Quiller Meridian q-17

by Adam Hall

  Pulled open the door of the place and got hit by the reek of black tobacco smoke and straight spirits and human sweat, the air hot against my face after the freezing temperature outside. When my eyes adjusted to the smoke haze I saw a man sitting alone in a corner on the far side of the room from the bar, a pair of gloves on the table, different shades of brown. He saw me come in but I looked past him and went over to the end of the long teakwood counter and ordered a vodka straight up, pulling out a stool and settling down to check everybody in the place, one by one.

  I took fifteen minutes, not hurrying, because I didn't know Captain Vadim Rusakov any better than he knew me and even though he'd shot that general down he could still be working undercover for the Podpolia or Pamyat, the extreme nationalist right, and could have brought people in here to look me over. Or he could have picked up ticks in the army barracks and brought them here without knowing it, and I just wanted to talk to him alone, wasn't in the mood for a party.

  Bloody London.

  Rusakov was the only hope I'd got of putting Meridian back on track and bringing it home. But he might know nothing, nothing at all.

  Six or seven tarts, two of them Chinese, they brought them here regularly from Beijing and Vladivostok on the Rossiya, one of the taxi-drivers had told me. The other women were jealous of them, of their slight and flawless looks, blowing smoke over them from their lipstick-reddened cigarettes to loud laughter from the men.

  A huddle of Russian naval officers round an illegal crap game, three sailors drinking themselves under a table near the door, one of them with a trouser-leg soaked. A lone militiaman in uniform, too far gone to be on duty unless someone had slipped him a mickey for a giggle. Two dogs, one of them with a broken leg, snuffling and tearing at something unholy under one of the tables.

  I poured the shot of vodka down the leg of the bar stool and put the glass back on the counter and left the change and made my way close to the walls until I came up on the table where the odd gloves were lying and pulled out the chair opposite Captain Rusakov and sat down and saw the chalk moving across the board for Meridian in the basement in Whitehall, Executive reports possible breakthrough, is now in contact with valuable informer.

  Not really. There's just a chance, that's all, the last we've got. But remember, we're making progress.

  Chapter 20: VADIM

  'I saw you come in,' Rusakov said, 'some time ago. Why didn't you come straight over here?'

  'You get served quicker, at the bar.'

  He gave a slow blink, perhaps of patience, then went on watching me with a gaze as steady as a beam of light. He had green eyes, like his sister, but you didn't notice that so much as the concentration in them. He'd be good at interrogation, Rusakov, may have done a bit of that.

  'Where is Tanya?' he asked me.

  'Want to talk to her?'

  His eyes lit. 'Yes.'

  I took him outside and along to the phone booth and dialled the number for the Hotel Karasevo with my back to Rusakov and got Ferris on the line and asked for Tanya. Then I waited outside the booth, watching the lights of the ambulance dimming in the distance through the river fog.

  Ferris allowed them a minute or not much more; he would have briefed her not to tell her brother where she was, since it was the nerve-centre for Meridian, and the longer she spoke to him the more easily she might let something slip.

  When he came out of the booth Rusakov stood in front of me with his feet together, advanced one pace, gave me a bear hug, retreated one pace and stood at ease.

  'You gave her freedom,' he said.' I cannot express my gratitude.'

  He'd put on a seaman's clothes, as I'd asked him to, but there was no disguising Captain Vadim Rusakov of the Russian Army.

  'She'll be all right,' I said.'She's in good hands.' We walked back to the bar.

  'She wouldn't tell me where she is.'

  'No, that wouldn't be a good thing. The line could have been bugged, you see.'

  'Then you will tell me.'

  'I'd rather you didn't ask. She's safe there, that's all you need to know, and it shouldn't be all that long before you can see her.' I gave it a beat. 'It depends on how much you're willing to help me.'

  He pulled open the door of the bar and stood back, boots neatly together. 'As much as I am able, of course.' But there was a note of wariness in it. He didn't like my not trusting him with his sister's location, didn't like to think she was in a place where the lines might be bugged.

