by Jeremy Duns
‘Clearly,’ said Callaghan, who was now foreign secretary but had been briefed about Dark when he had been home secretary in the government’s previous term. ‘Didn’t that information about Dark’s death come from a Russian defector? One you lot swore blind was the genuine article, if I remember correctly. Have the Soviets fooled us all this time, and if so does that mean Dark is still working for them?’
Rachel shot a look at Harmigan, who glared back: he had warned her before the meeting that she was not under any circumstances to mention that she had previously suggested Dark might still be alive, as it would put them under far too much pressure in the room. They were to present a united front.
‘It is indeed the case that we learned of Dark’s supposed death via a document passed to us by an agent-in-place in Moscow. This was a report written by Alexander Proshin, who we believe was Dark’s handler in London for many years. In our view, the most likely explanation for this is that the Russians meant to kill Dark, but Proshin or someone in his team didn’t finish the job properly and his report was an arse-covering exercise – if you’ll pardon my language.’ The men in the room smiled at her tolerantly. ‘It might be that Dark was badly wounded enough that he seemed dead, or that they thought he had no chance of surviving in the open. Whatever the case, it’s now clear that he did survive and made it to Stockholm. Once there, it wouldn’t have been very hard for him to establish a new identity, especially as he speaks fluent Swedish on account of his mother. We’re still looking into this, but it seems that for the last eleven months he’s been working as a manual labourer during the daytime and at a homeless shelter a few nights a week.’
At this, Harry Bradley let out a derisory snort. ‘So he’s got an African girlfriend and works at a soup kitchen – did you trace him through his subscription to the Guardian?’
There was an uncomfortable silence, and Jenkins rolled his eyes. Bradley was a ‘good ol’ boy’, and relished it. A stocky, bear-like man with a crest of dyed black hair, he had disappointed his family by going into the espionage game – his uncle had been a senator and his father had been the ‘Dixiecrat’ candidate for president in 1952. Further back, the family had been staunch segregationists. He was well known for airing controversial views to provoke, and Rachel decided the best way to respond was to pretend it had been a serious question.
‘No, sir, we traced him because he escaped from custody in Finland and Interpol issued a notice as a result. The location rang a bell, so I looked into it.’
Bradley folded his arms, his expression mock-chastened. ‘Smart girl. By the way, how old is Dark? Judging by that first photo you showed us, he looks like he’s getting on some.’
‘He’s just turned fifty.’
Bradley gave a low whistle, milking it. ‘Shit – I’m forty-eight and can barely finish a round of golf.’ He peered over his spectacles at the others, looking for a supporting nod or smile, but nobody gave it. Unbowed, he leaned back in his chair and played with his dossier’s treasury tag, twisting the bright green cord in his fingers. ‘I guess I don’t get the flapdoodle. Dark’s on the most wanted list, but is he a serious threat now?’
Rachel looked at Harmigan, who nodded and turned to Bradley.
‘Harry, this isn’t a “flapdoodle”. In my considered view’ – he placed enough emphasis on ‘considered’ to remind Bradley and the rest of the room of his own war record – ‘this man is the worst traitor this country’s ever had. His actions make those of Philby, Blake and the rest of them seem like . . . well, a child stealing candy from a baby would perhaps be the simile in your idiom. He was head of our Soviet Section and, for a brief time, deputy Chief. As far as we can determine, he betrayed every secret he came across between 1945 and 1969 – and I’m afraid he had full Five Eyes clearance.’
‘I heard enough about all that when he went missing. But that was six years ago, Sandy. It’s not like he can tell Moscow any more secrets than he already has.’
‘No, but if the Russians get hold of him again they might decide to go public this time. The papers would jump with joy, and we’d all be up against it.’ He looked around the room, and waited as everyone imagined the headlines if Dark’s treason was unveiled at a press conference in Moscow, and the resulting pressure they would all be under to explain it. ‘There’s also a question of justice,’ he went on. ‘Dark’s actions led to the deaths of dozens of our agents, assets and officers – in some cases he did the deed himself, at point-blank range. We’re very keen to see him brought to account, and I trust your government is, too.’ A facsimile of a smile flickered across his face, then vanished. ‘We also still don’t know precisely what he betrayed. Miss Gold wrote an excellent damage assessment at the time, which we’ve included in your dossiers for reference, but it would be more useful to hear it from the horse’s mouth. Unfortunately, we’re not the only ones interested in that. Dark is a walking intelligence gold mine. Any foreign government or group that manages to get hold of him might be able to squeeze him for everything he knows. That could be Peking, the Cambodians, Middle East terrorists . . . you name it. We have to stop that from happening at all costs. The reality is that every moment he’s out there creates the potential for another catastrophe.’
