Pay Any Price
Page 11
“You gonna talk, Fox?”
The man tried to nod and held up one hand. Sturgiss released his head and the man put up both hands to rub his neck.
“How did you pay her then, Fox?”
“Cigarettes from NAAFI.”
“How many?”
“Two hundred. A carton.”
“What brand?”
“It didn’t matter. Any kind would do.”
“What brand did you usually bring?”
Fox hesitated. “Generally Benson and Hedges.”
“How much did you pay for a carton?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Oh come off it, soldier. You mean to say you screwed her without checking how much it cost you?”
“It wasn’t much. I didn’t bother.”
“That wasn’t what she told me.”
“What did she say?”
“She said you always screwed her all night, and you don’t get that these days for two hundred ciggies.”
“It wasn’t just screwing. She was my girl-friend.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“I told your other chap, I met her in a bar.”
“How long had you been in Berlin when you met her?”
“Two months.”
“Had you screwed any other Kraut birds?”
“No.”
“What was the first document you gave her?”
“I never gave her a document.”
“Was it the GHQ phone list?”
“I never gave her any document.”
“I’ve got a list of what you gave her, sunbeam.”
Fox shrugged. “She made a mistake. It wasn’t me.”
Maclaren took a deep breath. “I haven’t got time to play games with you, my friend. Either you gave her the documents or your mate gave them to her. Was it him?”
“How should I know?”
“Because you slept in the same billet. You’ve been mates all through your service. And you both screwed the same Kraut girl … were you gonna marry her?”
“No way. I’m not interested in marrying anybody.”
Maclaren looked at the other man.
“So it was you who was gonna marry her, Mason.”
The man shrugged and shook his head. Maclaren shouted. “Was it you or him was gonna marry that Kraut bitch?”
“Neither of us.”
Maclaren turned away impatiently and then turned back again. “I’ve had enough of you two bastards.” He turned. “Mr. Dickens.” Maclaren pointed at Fox and Walker raised the Luger and pointed it at Fox’s chest. Maclaren looked at Mason.
“You talk, Mason, right now, or he gets it. I’ll give you to five. One … two … three … four … five.” Maclaren nodded at Walker who fired two shots into Fox’s chest. The impact jerked the soldier’s body violently. Then his body arched until it slid sideways off the seat. Maclaren glanced briefly at the body on the floor and turned to look at Mason.
“Are you ready to talk now, or do you want the same?”
Mason’s face was frozen and he whispered, “You just killed him … you can’t do that … there’s regulations. Queen’s Regs … I don’t believe it … it’s …” And he closed his eyes and whispered “Oh God … save me … please God save me.”
Maclaren’s voice was harsh. “Are you going to talk, Mason. I’ll count to five. One … two …”
“For Christ’s sake what do you want to know?”
“Was it you gave her the documents?”
“Yes.” Mason sighed. “Yes it was me.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to marry her.”
“What did you give her?”
“Anything she wanted that I could lay hands on.”
“Like what?”
“The order of battle, Two Corps deployment and unit strength, our radio schedules, names of officers, billet addresses. I can’t remember exactly.”
“You knew she was East German?”
Mason nodded. “Not at first. After about two weeks.”
“How long have you been providing this stuff?”
“About a year.”
“Did you know she was working for the KGB?”
“I guessed it must be something like that. I didn’t know who exactly.”
“What reason did she give for wanting the information?”
“She said that they’d let her and her family come over to West Berlin and then we could be married.”
“You believed her?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t think it might be sensible to report it to one of your officers?”
Mason shrugged and sat silent, trembling visibly, his hands clutching his knees.
“Did she tell you who she passed the information to?”
“She said it was a man named Boris.”
“Boris who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where did you meet her to hand over the stuff?”
“There’s a hotel. She booked us a room.”
“What’s the name of the hotel?”
“Pension Lobau. It’s near Check-point Charlie.”
“Is that where you screwed her?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever go into East Berlin?”
“No. Never.”
“You bloody liar. We’ve got photos of you over there.”
The sound of Maclaren’s closed fist on the man’s nose and mouth was sickening. His hands went up to his face and he rocked up and down with pain, blood seeping through his fingers.
Maclaren nodded to Sturgiss. “Get her.”
There was only the sound of Mason’s groaning in the room and then the door burst open. Sturgiss was struggling with a girl. Her hands were tied behind her back, her body twisting and lunging as she fought to get free of Sturgiss’s hands on her breasts. As Sturgiss kicked the door to with his foot his right hand went up, taking a thick swatch of her hair, pulling back her head until she was looking up at the ceiling. He pushed her forward until she was standing by Maclaren and facing Mason.
Mason looked up at the girl, his mouth swollen and bloody, the massive bruise across his nose and cheek already forming. He tried to smile at her but the muscles around his mouth barely moved, and he closed his eyes.