  Back at the table we ordered bowls of gruel and some bread, and I listened to Rusakov until it arrived, because I wanted as much of his background as I could get without asking questions, and his attitudes towards the present-day regime in Russia. But first he had to unload some of his guilt.

  'I should never have involved her in such a thing. She alerted me that he was coming to Novosibirsk, fine, I should have taken the matter from there, and told her to remain in Moscow.'

  'It wouldn't have been easy,' I said, 'to get that man to an appointed place without Tanya's help, and to have him identified on the spot.'

  'I should have thought of another way.'

  One of the dogs let out a yelp, been kicked, I suppose. 'She wanted to be there, Vadim. She had a lot of rage in her.'

  He levelled his gaze at me for a moment. 'I didn't think of that.'

  'They're not meant to have any rage, are they, it might frighten the males of the species. But it's there, all right.'

  He talked about his father, showed me the photograph of a man in a badly-fitting black suit, some kind of decoration in the lapel, the same penetrating gaze aimed at the camera, no smile. 'He was an individualist, so they shot him. I am an individualist, but no one will be shooting me because I now live in the society for whose ideals he gave his life.'

  It wasn't the first time he'd said that. He'd rehearsed it until he'd got it right, perhaps because he knew his father would have approved of the formality. There was more room for pride now in Vadim Rusakov's heart, since he'd spent his rage in the rattle of shot last night when General Gennadi Velichko had slid onto the snow with his back leaving streaks of blood on the wall behind him.

  'This new society,' I asked Rusakov when the food arrived, 'is it going smoothly, here in Novosibirsk?'

  He looked surprised, then said, 'Of course, you only arrived here yesterday. Yes, the new society is going smoothly, on the surface. A few growls here and there, a few complaints, but no food riots, no looting of shops, no angry mobs yelling outside the government offices.' He lined up the yellow plastic salt-cellar with the bottle of sauce, doing it carefully. 'But under the surface there is a great deal of tension, you know, among the people.'

  'And among the soldiers?'

  'Among the soldiers the tension is deeper, since soldiers are not allowed to think. But it is there.' His eyes suddenly on mine,' there have been cases of unexplained deaths. I have investigated some of them. The dead were all devoted democrats, rabid, one could say, sick and fed up with the way the army has gone down and down under the Communists, until drugs, drunkenness and desertions have become the order of the day, reflecting the awareness of the military that they've lost the respect of the people in the streets.' Spreading one hand, 'Of course, the new democracy has brought new problems. The army is now forced to grow its own vegetables and milk its own goats, since food is scarce.'

  'These deaths,' I said. 'Who's doing the killing?'

  'You cannot guess?'

  "The Podpolia?'

  'But of course the Podpolia.' He lowered his voice. "There are the two factions at my barracks, just as there are in the streets — those who are ready to tighten their belts and support Yeltsin and his programme, and the core of die-hard Communists who want the old order back.'

  'How strong are they?'

  'They are not strong in numbers, but they are there, working in secrecy.'

  I'd got enough background, and broke some bread and started on the gruel. It was still hot, salty and had a flavour I didn't recognize, di
dn't particularly like. Dogs were at a premium this winter in Novosibirsk, if they had any flesh on them; I avoided the lumps of meat. 'Vadim, 'I said, 'your sister told the militia only that she came to Novosibirsk to see you, as she always does when she gets leave. They can't ask her any more questions now, but they'll be pushing on with their enquiries, especially in Moscow. They hadn't known, when she was at their headquarters, that her father — and your father — was ordered shot by General Velichko four years ago, or they certainly wouldn't have released her at my request. As soon as — '

  'At your request…' he said slowly, his eyes boring into me. 'You have the power to «request» such a thing from the militia?'

  I broke more bread, leaving the gruel. 'I haven't the power to request anything of anyone, but I wanted your sister out of there, so I had to devise the means. My next concern is yourself. As soon as they dig up the information that you and Tanya bore a grudge against General Velichko, they'll ask the army to arrest you and hand you over. This could happen when you go back to your unit; the military police may well be waiting for you outside your quarters.'

