each other.”
Shapiro said quietly, “Find a reason for going back to Moscow in about six months, Grigor. You’ll be quite safe. There’ll be no leaks from us. But no more silly games. Stick to the journalism.”
“You give me your word there will be no leaks?”
“Absolutely. Only two other people in SIS even know that I’ve been here. There will be no written record.”
<
br /> “And you’ve not bugged this place?”
Shapiro smiled. “Grigor. What a thing to say.”
Sir Peter interviewed Maguire-Barton personally. There was just about enough on the MP for the DPP to mount a court case against him but it was not much more than a long list of contacts with suspect people. Courts didn’t like circumstantial evidence in treason charges unless there was at least an attempt to provide actual hard evidence of information being passed that could be considered to endanger the security of the State. A nod from certain quarters of the Establishment was as good as a wink even in the High Court, but there had to be some underlying evidence especially when the MP concerned was a member of the Labour Party, whose left-wing militants would claim that one of the brotherhood was being deliberately harassed in carrying out his normal parliamentary duties.
It was an occasion for the black jacket, pin-striped trousers and a black tie. And the panelled office.
Maguire-Barton was tall, with a quite handsome face, sallow complexion, soft brown eyes and considerable charm. The kind of charm that most men instinctively dislike. Professional and indiscriminate charm. He was mentioned frequently in the gossip diaries, generally as the escort of some minor film actress or debutante. Like any other minor public figure who was unmarried, there were rumours of homosexuality and hints of unprintable predilections, but nobody had ever provided even the faintest substance for such rumours. He was adored by the female contingent who dominated his constituency party and disliked and envied by most of his colleagues in the House of Commons. Disliked by Tories as a social-climbing, self-publicising nonentity, and envied by his fellow Labour MPs for much the same reasons. For a short period he had been the opposition’s spokesman on trade and industry but his ill-concealed indifference to the subject had made it a short-lived appointment.
Sir Peter had long years of experience in putting quite senior civil servants and administrators in their place. And he knew from experience that it was the lightweights who were always the most difficult to deal with. The heavyweights mounted a well-argued defence that he was well capable of destroying piece by piece, but lightweights blustered or were indifferent because they didn’t know any other way.
When Maguire-Barton was shown in Sir Peter walked from his desk to greet him and show him to the armchair by the marble fireplace. He settled himself comfortably into its twin and looked across at the MP, taking an instant dislike to the brown suit and the flamboyant MCC tie.
“Mr. Maguire-Barton. I thought we should have a chat.”
Maguire-Barton smiled. “Honoured, I’m sure. Please make it Jack. I hate formality.”
“Don’t we all. But although this is an informal chat it nevertheless has some formal aspects.”
“Sounds ominous, Sir Peter.”
“Let’s talk first about Mr. Grushko.”
“Mr. Grushko?”
“Yes. Grigor Grushko. A Russian. Calls himself a freelance journalist.”
“Ah yes. A very talented man. And with considerable influence in Moscow I understand.”
“You see a lot of him, don’t you?”
“I see him from time to time, as I do a number of members of the press.”
“What other members of the press have you met a couple of dozen times in the last six months?”
The spaniel eyes looked at Sir Peter for several moments before Maguire-Barton replied. “Are you telling me that I’ve been watched?” he said softly.
“Observed, let us say.”
“You mean that your people have been checking on the comings and goings of a Member of Parliament?”
“Yes. We keep a protective eye on any MP who has regular contacts with Russians or any other Warsaw Pact people.”
“Have you received any authorisation to do this in my case?”
“I don’t need any authorisation to do this, it’s part of our standard practice.”
“You mean you waste your people’s time on watching an MP who in the normal course of his duties happens to meet foreigners?”
“Depends on the foreigners, Mr. Maguire-Barton. And on what they’re up to.”
“I shall have to report this to the Prime Minister and I shall certainly ask questions in the House.”
“The Foreign Secretary and the PM already know that I’m interviewing you. And why. And you would be very unwise to raise any questions in Parliament.”
“It happens to be one of my privileges as an MP, Sir Peter.”
“Are you suggesting that regular meetings, both public and private, with a Russian who is a close working associate and collaborator of a senior officer of the KGB in this country, are the privilege of a man just because he’s an MP? And that such meetings should be treated differently than they would be if they were by a member of the public?”
“Who says that he’s anything to do with the KGB?”
“I say so, Mr. Maguire-Barton.”
“You’d have to prove that.”