Maclaren said, “Look at her, Mason, and listen. Learn the lesson even if it’s too late.” He turned to the girl. “What’s your name?”
She shook her head and Maclaren nodded to Walker who levelled the Luger at Mason’s chest just as he had done to Fox.
“If you don’t talk, little girl, he’s going to end up on the floor like the other one. Verstehen?”
As he turned to look at the girl she spat in his face and he laughed, hawked and spat back. “Are you going to let your sweetheart die for the KGB, Ushi?”
The girl nodded in defiance and tears rolled down Mason’s face. Maclaren nodded to Walker who fired twice. Mason’s body jerked twice and as he tried to stagger to his feet the chair went backwards taking his body with it.
Despite her defiance the girl looked shocked. Her mouth opening and closing, her head shaking slowly in disbelief.
“You just killed him … you liked it. You’re worse than they say … animals.”
Maclaren grinned. “Ursula Breitmann. Aged twenty. Address, Flat twelve number seventy-four Gorlindestrasse, East Berlin. Opposite the cemetery. Courier and informant for Yuri Simenov. KGB overseas detachment seven three nine. Yes?”
The girl shrugged. “If you know—why you asking?”
“We want to know a lot more, sweetheart.”
“You get nothing from me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure.”
Maclaren pointed to Sturgiss. “I’ll hand you over to my friend.” Sturgiss grinned and his hands went up to cup the girl’s breasts and he lifted her so that her feet were off the floor. He carried her writhing and kicking into the dark backroom. Maclaren followed them, standing in the doorway watching, and
Symons heard the girl’s muffled shouts and Sturgiss’s obscenities. Then Maclaren said “OK. Bring her back.”
The girl was half-naked as Sturgiss bundled her back into the room. Maclaren stood looking at the red marks coming up on the girl’s naked breasts. Her eyes were closed and she hung limply, enfolded in Sturgiss’s strong arms. Maclaren nodded and Sturgiss put her on one of the fixed chairs, her arms still tied behind her back.
When she opened her eyes Maclaren said, “Do you want some more, baby, or are you gonna talk?”
The girl bowed her head, nodding.
“Did he give you codes?”
She nodded.
“What codes?”
“NATO second level and BAOR operational.”
“What else?”
“He got us service manuals for F-111.”
“How did he get those?”
“He fixed for me to have sex with US airman.”
“What else?”
“He get me many NATO documents. I not read them.”
“What kind of documents?”
“Of communications and monitoring, Red Alert procedures. I don’t remember more.”
“Who directed you?”
“Yuri. Yuri Simenov.”
“Where did you meet him to be briefed?”
“I don’t understand … what is briefed.”
“Where did he meet you to tell you what to do?”
“Sometimes at my place, sometimes at MfS.”
“In Normannenallee?”
“Yes.”
“What rank is he?”
“Captain. He is not KGB. He is GRU.”
“How much did they pay you?”
“I got my flat and one thousand marks a month. Sometimes extra if I do well.”
“Who else did you have in West Berlin?”
“Fox and Mason and one other.”
“Who was the other?”
“A sergeant in Military Police.”
“Did he work at Check-point Charlie?”
“Yes.”
“That’s how you got in and out, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Would you work for us?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I love Yuri. He’s going to marry me.”
Maclaren smiled. “He’s already married. Got a wife in Kiev.”
“I know, he is going to divorce her.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Two years three months.”
“You know his wife is three months pregnant?”
“I don’t believe. He loves only me.”
“Must be screwing his wife all the same. We could pay you well if you worked for us. You’d have their money and ours.”
“I do it for Yuri. Is not only the money.”
“What else can you remember?”
“My head aches. I am very tired.”
Maclaren nodded to Sturgiss who smiled, and Maclaren said, “Not longer than an hour.”
Maclaren turned to Symons and Walker. “Let’s go back to the house.”
Back at the house the man in civilian clothes who had unlocked the back room in the outbuilding made them coffee and then went back to the kitchen.
As they sat around drinking Symons said to Maclaren, “Did you get what you want?”
“More or less.”
“Why didn’t you ask for the MP’s name and the US airman’s name?”
“No point. We know it already. They’ve been dealt with. Both of them.”
“What’s going to happen to the girl?”
Maclaren smiled. “Sturgiss will have his fun and then we’ll bung her in with the other two.”
“Won’t the two soldiers be reported AWOL?”
“No. We’ve covered all that.”
“How?”
“You’re a nosy sod, Symons. We shall put out a story that they’ve defected to the East Germans with the girl. It’ll give the Russkis something to work out.” Maclaren turned his head to watch as Walker signalled that he wanted the toilet and the man with the keys took him out of the room. “What do you tell your soldier friend to make him do what you tell him?”
“I hypnotize him.”
“I know. But how do you make him shoot the buggers? He’s not the shooting kind.”
