Shadow of Shadows

by Ted Allbeury

  ‘The Americans will swear they know nothing about it.’

  ‘You can show the journalists the equipment. It’s mainly British and still has the manufacturers’ plates on it.’

  Petrov put his hand on Blake’s knee. ‘I’ll work it out, Georgi. Leave it to me. They’ll be very grateful to you. I wish there was something we could do to reward you. Isn’t there some damn thing you want? We can lodge it in Geneva. Anywhere you want.’

  ‘I’ve never done any of it for cash and I never will. I do it for Moscow and the Party. And for no other reason. You know that.’

  ‘If ever you want to come over you only have to say. You would be honoured publicly for your dedication. Every privilege you wanted, for you and your family.’

  ‘Just preserve my security, Tolya, that’s all l ask. ’

  ‘We’ll do that, my friend. Never fear.’

  Colonel Ivan Kotsyuba brushed his thumb across the microphone and when the speakers responded he raised the microphone on its stand. He looked around the well-lit hall and was pleased. There were just over a hundred journalists present, and permits had been issued for eight television crews to film the press conference. He spoke English with an American accent and German with a Russian accent but nobody would fail to understand the importance of his announcement. He smiled and held up his hand.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for attending this press conference at such short notice. As you will all know, for years the Soviet Kommandatura have protested continuously to the other occupying powers in Berlin concerning the provocative and dangerous operations of British and American espionage organizations in the city of Berlin.

  ‘As you also know, our protests have been either denied or ignored. The Western press, including many newspapers represented here this morning, have suggested that our protests are no more than propaganda. Some of the more “revanchist” journals have claimed that our protests at best were evidence of paranoia on the part of the Soviet authorities.

  ‘When my assistants contacted you early this morning they asked if you would allow for two hours of your valuable time to be made available for the press conference. I think that some of you will wish to give even longer to this story when you realize its significance.

  ‘We have issued you with numbered cards as you came in. They indicate your seats on one of the seven buses that are waiting for you outside. The journey itself takes twenty minutes, and that will give you time to study the press-kits which are waiting for you on the buses. Photographs have been included, but you are at liberty to take your own photographs at the site. Thank you again for your attendance. ‘

  Kotsyuba repeated the speech in German, then smiled, switched off the microphone, and nodded to his assistants to open the doors and guide out the silent journalists.

  The press-packs included a six-page commentary on ‘Operation Gold’, a dozen different photographs of the tunnel, including close-ups of the equipment showing the British manufacturers’ name-plates, and photo-copies of over twenty press articles where the US or British governments denied Soviet allegations that West Berlin was being used as an espionage base by Western intelligence services against East Germany and the Soviet Union.

  Every journalist who walked through the tunnel knew that this was a Soviet propaganda victory. The Americans and the British had been caught with their pants well and truly down. After Whitehall’s vain efforts to deny any part in the Crabb affair there was nothing that would explain away this shambles. It was obviously the story of the year, and they treated it as such. In Whitehall, Washington and Berlin, American and British spokesmen refused to rise even to a ‘No comment’. Despite the seriousness of the exposure the press’s own feelings were mixed. There was a lurking admiration for ‘Operation Gold’. It had a touch of the KGB’s own handiwork about it. It was cheeky, but its exposure was a major propaganda defeat for the West, and that was how it was treated editorially. The Russians opened the site for conducted tours and a hundred thousand East Berliners were shown ‘the war-monger’s listening post’.

  The British in the Olympic Stadium, and the Americans in Dahlem, spent weeks studying the old lists of visitors to the tunnel. There were nearly two hundred names when the builders and installers were included, and they knew that there was no hope of the investigation to find the traitor being fruitful. For almost a week George Blake had been seconded to the team evaluating the list of British visitors.

  15

  The King’s Road flat was far from ideal for three adults, especially when their relationships were so fragile. But Siobhan Nolan made life more tolerable for the three of them. She tactfully left Lawler and Petrov alone when she sensed that they needed to talk, and she was even-handed with both men. She still slept with Petrov, but there was no longer any element of being possessed emotionally. At twenty-two she mothered them both.

  Petrov was still sound asleep as Lawler and the girl ate breakfast together. She wore a towelling bathrobe that was both cosy and revealing, and she sipped from a glass of fresh orange-juice, held as a child would hold it, in both hands.

  ‘How long will this go on, Jimmy?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose it depends on me. I’m not being very bright. But I’m trying to put two jigsaws together at the same time and half the pieces of both of them are missing.’

  ‘Why is he so scared?’

  ‘Like he told you. He thinks we’ve got some plan to kill him.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Of course not. There’s no reason why we should. He’s been helping us. All we ask is that he goes on helping.’

  ‘What about the people up above you? They might think differently.’

  ‘Why should they? They wouldn’t gain anything by wiping him out.’

  ‘But people do get killed in your kind of business, don’t they?’

  ‘Maybe.’ And Lawler concentrated on his boiled egg. When he looked back at her face she put down the glass.

