The Blind Run

by Brian Freemantle

  Charlie crossed and traversed again practically every tourist location in the Russian capital. He read the Pravda denunciation of Wainwright and wondered if it were all over anyway but he still kept the appointment at the GUM department store on the appointed Thursday, hoping that he wasn’t presenting himself for arrest and that Berenkov would emerge from the crowd.

  He didn’t but he telephoned, actually on the evening that Charlie returned from the store.

  ‘Wondered if you might like to work?’ said Berenkov.

  Charlie felt the jump of excitement. ‘You’re joking!’ he said. ‘I’m practically going out of my mind with boredom.’

  ‘How would you feel about instructing at a spy school?’

  Charlie hesitated, although not from the reservation that Berenkov imagined. Bloody marvellous, thought Charlie, realising the advantages at once. To the Russian he said, ‘That sounds very interesting.’

  ‘You’ll do it?’

  ‘Yes,’ accepted Charlie. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘It was a great shame, about Wainwright,’ said Wilson.

  ‘More mentally affected than we suspected,’ agreed Harkness.

  ‘We’ve made all the arrangements?’

  His deputy nodded. ‘He intended to retire to Bognor, apparently. That’s where the funeral has been arranged. The wife died, two years ago. But there’s a mother, in an old people’s home in Brighton: suppose that’s one of the reasons he chose to live nearby. I’ve arranged for his pension to be carried on, so that the fees for the home are paid. Pension people aren’t happy about it: they say it’s establishing a precedent.’

  ‘Damn the pension people,’ said Wilson. ‘Let me know if there’s a difficulty.’

  Harkness nodded and said, ‘I don’t think there will be. What about the funeral?’

  The director considered the question. ‘The Soviets will swamp it, of course,’ he predicted.

  ‘Inevitably, I would think,’ said Harkness.

  ‘Better for no one important to go then …’ Wilson hesitated. ‘Richardson!’ he suddenly decided. They’ll know about Richardson now.’

  ‘Might even make them think there was something that Wainwright didn’t tell them, after all,’ said Harkness.

  ‘Good point,’ nodded Wilson. He paused for several moments and said, ‘Don’t suppose there’s any doubt that he didn’t tell them everything?’

  ‘None at all, I wouldn’t imagine,’ said Harkness. ‘They’ll expect us to change the code now. Not only because of Wainwright but because they’ll know we’ve detected their alterations, from our listening facilities.’

  ‘Let’s not designate a sender any more,’ ruled Wilson. ‘I don’t want to lose anyone else, in the Russian panic to find out what’s happening.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  General Kalenin was extremely careful preparing his entrapment information because the suspected twelve men who received it were consummate professional intelligence officers who would have recognised at once not only if it did not appear absolutely genuine but if it were something going beyond the knowledge they were entitled to receive. Which meant, the KGB chairman accepted with great reluctance, that the material had to be genuine. He attempted to console himself with the thought that the accepted cure for oil-well fires were explosions within the well head itself, extinguishing a destructive blaze with a bigger – but briefer – conflagration. He tried to limit the potential damage as much as possible, sifting through what had already been leaked and where applicable adding titbits that would not seriously worsen an already bad situation but with twelve possible sources to cover that was not completely possible. He had to include intelligence concerning Soviet preparations in the event of an open, armed conflict with the Chinese along the border area at Alma Ata and some indication of troop strength and disposition plans if a Chinese conflict did develop necessary from the need to switch from the Warsaw Pact front.

  The British changed their transmission code within a fortnight of Wainwright’s body being returned to the country. Kalenin was surprised they didn’t do it earlier. He imposed fresh pressure upon the code-breaking cryptologists and underwent two frustrating weeks of uncertainty before the mathematicians found the key. It was another mathematical code, this time based upon a factor of five, and Sampson was again utilised, in an effort to transcribe ripple designation and the prefacing identity line that once more was created from a different code structure. As should have been expected from their expertise – and their computers – it was the mathematicians who isolated the ripple figure which made the code work, but it only happened after the suggestion from Sampson that the second formula might be linked to the first. There was no longer the disparaging attitude towards Sampson that there had been before and so the cryptologists listened to the suggestion and acted upon it, taking the activating numeral of the initial code – two – and dividing it into the activating numeral of the second. Which produced a figure of 2.50. Using that as the multiplier, they experimented with their computers for a further week, running random subtractions and multiples and finally found their entry into the messages by quadrupling the activating 2.50 and then multiplying it by the base figure, with the final multiplication by a further 2.50 for the actual message.

  The deciphering experts were hampered by only having three messages upon which to work. The first, when they transcribed it, concerned a difficulty in raising foreign currency from gold sales because of failures in the ore producing mines of Muruntau. The second recorded the troop dispositions necessary to maintain the Soviet control of Afghanistan. Neither had been included in the entrapment messages that Kalenin devised. The third, which was electrifying, said the Russian source intended to make contact and use the identifying phrase.