  His eyes deepened, hardened. 'I see.' then he said, 'And Tanya?' I liked him for that.

  'She's in the safest possible hands, don't let it worry you.'

  I assumed I could say that, for the moment. But someone had killed Roach, the support man, and Roach might have gone too close to the Hotel Karasevo, nerve-centre for Meridian, and at any given time Ferris himself, its director in the field, could need a safe-house, and urgently. It might have happened before in the annals of the Bureau, that the DIF of some mission had got blown, but it's never happened when I've been in the field. The DIF is sacrosanct, untouchable, he has to be. He holds the lifeline for his executive.

  'You are in,' Rusakov was saying, 'some kind of — ' he spread his hand — 'intelligence branch? The MPS?'

  'Not the MPS. I operate pretty well on my own, and you should know that. If you find yourself in trouble, I've no authority of any kind to pull you out of it.' I looked across at the door of the bar as a man came in.' You should also know, Vadim, that at this moment I'm the subject of an intense manhunt by the militia, the police and the KGB — or the MPS, as we're now meant to call them.'

  His eyes deepened again; I'd seen the same thing in Tanya.

  'So,' he said with a brief nod.

  The man looked all right, merchant seaman's rig and cap, bundling across to the bar, freezing, desperate for a rum grog. I looked at Rusakov again. 'I think I told you,didn't I, that I saw your action of last night as a matter of summary justice, when Tanya told me what Velichko had done to you both.' I was kneading a small piece of the dark, heavy bread, moulding it into a disc with a point on each side, like a spinning top. 'Your quarrel,' I said, 'was with General Velichko, and not — can I assume? — with the other two, Generals Chudin and Kovalenko. But do you happen to know if they're still here in Novosibirsk?'

  I felt time slowing down.

  How long have we got? I'd asked Ferris in that rat-infested shed where we'd made our rendezvous. Have I got any kind of a deadline?

  He'd thought it out, taken his time. Yes, we have a deadline. It's zero.

  The generals had been Zymyanin's target for information. That was what he'd told me before he was killed. They'd arrived in Novosibirsk and gone to ground and we had to find them, take up from where Zymyanin had left off. That was still the focus of Meridian: Zymyanin had believed that the generals had information of a kind that would trigger the alarm bells throughout the intelligence organizations of both hemispheres. We needed that information.

  We don't know — Ferris — that they might not have already finished what they came here to do. They could be leavingNovosibirsk tomorrow morning. Or tonight.

  They might have gone by now, and I waited to hear Rusakov say precisely that. He didn't.

  'General Chudin and General Kovalenko are at present the guests of my commanding officer.'

  I span my little top, and watched Meridian start running again.

  'Oh really,' I said.' the official guests?'

  'No. Not official.'

  'But it's known to all ranks that they're at the camp?'

  'It would be difficult to conceal it. Rumours are the lifeblood of the barracks. But nothing official has been posted in Daily Routine Orders or anywhere else.'

  'You've seen them? The generals?'

  'Only once, and at a distance, crossing from a staff car to their quarters.'

  I picked up the little top again and span it. 'Have you any plans to wipe those two out as well, Vadim?'

  His head came up in surprise. 'Why should I?'

  'I wondered if they were party to Velichko's orders to have your father shot.'

  'No. It was Velichko's personal order. I know the facts.'

  Had been rooting for those facts for four years, perhaps, until he was sure. Then he'd asked Tanya to keep watch on Velichko as best she could, in Moscow. 'Do you know,' I asked him, 'why those two generals are visiting your CO?'

  'He himself is in the Podpolia.'

  'Has he got any power?'

  In surprise — 'He is the commanding officer.'

  'Put it this way — if he tried to bring the whole battalion into the Podpolia, what would happen?'

  'There would be mutiny. He is known to belong to the hardline Communists, but he daren't come out into the open. That is why the visit of the two generals is not being publicized.'