“That’s why he was chosen, so that nobody would ever believe him if he came apart when I’m not around. I told him that they were spies trying to help the Russians take over the UK and we were all relying on him saving us. They were desperate men. He has to save us all.”
“And he believes all that crap?”
“Of course.”
“Tell me about the girl.”
“She’s the same. She does what I tell her to do when she’s hypnotized.”
“And neither of them know what they’ve done?”
“No. They’re programmed to forget it all.”
“That means you could screw the girl and she’d never know.”
“Yes.”
“And you could do this with any girl?”
“Ninety-nine out of a hundred.”
“Jesus. You must have a fantastic time.” He looked at Symons’ face. “When we were looking for a soldier why did you go to the dentist’s surgery?”
“Because in a dentist’s waiting room people are under mild stress. You can assess them more easily and most people have an injection and they are drowsy and relaxed. Easy to influence.”
Maclaren nodded, as if he had learned something he might be able to use himself some day.
“We’ve got to find another squaddie. He’s being discharged next month.”
“Maybe we should try a civilian, they are just as suitable.”
“No. We’d rather keep it in the army. We can cover up for them. We know the rules and regulations. We’ve got a better hold on them.”
12
The receptionist looked at the card and handed it back to him, pointing down the corridor.
“Go down to the end of the corridor, Mr. Walker, turn left and the third office along on the right is marked Personnel. They’ll be expecting you. Ask for Mr. Patel.”
George Walker knocked on the door and walked inside the office. An Indian with thick-rimmed glasses pointed, smiling, to the chair at his desk.
“Mr. Walker?”
“Yes.”
“You got the company brochure I sent you?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Anything you didn’t understand?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Any questions on the company employment policy?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
Patel smiled, opened a drawer and took out a printed form, pushing it across the desk. “I’d like you to fill that in and then we’ll talk. It’s a standard form. Just a few basics.”
The young man reached inside his jacket and took out a ball-point as he read the form. And as Patel watched, Walker filled in the details on the first page. Name, Christian names, address, date of birth, education, qualifications, and finally hobbies and interests.
He turned over the page and the heading said “Previous Employment.” Slowly and carefully he filled in the details of the part-time job he had had before he joined the army and pushed the form back across the desk.
Patel checked the details on the first page and then turned the form over. He looked up, smiling.
“You haven’t covered the last four years, Mr. Walker. Generally people can’t remember the first bit when they left school. Let me fill it in for you. Right now … let’s work backwards from now. What were you doing last year? How many jobs?”
George Walker sat without answering and after a few moments Patel said, “How many jobs, Mr. Walker? How many lines do we need to use on the form?”
Walker was looking past Patel towards the window and he was trembling.
Patel said quietly, “Are you OK, Mr. Walker? Are you all right?”
And then Walker was
shaking, sweat pouring down his face. Patel was sure then that he knew what the problem was.
“Have you been serving a prison sentence, Mr. Walker?”
Walker shook his head violently, but didn’t speak.
“The company has a liberal attitude to such problems, Mr. Walker. We would liaise with your probation officer without anything going on your file.”
Even as Patel was finishing Walker vomited, and the Indian reached for his internal phone.
“Get the nurse up at once, Judy. Quickly.”
George Walker was nearly 26. He had done well at school and at the grammar school. He had got one “A” level and four “O” levels, and his parents were proud of his achievements. Both in their different ways.
His father was a ticket-clerk at Stockport railway station, five minutes’ walk from the row of terraced houses where they had lived for twenty years. His father was not a communicative man, not even with his wife. But that was not in any way abnormal for men born and bred in that part of the country. Southerners often interpreted the silence as surliness, but in fact it was an inborn reticence overlain with shyness. Men like Harry Walker had little to say, and their upbringing and environment had taught them that talking was dangerous. Talking could lose men jobs; and talking could make men look fools. In Stockport and Manchester silence was equated with dignity. Chatter was for women. When his father had been told the exam results when he came home that evening he had nodded his approval, and the only outward sign of his internal emotion was leaving the Evening News unread and his meal uneaten. He had spent most of the evening tidying up the small wooden shack in the tiny garden.
Mrs. Walker had made no attempt to hide her pleasure. She and her only son had always been close. Close enough for her to understand why he chose to join the army for a four-year enlistment with the hope of getting a commission. His talents and enthusiasms were latent and unformed and he needed to experience the world outside. She would have liked to experience it herself.
When he came out of the army she was surprised that he failed so many interviews that had looked so promising. Patience was a well-developed virtue in the Walker family, but she was shocked that morning when she took him his cup of tea in bed and saw the tears on his cheeks.
Being a calm woman she opened the curtains to let in the sunshine and then she sat on the edge of the bed, her hand placed gently on the cover, touching his foot. When he eventually turned to face her she was shocked by the pallor of his face and the tortured look in his eyes.