  Sampson remained involved through the transcriptions and succeeded in deciphering the identity line ahead of the mathematicians’ success with the first message. Rose was again the key, which in later discussions with Berenkov when the Russian tried to argue carelessness, the increasingly confident Sampson argued the alternative, the actual cleverness of adapting an existing device because of the logical explanation that they would attempt something completely new. On the second occasion the rose-loving British Director had confined his key to a single species – the centifolia – and when he transcribed it Sampson asked for an immediate meeting with Berenkov, because of the difference he found. Berenkov, conscious of the importance, saw Sampson the same day.

  The two men met in Berenkov’s office, a conference table cleared and unnecessarily large for the limited file that Sampson brought with him. It was a simple exposition for the Englishman, only a few moments comparison being necessary.

  ‘No sender?’ Berenkov realised at once.

  Pedantically Sampson went through the line, wanting to prove his worth. ‘The first block identifies Wilson, MD again,’ he said. ‘The second block is simply a dating and timing configuration. The sender is identified only by the word “Residency”.’

  ‘So now we don’t even have a transmission name at this end.’

  ‘We do know that the contact has been maintained. Despite Richardson’s withdrawal. And despite Wainwright’s death. And something else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The third message. Reference to an identification phrase,’ pointed out Sampson. ‘There’s no indication in anything that we’ve intercepted of what it will be.’

  Berenkov nodded. ‘How do you interpret that?’

  ‘Richardson hand-carried it,’ guessed Sampson. ‘That’s why he was withdrawn.’ He paused and said, ‘There’s something else about the messages – all of them – don’t you think?’

  ‘What?’ demanded Berenkov.

  Before answering Sampson laid everything out upon the conference table, the new messages and then all those that had preceded them, in the other code. ‘Ignore the contact message,’ said Sampson. ‘Look at all the others very closely and analyse them beyond the decoding. Almost without exception – just f
our, to be precise – everything emanates from an operational or planning level. And even the four that don’t conform – four devoted entirely to trade decisions – have an operational application so there is probably some cross-referencing somewhere.’

  Berenkov didn’t hurry. He went painstakingly through every message, frequently appearing to refer back to a message he had already examined because the inference was obvious and at the end he said, ‘Thank you. That was an extremely astute observation.’

  It was the judgment that Berenkov repeated, during the later meeting with Kalenin. Like Berenkov before, the KGB chairman examined all the messages and finally looked up stern-faced and said, ‘Absolutely right. The trade messages threw me off track, but Sampson’s absolutely right. It’s entirely operational or planning.’

  ‘My divisions,’ acknowledged Berenkov, openly.

  Kalenin realised it reduced the possible sources from twelve to just seven men. Which was still seven too many but a small improvement. ‘Yes,’ he said, shortly.

  ‘I would understand, if you chose to suspend me until the enquiries are complete,’ said Berenkov, formally.

  Kalenin shook his head, in immediate refusal. ‘I need your help, not your absence.’

  ‘Why don’t we plant something, to get him to reveal himself that way?’

  ‘I’ve done that already,’ disclosed Kalenin. ‘It didn’t work.’

  ‘Including me?’ asked Berenkov.

  ‘Including you,’ said the chairman.

  Berenkov wondered what the material had been. He said, ‘What then?’

  ‘Greatly increased surveillance,’ said Kalenin. ‘Electronic, photographic … everything.’

  ‘What about suspension, from sensitive material, until it’s resolved. With only seven people, it shouldn’t take long.’

  ‘It would, if we took away the very reason for contact.’

  ‘That’s an appalling risk, to allow everything to continue: not to impose some sort of filter.’

  ‘I want to find him, whoever he is. Not drive him underground.’

  ‘Still an appalling risk.’

  ‘But one I’ve got to take. That I’ve no alternative but to take.’

  ‘Sampson is proving to be brilliant,’ praised Berenkov.

  Kalenin’s surveillance included monitoring beyond what was normal and he knew from film and microphones everything that passed between his friend and the Englishman. He nodded and said, ‘He seems to be the only piece of good fortune that we’ve had, for a long time.’

  ‘He realises the importance of this – the opportunity it’s created for him – and he’s determined to prove himself. It’s become a personal thing,’ said Berenkov, who had expected and knew Kalenin’s study of the meetings.

  ‘It’s a personal thing for me, as well,’ said Kalenin, increasingly morose.

  That was proved quicker than the KGB chairman expected. Two days later he was summoned before an unscheduled but plenary session of the Politburo convened specifically to consider the leak. Kalenin went fully aware that although Wainwright’s death had occurred outside Soviet jurisdiction he was being blamed for a political mistake, in addition to the increasing – and valid – criticism of appearing powerless to find and stop the activities of a traitor. The Politburo had been provided with a complete report in advance of his personal attendance but they insisted upon Kalenin making a personal presentation – a humiliation further to indicate criticism, he recognised – and then underwent a full hour of questioning, unhappily aware throughout that he had hardly any of the answers.