  'There's a security guard around their quarters?'

  'Yes. We doubled it, after a man was seen watching the area with field-glasses from a car outside the camp.'

  'When was this?'

  'Soon after the generals arrived. The observer drove away before he could be challenged.'

  Did he really, now.

  I put some money onto the table. 'Vadim, I've got to make a telephone call. You want to wait here?'

  'I will leave with you.'

  We pushed our chairs back and Rusakov said,' thank you for the — ' he gestured towards the table. For the dog soup.

  'My pleasure.'

  He was at the door first, holding it open for me, and the black freezing air hit us in a wave as we went outside.

  'Where's your car, Vadim?'

  'Over there, the army jeep. I will wait for you.'

  I felt a lift of relief when Ferris picked up the phone at his end, which wasn't reassuring: if there's one thing the executive in the field has to count on it's that his director is always at the other end of the telephone, inviolate. But the Roach thing had changed that.

  'Bit of debriefing,' I told him.

  'Good.' He didn't give it a cheerful tone, nothing hearty, I'd have.killed him for that and he knew it. He wasn't expecting any kind of breakthrough at this stage of the mission: there was too much stacked up against us, with the executive on the run and a wreck on the river for a safe-house.

  But at least there was this: 'The two remaining generals, I said 'are still in Novosibirsk. They're guests of the CO of the Russian Army unit, unofficially and under special protection.' I filled him in with the details.

  'This is quite good,' Ferris said when I'd finished.

  In point of fact yes, we'd caught up with the objective for Meridian, which was the information buried in the heads of those two men. The problem was that they were behind the wire fence and the sentries of a fully-manned and equipped army battalion, no real case for dancing in the streets when London received Ferris's signal.

  'Rusakov,' I said, 'is now an ally.'

  'I would think so.'

  'I'm going to get him to keep the generals under observation while they're in camp. He's got men he can trust. So I'll need you to move your best support man into the immediate field, as close as you can to the safe-house.'

  I could see Rusakov through the grime of the glass panels, sitting at the wheel of his jeep. He could be useful to us, useful in the extreme, but he was a stranger, not of the Bureau, untrained and unpredictable. I was quite sure he'd
do very nearly anything I asked him to do, because of Tanya, but simple gratitude doesn't have the high-tensile strength that underlies our neurotic devotion to the Sacred Bull, and the more reliance I put on Captain Vadim Rusakov the more dangerous it would be.

  'How far can we trust your captain?' I heard Ferris asking. It wasn't telepathy; we both knew the risk of using strangers.

  'I don't know him well enough to answer that. All I can do is be careful. How close can you get your support man to the safe-house?'

  'Five kilometres,' Ferris said. He had the map in front of him.

  'With a secure telephone?'

  'Yes.' He gave me the number.

  'All right, and I'll need a mobile radio link.'

  'Noted.'

  'And a map showing the location of the army camp. When he approaches, he should whistle the Fifth.' then I asked Ferris — hadn't meant to — 'How are things your end?'

  'You worry too much.'

  Right, you do not ask your director in the field how things are with him; he must be seen at all times to be as secure in his sanctum as is the Oracle in Delphi.

  I wouldn't have asked him, perhaps, if Tanya weren't also there. He would know that. Ferris knows everything.

  We shut down the signal and I forced the door of the booth back and went across to the jeep and got in.' Vadim, would you be able to keep the generals under covert observation while they're in camp? Use some of your men?'

  'That would be quite easy. Their quarters are in a separate building from the barracks.'

  'Then I want you to do that. Look, we need to write things down. Is there — '

  'Here.' He reached across the seat and got a clipboard from the rear of the car and pulled the pencil out of its slot.

  I gave him the phone number I'd got from Ferris and told him to write it down. 'Vadim, that number is classified. Understand that.'

  He looked at me in the glow of light from the dashboard. 'I understand. You may trust me. Do you know that?' He waited.

  'Of course. It's just that if you found yourself forced at some time to answer questions, it might be difficult — '