“I wouldn’t. My opinion would be enough.”
“Not for me it wouldn’t.”
Sir Peter smiled acidly and said quietly, “Grushko has already been interviewed. We should be happy to publish the statement he’s made concerning his relationship with you.”
“The word of a Russian agent against the word of an MP?”
“You could hardly cast doubt on the veracity of a man with whom you admit that you had such a close and continuous relationship.” He paused. “And why do you assume that you would want to cast doubt on what he has told us?”
“When was he arrested?”
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss such matters with you.” He paused. “Then there is your relationship with a Mr. Holloway, a lecturer at Aston University.”
“And what’s wrong with that may I ask?”
Sir Peter saw the relief in Maguire-Barton’s eyes at the change of direction of the interview. “Mr. Holloway is also a contact of Mr. Grushko and has received certain benefits from him that would take a lot of explaining.”
“What kind of benefits?”
“Much the same as you received yourself from the same source. All-expenses-paid trips to Warsaw Pact capitals for instance.”
“I was a member of a parliamentary group.”
“You’ve had four trips to Prague, one to Warsaw, two to Sofia and two to Moscow which were all private trips. And on at least three of those trips you used a passport that was not your own.”
“Whose passport was it?”
“That would be given in evidence if the matter came before a court. It’s hard evidence, on the record.”
Maguire-Barton frowned. “What court case are you on about?”
“Mr. Maguire-Barton, you don’t seem to appreciate that you might well be prosecuted for endangering the security of the State.”
“But that’s preposterous.”
Now that it had got to the bluster and indignation stage Sir Peter had had enough.
“Preposterous or not, that is what will inevitably happen if you don’t heed my advice.”
“What advice, for Christ’s sake, I haven’t had any advice.”
“I’m about to give you my advice, Maguire-Barton. It would be to your benefit if you not only listened, but listened carefully.”
“Don’t sermonise—just say what you’ve got to say.”
For long moments Sir Peter looked at Maguire-Barton without speaking and he was aware of the white knuckles and the small vein that had come up on Maguire-Barton’s forehead.
“I’m not sure in the light of your attitude that I want to give you advice. Maybe you’ll learn quicker the hard way.”
“OK,” Maguire-Barton said quietly. “Tell me what you want.”
“First of all I want you to understand that a record of our discussion will go on the files. I told you that this meeting had its formalities. That’s one of them.” He paused. “My advice is quite simple, Maguire-Barton. Stop playing games with Moscow. No more contacts with them, official or unoffic
ial. And stop assisting or advising the people or groups who are trying to infiltrate your own Party.”
Maguire-Barton shrugged. “And what if I don’t go along with your advice?”
“Then we’ll throw the book at you.”
“You haven’t got a shred of evidence that a court would accept.”
“I won’t comment on that piece of wishful thinking but you might care to reflect on what your position will be in the Party and outside when what we have is pinned on you in open court.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Yes.”
“In that case …”
Sir Peter held up his hand. “Don’t go on, Maguire-Barton. I’ve had enough of you. But I warn you. One wrong move and your feet won’t touch, you’ll be at the Old Bailey before you can draw breath. And whether you’re found guilty or not you’ll be finished, in public life and in private too.”
“You bastards should be controlled and I’ll bloody well see that you are.”
Sir Peter stood up and said quietly, “Don’t tempt me, Maguire-Barton. You’ve had your little fling. Don’t push your luck.” He walked to the desk and pressed one of the buttons on a panel. One of the juniors came in almost immediately.
“Jonathan, please show Mr. Maguire-Barton the way out.” He turned to Maguire-Barton and said, “Thank you so much for your co-operation Mr. Maguire-Barton. You’ve been a great help.”
Maguire-Barton opened his mouth to speak, saw the look on Sir Peter’s face, and then changed his mind, heading for the open door.
26
Macleod and Shapiro had always got on well despite the rifts that sometimes disturbed the various levels of relationships between SIS and the CIA. Macleod was in his middle-fifties, experienced, a good negotiator and always amiable and relaxed. And always used the opportunity of the liaison meeting to get Shapiro’s views on current CIA problems concerning the KGB. On several occasions tentative offers had been made to the Brit to recruit him to the CIA. But Shapiro knew that his almost unlimited brief on combating the KGB in SIS would not be possible in the much larger organisation in the USA. In London he was three thousand miles nearer the Soviet Union. They were almost at the end of the agenda of their routine Washington liaison meeting when Macleod raised the point under “Any other business.”