Bradley frowned. ‘Okay. So bring the bastard in. You have photographs of him, Interpol’s sent out an alert. Presumably you can just arrest him the moment he tries to leave Finland.’
Harmigan steepled his hands together and smiled benignly, his long face taking on an almost priestly demeanour. ‘The Finns already took him into custody and he escaped, knocking out the head of their coastguard in the process. He’s probably already left the country by now. The border controls on the boats there are practically nonexistent – you just need to buy a ticket. Our best guess is he’ll have boarded a ferry back to Stockholm, as that’s the direction the kidnappers took, and one of my men in the city is making contact with Swedish intelligence as we speak. We hope to pick him up soon, but I’d caution against complacency when it comes to this man. We don’t know where he is, what identity he’s using or what emergency measures he has in place. He’s successfully evaded the attentions of every major intelligence agency in the world for six years, and has three decades of experience as an operative and officer. He’s highly trained in escape and evasion techniques and has even worked as an assassin, killing an exceptionally unpleasant individual in Hong Kong. And as Miss Gold has just explained, he broke out of the Lubyanka, which as you know is a prison within the KGB’s own headquarters.’
Bradley’s lips twitched, but he fell silent. Harmigan raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘Any more for any more?’ Rachel was considering what he had just said when she realised there was a stirring to her left, and that the prime minister was addressing her.
‘Miss Gold, or Sandy if this isn’t Miss Gold’s domain, can you explain to us how the Swedes didn’t realise Dark was living there? They have checks, don’t they – identity cards and so on? My impression’s always been that it’s a fairly enlightened democracy.’
His tone was friendly, the Yorkshire lilt to his accent more obvious than on the television or radio. She smiled. ‘A little too enlightened, perhaps, Prime Minister. You’re right, of course, but their “open society” model cuts both ways, and has unfortunately been rather useful to terrorists. So far this year they’ve expelled two Japanese Red Army members, and you may remember there was a group who staged a siege at the West German embassy in Stockholm in April and killed two diplomats in the process. Associated with the Baader-Meinhof gang, we think. It also looks like members of Black September were hiding out in the city before the Munich massacre.’
Wilson took a long draw of his cigar, then tipped it against a glass ashtray on the table. ‘I see. Have the Swedes been turning a blind eye to all this, or are they incompetent in some way?’
Harmigan stepped in again. ‘I suspect a little of the latter, Prime Minister. There has been talk of Soviet infiltration of Swedish intelligence in the l
ast couple of years, but to date it seems to be just that. And as I understand it from colleagues in Stockholm, while they have some knowledge of these terrorists and radicals, in practice they are extremely hard to pin down. Some operate under cover at legitimate organisations while others simply lie low in flats in the city, either having cash funnelled to them through a network of contacts in the region or by robbing the occasional bank to top up funds.’
Wilson leaned back, staring at the ceiling. ‘Could one of these groups have helped Dark?’ He sat up again and turned to Rachel, fixing her with his gaze. She froze for a moment before regaining her composure.
‘That’s certainly a possibility, Prime Minister. It could be that he became involved with a terrorist group and they’ve turned on him and kidnapped his family, or something along those lines. The ballistics experts in Finland have told us that the kidnappers used nine-millimetre Makarov cartridges, which are standard issue within the Warsaw Pact, but also a US Army-issue M26 hand grenade. Those are more commonly known as “fragmentation” grenades, because an indented liner fragments when they explode. Baader-Meinhof stole a large cache of them from the American base in Miesau four years ago, and we know the Japanese Red Army used them when they held up the French embassy in the Hague in September.’