  ‘He’s a very mixed-up sort of fellow, you know. Whatever his work was in Moscow it’s left him very insecure.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Her big eyes looked back at his face as if she were looking for something. Some indication of his mood. Eventually she said softly, ‘I’d better tell you what the ring and the row was all about.’ She waited for a response but he didn’t reply. ‘Do you know about the Polish girl?’

  ‘What Polish girl?’

  ‘The one he married.’

  ‘That’s about all I do know. I gather they were divorced and she went back to Warsaw.’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it. He was crazy about her. He didn’t want to divorce her. They gave him the choice. Either he divorced her or she’d be treated as a dissident, prosecuted publicly, and sent to the Gulag. And that would mean that he would lose his KGB job and have God knows how many black marks on his record. The day they faced him with this he pleaded for time and they took that as a sign that he wasn’t going to toe the line. When he got home that night she’d gone. They’d already arrested her. The neighbours told him. He never saw her again. He knew that he had no choice. He divorced her so that she would be released and shipped back to Poland. He never recovered from that. He had thought that the work he had done would be protection enough for her indiscretions, and when he found that it wasn’t he started thinking about defecting.’

  ‘How was that part of your quarrel?’

  She shrugged. ‘I guess I was stupid. He used to call me Maria sometimes when we were making love. It happened that day, and like an eejit I said something disparaging about him and her. He hit me and then it was for real. We both said things that were vicious. You’d have to love someone a hell of a lot to forgive them. He went out and bought the ring to make up for the quarrel. He asked me to marry him and when I said no there was another flaming row and he stormed out. I don’t love him, I just like him. And he doesn’t love me, he’s “in love” with me and that’s very different. He knows it and I know it, and the sooner we can
go our own ways the better.’

  ‘You think he loved the Polish girl? Really loved her?’

  ‘Oh yes. I’ve no doubt about that.’

  ‘Would it make a difference if I could get her over here?’ He’d do anything you want if you did that. Anything.’

  ‘That’s the first ray of sunshine I’ve had since I started on this wretched exercise.’

  ’Can you do it?’

  ‘If she’s willing to come, yes.’

  ‘How long will it take?’

  He smiled. ‘Who’s the lucky man?’

  She frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Who are you rushing off to?’

  She shook her head, smiling. ‘You’re just scared you’ll have to start cooking your own breakfast when I’ve gone.’

  ‘Maybe.’ He looked across at her. ‘What kind of man do you really want?’

  She put her head on one side, thinking, and he was aware of her slender neck and the line of her shoulders. Then she shrugged.

  ‘I’ll know when I meet him.’

  ‘Why did you leave Dublin?’

  Boredom.’

  ‘What about your parents?’

  She smiled. ‘Snap, My father’s a writer. My mother teaches piano. You’d like them. It seemed odd at your house. They’re different people but the atmosphere is the same.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  She laughed. ‘Relaxed, warm, concerned. Like lying in a bath when the water’s just warm.’

  ‘Do you miss them?’

  ‘I didn’t at first, but I’m beginning to. Knowing our mutual friend has taught me a lot. Makes me count my blessings.’

  ‘Would you like to go down on your own to my parents for a few days?’

  ‘Would your people let me?’

  ‘Yes. And my parents like you a lot. You’d be restricted to the cottage of course. But you’d be safe there.’

  ‘Would that suit you better than having me hanging around the flat?’

  ‘No. I’d rather have you here.’

  ‘Why?’ And she was smiling.

  He shrugged. ‘I like having you here. You’re the one bit of sanity for him and for me.’

  She smiled. ‘He’s going to be so pleased. I hope it all works out for all of you.’

  ‘I think maybe you’ve brought us all good luck.’

  She stood up. ‘I’d better rouse the sleeping beauty and get myself dressed.’

  Silvester sat listening without comment as Lawler repeated his conversation with Petrov. When he finished Silvester looked away, towards the window. He sat in silence for several minutes before he turned his head again to look at Lawler.

  ‘Just let me recap. We get his wife out of Poland. He marries her again. In return Petrov continues his co-operation. Is that it?’

  ‘Yes. Plus the guarantee of a house and a job or a pension.’

  Silvester looked at him. ‘Doesn’t make sense to me, James.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘According to what he’s told you he was scared of being sent back to Moscow, so he pretends that he wants to go back just to see what our reaction was. Right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then he says he’s scared we’re going to knock him off when he’s told us all he knows. Yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So where’s the logic in this deal? What’s to stop us from still knocking him off after he’s told us all he knows? If he thinks we’d kill him, then why shouldn’t we kill him anyway? If that’s our inclination we aren’t going to be put off just because his wife’s around.’

  ‘According to him he’s got another piece of information. A kind of insurance policy.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A further piece of information.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘I don’t know, but he says that once he’s told me that there won’t be any chance of his being killed.’

  ‘D’you think this bugger’s sane?’

  ‘Yes. I think he’s been over-wrought but he’s sane enough.’

  ‘Maybe this has all been the wrong tack. Maybe we should have put him through the mincer and made him talk. All this playing games only encourages him to go on with it.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Adam. It’s been my fault as much as his. My brief was to smooth him down. I’ve only partly succeeded but I think I’m nearly there.’