  ‘This is a situation that has to be resolved,’ insisted the Politburo chairman, Anatoli Matushin.

  ‘I understand that,’ said Kalenin, self-angered at his apparent impotence.

  ‘The progress so far is unimpressive.’

  ‘For which I personally apologise, Comrade chairman.’

  ‘I am not interested in your apologies,’ said Matushin. ‘I am interested in a criminal – a traitor – being brought to justice and the leaking to the West of material essential to our very security being halted. I want results, Comrade General. I want results and I want them quickly. And if you prove unable to achieve them, then the task must be given to someone else.’

  Charlie decided that things were looking good again. After the hiatus between the first encounter with Berenkov they moved fast, too. There were two meetings with Berenkov, official this time, out at the familiar American-style building by the ring road, where Berenkov explained the job was to be to brief agents immediately prior to their infiltration into the West and explained the employment would give Charlie some legitimacy, with a 3,000 rouble a month salary and concessionary facilities and possibly an apartment away from the transitional one he currently occupied. Charlie asked the questions he knew he would have been expected to ask and considered the implications as he would have been expected to consider them, all the while thinking instead of the bonus it gave him. To succeed – and if contact were made, Charlie was determined to succeed – in the function which had brought him to Moscow would mean complete rehabilitation, as he had already decided: to be able to return to the West knowing the identities of people in whom the KGB had invested years of training and expertise and infiltrated into Europe and North America would be an even greater coup, making it possible for him to cut off Soviet spying efforts for years. Christ, weren’t things looking good!

  Apart from the encounters with Berenkov, there were meetings with two separate examination panels, which Charlie instantly recognised as being assessments of his ability. Charlie welcomed the challenge, properly confident, that confidence growing when he realised – from their questions – how ignorant the supposed expert body were about the reality of life outside Russia. The illegals being sent abroad from the Soviet Union needed further training and advice, if they were setting out with the preconceived biases and downright misunderstandings that some of the questioners showed, in their examination of him. Charlie pointed up the ignorance every time, careless of offending anyone because he didn’t intend the career to be long enough for the politics of friends and enemies to be important and because every time he did so it proved his ability for the very function for which they were deciding his aptitude.

  It was Berenkov who confirmed the appointment and not at the official building but at Kutuzovsky Prospekt again. This time, with money available, Charlie took flowers and Valentina wasn’t as shy as she had been on the first occasion, staying with them longer at the table and afterwards and joining more in the conversation. Georgi was absent, cramming the final studies at the academy, before his exchange examinations and apart from saying he hoped Georgi was successful Charlie didn’t talk much about the boy to either of them, conscious of the feeling between them at the prospect of Georgi going overseas.

  Although she spent more time with them there was still opportunity for Charlie and Berenkov to talk business. Charlie was as critical to Berenkov about the selection committees as he had been to their faces and the Russian shook his head in weary acceptance and agreed the shortcomings and said that was precisely why he’d thought of Charlie performing the function. Having presented himself at GUM – which meant Berenkov would have recognised his purpose for being there if indeed it was Berenkov – Charlie actually made the pretence of examining the overflowing bookshelves and selecting something of Chekhov’s but Berenkov gave no reaction, not even recalling his use of the books in Britain. Charlie wondered about talking of the accusation in Pravda against the British first secretary and decided against it, unwilling to risk too much.

  There are espionage schools throughout the Soviet Union but the concentration is around Moscow. The installations that equip Russian agents for overseas work are administered by the First Chief Directorate, of which a sub-section – directorate S – is responsible for foreign infiltration.

  Balashikha is such an installation, actually off the same circumferal highway that Charlie now knew so well, about fifteen miles east of
Moscow just off Gofkovskoy Shosse. It is an absolutely restricted, secluded place, behind sensored fences and protected by uniformed guards and dogs. Charlie went the first day under escort, the necessary accreditation and passes actually provided to him during the ride out from the city. The security checks were more stringent than he could remember from England, four separate and intensive checks before he reached the main building, where there was a further examination.

  There was a man waiting for him just beyond the reception area and Charlie recognised him as someone who had sat on both the selection panels.

  ‘My name is Krysin,’ introduced the man. ‘Andrei Vladimirovich Krysin. I am the director here.’

  And someone whose ignorance of true conditions in the West he had on at least three occasions shown to be facile, remembered Charlie. Fuck it, he thought. ‘I’m looking forward to working with you,’ he said.

  ‘We’re looking forward to your being here,’ said Krysin, heavily. ‘From our apparent ignorance you seemed delighted to expose during what was supposed to be your suitability selection, it would seem we’re greatly in need of your expertise.’

  Why was it, wondered Charlie, that he never got on with anyone in authority? He said, ‘I hope I don’t disappoint you.’

  ‘I hope so too,’ said Krysin, making the threat obvious. ‘I hope so very much indeed.’

  Kiss my ass, thought Charlie.