‘Well, that narrows things down,’ said Bradley. ‘We’re dealing with a radical leftist group who hate America, right?’
Rachel tried not to react to the naked self-interest and smiled politely instead. ‘It’s really too early to say. It might be that, or even a directly Soviet-sponsored cell, but a group on the right could also have captured some of the Miesau stock and used it to frame leftists, for example.’
Harmigan broke in again. ‘Oh, I think that’s a little far-fetched. Let’s not start seeing elaborate conspiracies until we have a little more to go on.’
She bristled at the public dressing-down.
‘Just keeping an open mind, sir,’ she said, with a tight smile.
Wilson appeared not to have noticed the momentary crack in their united front.
‘All right, Miss Gold, Sandy – I’ve heard enough. What is it you want from us, and from me in particular?’
Harmigan was waiting for the opening, and pushed a sheet of paper forward on the table. ‘I’d like you to sign this, Prime Minister. We need to set up a security cordon very quickly, but we’re going to have to persuade Interpol and everyone else to go along with it. Your signature would speed up the process considerably.’
Wilson reached for the form. He read it in silence, his brow furrowed, then he peered up at Harmigan.
‘I appreciate all you’ve just said, Sandy, but isn’t this still rather over the top for one man? You’re asking for troops with automatic weapons at every customs post, port and airport across the whole of Western Europe.’
Harmigan nodded. ‘If you remember, last year you authorised the deployment of four hundred troops to Heathrow, backed by tanks. Security was tightened in airports all around the world.’
‘Yes, but that was because we were worried there would be terrorist attacks.’
‘Prime Minister, Paul Dark is a terrorist. Six years ago, he murdered the Chief of my agency in cold blood. We have the ballistic evidence to prove it. He was then directly implicated in the assassination of two further Chiefs. He also tried to assassinate you.’
Wilson’s head jerked up. ‘What did you just say?’
‘I’m afraid so. It was on your visit to Nigeria in 1969. I’ve brought the dossier on the incident.’
He passed a buff folder to Wilson, who flicked it open. Three minutes and some seconds later, he closed it and turned back to Harmigan.
‘Pardon my French, Sandy, but why the fuck am I only being told about this now?’
The atmosphere in the room had now changed – everyone was finding pieces of lint on their trousers or a spot on the ceiling to examine. Harmigan smoothed his hands over the leather sleeve of his chair. ‘Well, sir, because Dark was initially exonerated of any involvement in this by my predecessor. I did consider raising the topic with you at our first meeting, but due to the passage of time and the importance of establishing trust I felt it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.’
‘And sleeping traitors! Lying to my face seems a mighty peculiar way of establishing trust. You carefully skimmed past all of this, as I remember it. There had simply been some “suspicions” about him, you told me. You also told me he was dead. Now I learn he was some sort of KGB assassin intent on killing everyone in Britain, me included, and that he’s alive and kicking and perhaps getting ready to do it all over again. It’s a bit much, Sandy, really.’ He threw the dossier onto the table and pointed at it scornfully. ‘Did you brief Heath about this?’
‘No, sir. I didn’t feel it was relevant.’
‘Oh. Did he try to kill him, too, then?’
‘No, sir.’ Harmigan bowed his head. ‘I understand the frustration, sir, and I apologise for not disclosing this earlier. But we really do need to find this man at once.’
Wilson took a sip of water from a glass in front of him, then set it down.
‘What about the Russians, and the Chinese? They’re hardly going to miss it if every airport and harbour in Western Europe reinforces its security, and they’ll want to know why.’
‘I’m afraid that can’t be helped, sir. We’re just going to have to get hold of him before they do.’
Wilson took a pen from his pocket.
‘Well, make bloody sure you do.’ He signed the paper with an angry flourish and handed it back to Harmigan, then levered himself up from his chair. ‘Thank you for the briefing – I’m afraid you’ll have to finish without me as I have another appointment I must attend.’ He nodded curtly at the figures around the table. ‘Gentlemen. Miss Gold.’
He signalled his aide by the door, and walked out.
‘Drink?’
‘Thanks. A small one.’
Harmigan strode to the glass-topped trolley and surveyed the collection of bottles.