  ‘This stuff about the Egyptian, Curiel, did you grind it out of him or did he volunteer it?’

  ‘I suppose I could say he volunteered it. He wanted to show that I didn’t know the real story of Blake. And he implied that if it wasn’t on our files then SIS didn’t know vital facts, or was covering them up.’

  ‘Why should anyone want to cover up any facts? And those facts in particular.’

  ‘I don’t know, but he implied that I would understand when he told me this additional thing.’

  ‘D’you believe him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We can check up on Curiel. If he’s right then he does know more than we do about our own man.’

  Silvester bent down and loosened his shoe laces, sliding the black brogues off his feet and flexing his toes.

  ‘I’ll check up myself.’ He looked up at Lawler. ‘If he’s right I’ll agree to the deal, if he’s wrong we’ll change our tactics. Agreed?’

  ‘If he’s wrong I think we should discuss it again anyway.’

  ‘How would you deal with his ex-wife?’

  ‘I’d get Houghton to trace where she is and then I’d go over myself. I’d have to talk to her. She may not want him now. If she does, then I’ll put a team together and get her out.’

  ‘D’you speak Polish?’

  ‘No. But she speaks fluent Russian.’

  ‘I’ll check on the Curiel business with Paris, and then get in touch with you.’

  ‘How long will it take?’

  ‘I should get an answer some time tomorrow.’

  Silvester’s secretary had phoned mid-afternoon. Silvester wanted to see him at five. At Century House.

  Lawler sat in Silvester’s outer office for nearly an hour before the secretary indicated that Silvester was ready to see him.

  Silvester was talking on the phone and pointed to a chair. When he hung up he pushed a heap of files to one side and leaned forward with his arms on the table.

  ‘I’ve checked with Paris, and I’ve just checked with Cairo. That’s why I had to keep you waiting. He’s absolutely right. Paris confirmed what he said, and Cairo have just confirmed too. You can go ahead with the deal.’

  ‘OK.’ Lawler stood up but Silvester waved to him to sit down again.

  ‘I’ve checked Blake’s files and you’re right. There’s not a word about any of this. There are no pages missing, the numbers run consecutively without any breaks. I can’t believe we didn’t check. It’s so elementary, and it would have stopped Blake ever being recruited. It’s going to lead to a full-scale enquiry. Is there any chance of persuading Petrov to tell you the rest of the story right now?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I think he’d see it as an attempt to avoid the bargain. But he’ll talk when I’ve got his wife back. If I succeed, that is.’

  Silvester was silent for what seemed a long time. Then he said, ‘Let me know what facilities you need for the trip to Warsaw. And I want you back soonest.’

  ‘D’you feel it will be satisfactory for Petrov and the girl to go down to my parents while I’m away?’

  ‘If that’s what you want. But make proper provision for them to be under discreet surveillance.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  16

  BERLIN 1956-59

  A token of Moscow’s appreciation came to Blake via Horst Eitner. Petrov had given Eitner the lead to two Soviet agents who were considered expendable. It served Moscow’s own purpose too. It would embarrass Adenauer himself his party and his government.

  Viktor Schneider was an ex-SS officer who managed to evade prosecu
tion as a war criminal and became manager in the office of the official news-sheet of Adenauer’s Christian-Democratic Party. Apart from passing low-grade political intelligence to the Russians, Schneider added one last piece of effrontery to his record by establishing the Party office as a dead-letter drop for Soviet intelligence networks in West Germany. The British handed over the embarrassing details to the Adenauer government who ineptly failed to keep the details from the press. Blake’s seniors complimented him on his investigation and discretion, and from that point onwards Blake was responsible for almost the whole of MI6’s Berlin network. In addition he had access to files and dossiers on all the Allied networks in East Germany. He was considered now as an expert on Soviet intelligence and politics, and top-secret papers from the Foreign Office and the Cabinet were available to him. The briefings and requests for information from Moscow that Petrov passed on to him had gradually swung from military intelligence to political intelligence.

  Slowly the Soviet Union was applying more and more pressure to the Western powers, and in November 1958 Khrushchev publicly demanded that all troops should be withdrawn from Berlin. This demand, if it had been accepted, would have pulled back the American, British and French troops two hundred miles from Berlin, leaving the city surrounded by twenty or thirty Soviet divisions. Strategically it was never a runner, but Britain s new Foreign Secretary Selwyn Lloyd was not entirely opposed to the idea, provided ‘real safeguards for Berlin s freedom could be wrung from the Russians. Dulles, for the Americans, flatly refused. Through George Blake, Moscow knew every detail of the Allied disagreement.

  In January 1959 the Kremlin pressed for a four-power conference that would include the East German government. When Moscow issued a further threat of a six-month limit for discussions or the Soviets would take unilateral action, it looked like the prelude to war. Macmillan and Selwyn Lloyd went to Moscow to try and break the log-jam. Khrushchev refused to see them after the initial reception ceremony, claiming that he had toothache. They cooled their heels in Moscow for eleven days, and the diplomatic snub was open and undisguised. The world waited to see what the West’s reaction would be to such open pressure.