Bearpit (37 page)

30

The Crisis Committee reacted to the persistent and impatient demands of the CIA director that speed of detection was the foremost consideration and tried to shortcut when they got the apparently vital leads from Paris. And disastrously delayed the identification of John Willick.

Their mistake – which they were intended by Moscow to make – was to try to combine the name supposedly remembered by Yevgennie Levin with the provable date and transfer intentionally disclosed by Sergei Kapalet.

Cots were moved into the debriefing building for Myers, Norris and Crookshank to work around the clock to scour the CIA records to find an internal relocation one month either side of 30 June of any Langley-based official or officer who had the remotest links with Ramon Hernandez in Nicaragua. The CIA station in neighbouring Honduras, through which Hernandez was run, was warned against the man and ordered to carry out an investigation into his loyalty. Additionally the station was instructed to relay back each and every name within the Agency of people through whom Hernandez operated – or thought he operated – in the hope one might be different from those listed on those same records as being members of the man's headquarters control group.

There weren't any. Neither was there the slightest evidence to doubt Hernandez' commitment. And nor did the personnel records show up an internal transfer of anyone connected in the remotest way with the man's activities or reports in Latin America. Refusing to be deflected, Myers extended the transfer period to two and then three months either side of the June date. Still there was no one who could be linked with the Nicaraguan.

‘It doesn't make any fucking sense!' erupted Myers.

‘It has to, somehow,' said the more controlled Norris.

‘How!'

‘If I knew that, I would not be sitting here looking at a blank wall, would I?'

‘We've approached it the wrong way,' realized Crookshank.

‘What wrong way?' demanded Myers, whose decision it had been.

Instead of replying, Crookshank said: ‘What's the most positive thing we have?'

Neither of the other two men replied at once. Then Norris said: ‘The date?'

‘The date,' agreed Crookshank. ‘And the fact that there
was
a relocation.' With a lawyer's pedantry, he searched through his papers, then smiled up. ‘ “He said the move almost coincided with his transfer,” ‘ he quoted. ‘Drew's verbatim record of Kapalet's account. Two months and three months isn't almost coinciding. We've confused ourselves, trying to involve Hernandez.'

‘What have we got, without him?' demanded Myers, irked at the criticism.

‘What we've just agreed to be the most positive lead there is,' lectured Crookshank. He went back to his papers again, coming up with a single sheet. ‘The first list,' he said. ‘Of internal transfers one month either side of June thirtieth. Fifteen people: five seconded to overseas stations, six retired, four departmental moves.'

‘I think you're right,' agreed Myers reluctantly.

‘We could sweat them all on a polygraph in a week,' accepted Norris.

‘But no advance warning,' agreed Crookshank.

John Willick didn't need it. He'd handled three of the Crisis Committee's requests for names and biographical details of people affected by internal movements. And knew from casual gossip over coffee and two hurriedly sought-out cafeteria lunches on successive days with others in the personnel department that there had been at least five further inquiries, all for precisely the same sort of material. That by itself, after Oleg's warning, would have been sufficient to alarm the American. But it was not by itself. The requests clearly specified movements either side of the date when the controller he knew only as Aleksandr had been moved from Washington. And came from an unspecified committee sufficiently important to qualify for a scarlet-classified, respond-this-day security designation. So it was not alarm Willick felt; it was terror.

He used the number he had been given by Shelenkov and had reconfirmed as an emergency contact by the man's successor, careless of the panic he heard in his own voice when he demanded an immediate meeting, refusing in even more panic to wait until the following day for the opening of any of their customary public monuments or places and agreeing at once and without thought to a bar he didn't know in Georgetown.