‘Scotch do you? I’ve a twelve-year-old Laphroaig if you fancy.’
‘Perfect. No ice, your way.’
Harmigan smiled to himself. For all the supposed pedigree of his family, the man was a philistine. He took out the bottle, selected one of the stippled glasses from the tray beneath and poured a measure into it, then walked over to the wingback chair and handed it to Harry Bradley.
‘Went well, I thought.’
The American took the glass and nodded his thanks. ‘Yeah, though Wilson didn’t seem to appreciate that file you gave him too much.’
‘No, but it did the trick. Desperate times call for desperate measures.’
‘Sure.’ Bradley grunted. ‘Trust Dark to take up with a nigger.’
‘Looked rather pretty, from the pictures.’
‘Well, he always had a way with women, let’s give the fucker that.’ Bradley took a sip of the whisky and glanced around the massive office. The neighbourhood was a dump, but Harmigan had certainly made the most of his penthouse suite. He set the glass on the small table next to him and leaned forward in his chair.
‘Let’s not beat about the bush, Sandy. Your men royally screwed up here, and we need to get things back on track right away.’
Harmigan nodded. ‘I have it in hand.’
In hand, thought Bradley. It was like stepping back in time with these guys.
‘How, exactly?’
‘The cell leader has stayed in Stockholm and is now acting under my personal instructions to find and finish Dark.’
Bradley smiled at the euphemism. ‘And you’re sure he’s still up to it?’
‘Yes.’
Bradley turned and picked his glass up again. ‘He’d damn well better be. By the way, what’s the deal with the Gold girl?’
Harmigan froze for a fraction of a second, then recovered and looked across at him with a perfectly level expression. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean all that shit she spouted about
framing leftists. A little close to the knuckle, wasn’t it?’
Harmigan felt his heart return to its normal rate.
‘That wasn’t my doing.’
Bradley raised his eyebrows over the rim of the glass. ‘You mean you haven’t brought her into this? Don’t you trust her?’
‘I trust her to do her job, yes – she’s an exceptional analyst. But this isn’t for her. The fewer people who know the better.’
Bradley leaned back in the chair and felt the warm glow of the whisky radiate through his chest. ‘I hope she isn’t too exceptional an analyst, Sandy.’
‘It’s all under control.’
Chapter 34
Saturday, 23 August 1975, Salisbury, Rhodesia
‘I’m having second thoughts about the South Africans’ plan for a conference.’ Ian Smith looked at the men around the table. ‘The sticking point, as most of you know, has been that several of the guerrilla leaders fear they’ll be arrested if they re-enter Rhodesia. Rightly, I might add!’
There were chuckles around the room.
‘Their new proposal is for us to meet in a South African Railways’ dining car at Vic Falls. The carriage would be positioned very precisely on the bridge so that their delegation would be seated on the Zambian side of the border and we’d be on this side.’
There was a murmur around the table. ‘We could use the opportunity to bring the lot back over here and apply the screws,’ said Shaw. ‘We might learn a thing or two.’
Smith frowned, but there was a hint of a smile behind it. ‘That’s not especially helpful, Willard. Tempting, but rather counter-productive in the longer term, I suspect.’
‘What does Kaunda make of this?’ asked Riggs, head of Special Branch.
‘He’s keen,’ said Smith. ‘The idea is that he would attend with Vorster, both of them acting as observers.’ He pursed his lips in a small, cynical smile. ‘Nkomo and Sithole would have a few of their people with them. Mugabe has refused to take part, claiming the others are selling out, but I don’t think we need shed any tears over that. Zambia, Botswana and Tanzania would send a few delegates for form’s sake, and BOSS would oversee the security arrangements. I don’t object to any of it on principle, actually: it’s an ingenious solution, and just the sort of dramatic stunt the international press eats up. I naturally want any summit we participate in to receive as much attention as possible. But my feelings haven’t really changed on the futility of talks right now. Vorster is threatening to withdraw more material support, but I reckon we can manage pretty well even if he does – and as I’ve said before, I don’t take kindly to being blackmailed.’ He leaned back in his chair and lifted his hands towards the others. ‘But I’d like your views on this.’