It was not where he expected it to be, on M Street, but against the river and directly beneath the skeleton of the overhead railway. Eager for omens of protection, Willick was relieved to get a seat at the bar directly abutting a corner, so that he could sit without the possibility of anyone approaching him unseen. How long would it be, before they
did
approach him? Try to rationalize, he told himself, striving for control. Try to assess. Couldn't have isolated him yet: the request was general, for
all
the transfers. One of several then. But how many? Impossible to know, because he could not risk asking around any more than he already had. Eight, of which he knew. Probably more. Pointless attempting a possible figure. How were they being investigated? Alphabetically or …? Or how? Couldn't think of another way. Had to be something like alphabetical, he supposed: they hadn't got to him yet and from what he knew the first request had arrived three days before. Could have been earlier, of course. Thank God his name began with the initial letter that it did. When then? Tomorrow? The day after? No way of knowing. Jesus, where was Oleg? He gestured for a refill and when the barman came asked for a large one. Finished, he thought: he was finished. Christ, wouldn't Eleanor laugh! Actually enjoy it. Keep cuttings of newspaper reports and go on all the breakfast TV shows. Bitch would probably write a book: My Unsuspecting Life with a Russian Spy. Make a fortune. Jesus, where was Oleg! He held the glass up, as a signal to the barman.

The Russian came bowed-headed into the bar and directly to the corner where Willick was sitting: the two adjoining bar stools were empty and Oleg sat on the furthest one, so there was a gap between them.

‘Where the hell have you been?' demanded Willick.

Instead of replying Oleg ordered draught beer from the returning barman and waited until it was served and the man moved away before he spoke. He said: ‘You were extremely careless. Foolish.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘There is an inquiry going on at Langley?'

‘You know damned well there is.'

‘And you are suspect?'

‘All the transfers, around the time of Aleksandr's recall, have been pulled from records.'

‘Yet you come directly here without checking in the most rudimentary way whether or not you are under surveillance and complain when I don't immediately join you!'

Instinctively, feeling stupid halfway through the gesture, Willick jerked around towards the door and back again.

‘You're not being followed,' assured the Russian. He took the top off his beer, making a loud sucking sound. ‘
We
followed you.'

‘They're on to me,' insisted Willick impatiently. ‘They're checking transfers, around the June date.'

Oleg drank further, nodding in calm agreement as he replaced the handled mug. ‘I think you're probably right.'

‘I don't know what to do,' protested the American. ‘You said you were my friend. Wouldn't abandon me.'

‘And we won't,' said Oleg.

‘So what can I do?' moaned Willick.

‘Cross, whenever you want.'

‘Cross?' The American looked blankly at the hunched roly-poly figure beside him, genuinely confused.

‘To the Soviet Union,' expanded Oleg.

Willick continued to look blankly at the other man. Never, once, had the idea of defecting – of leaving America – occurred to him. He'd made the approach to the Russians because he was desperate for money. But naively he'd only ever regarded it as a temporary expediency, something he would be able to abandon once he straightened himself out. Jagged-voiced, unable to stop the giggle, he said: ‘Defect! To Moscow!'

‘Have you thought about what would happen when they arrest you?' demanded the Russian. ‘You're a traitor, John. The worse kind of traitor. There won't be any rules, any kindness. They'll stretch you anyway they feel like – lie detector, chemicals, whatever – and when they've got all they want they'll put you up before a court and you'll get life. Can you imagine that, John? Life inside some penitentiary. Fresh meat, to be passed around and raped. Or maybe you'd get lucky: find someone with power inside who'd want to keep you for himself. Still have to sleep with him of course. Be his wife. Better than being gang-banged, though. Less chance of catching a disease: lot of disease in American jails, so I believe. AIDS.'

‘Stop it!' pleaded Willick. ‘Please stop it!'

‘You like another drink?'

‘Yes.'

‘Large?'

‘Yes.'

As the fresh glasses were put before them the Russian said: ‘Not much of a choice really, is it?'

‘What would I have to do in Moscow?'

‘I don't know,' replied Oleg honestly. ‘I was simply told that we would accept you, if you asked.'

‘When?'

‘How much time do you think you've got?' asked Oleg.

‘I don't know,' said Willick despairingly.

‘Tomorrow might be too late,' said the Russian. ‘What's to stop you coming now?'

Nothing! thought Willick, in mounting excitement. All he had here were debts and hassle and an ex-wife in two weeks' time due alimony that he didn't have. It would be wonderful to turn his back on it all! Actually dump on Eleanor. He said: ‘How would I do it?'

‘You've got a passport?'

‘Yes.'

‘There's a plane leaving here at eleven tonight, for Paris. Just go to our embassy there and you will be told the rest.'

‘You planned this?' demanded Willick.

‘I told you before that we were your friends,' reminded Oleg. ‘When I got your call I found out how it could be done. You've got a lot of time.'

‘I don't have money for a ticket,' remembered Willick.

Oleg passed a sealed envelope across the intervening chair, his hand concealed beneath the bar top. ‘Enough for first class.'

‘I could do it,' said Willick, like a child trying to encourage its own endeavours.

‘Of course you could do it,' supported Oleg.

‘I
would
go to jail, wouldn't I?'

‘For life,' said the Russian positively.

Willick shuddered and said: ‘I'll never be able to repay you.'

‘I'm sure you will,' said the man.

On the credit side Yuri decided there were advantages to being assigned special duties by the head of the First Chief Directorate. Unquestioningly Granov granted him monitoring authority to the UN-channelled correspondences, but more importantly the
rezident
did not object to Yuri living more at the 53rd Street apartment than at Riverdale. It meant Yuri was able to spend as much time as he wanted with Caroline, which he did rarely thinking of the breach of regulations or of any inherent dangers. He was guilty of so many breaches of regulations and faced so much inherent danger that the nights they were together seemed by comparison oases of normality and safety.

In no way, however, did he neglect the search for Yevgennie Levin because he realized that an obvious attack if he failed could be the accusation under some disciplinary code of professional incompetence in carrying out an order.

He grew convinced that the letters were the key. He assembled the family's to Natalia and hers to them separately by date but connected them through a central graph upon which he listed what he regarded as potential clues to Levin's whereabouts.

The punctuality of their replies confirmed what he regarded as the most positive indicator that Levin was on the east coast of America and not too far from New York. Because he controlled the letter flow, he was able to time precisely the handover of Natalia's first letter after his return from Moscow, at three o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon. The intercepted response – from Galina – was not only dated the same day but timed, at eight o'clock the same evening. There had to be subtracted, of course, some unknown time against the delivery not being initiated immediately and for the period it would have taken for the mother to have read it, even guessing that she would have done so at once. And for the possibility that it had gone from New York by air and not by road, which he doubted but for which he had to make allowances because in a letter from Levin there was reference to a helicopter journey and of having flown directly over Washington landmarks like the Capitol building and the Washington obelisk and Lincoln Memorial. On his chart, Yuri wrote ‘Five hours' but was prepared to adjust either higher or lower. In the same letter Natalia had obediently followed his instruction to complain about the coldness of Moscow and from Petr it prompted the sort of reply for which Yuri had hoped.

‘It is cold here, too,' the boy wrote. ‘We are told there are a lot of ski lodges and that the snow will be here in a week or two, a month at the outside.'

From the date on the letter Yuri wrote ‘November, first or last week?' recognizing it as an indicator hopefully as positive as the timing of the replies. It definitely ruled out at least twelve of the southern or mid-west states, where snow never fell. And also the mountain or western states where it did, because on such high ground the snow was permanent and not dependent upon the seasons. And to none of them, even by aeroplane, could a letter have been delivered from New York and prompted a reply in such a short time. There was winter skiing in the Catskill Mountains, Yuri knew. Throughout New England, too. Still a vast area: too vast.

At the first reading Yuri underlined Levin's listing of the Washington landmarks, seeking a significance but not immediately finding it. Caught suddenly by an idea, Yuri posed as the journalist he was supposed to be and telephoned the Federal Aviation Authority in Washington using his legend name of William Bell and the title of his Amsterdam cover publication to be told that no civil or commercial winged aircraft would be permitted low-level overflight of the sort he described. It would, however, be possible by helicopter, the spokesman helpfully added. Before ringing off Yuri established the average cruise speed of small, passenger-carrying helicopters and by computing speed against time came up again with a travelling period of around five hours, four at the minimum. Levin had not only described Washington from the air. He'd written of flying over New York. Which indicated an approach from the north. Marking the American capital as the extreme of one sweep of the compass Yuri halved his equation and completed the circle with Washington as that one outside marker. It created a radius that stopped just short of Boston but reached out to include huge tracts of Virginia, West Virginia, practically all of Pennsylvannia, and further daunting areas in Connecticut, New York State and Massachusetts. Too much, he thought. Too much while he possessed too little to enable him to narrow the boundaries.