Debut for a Spy (27 page)

“David, it's all right. I must speak with this man. He's from my grandfather. We can drive him to Bayswater road while we talk?”

“
You're certain it's okay?”

“
Yes.”

During the drive I had misgivings. Why this clandestine meeting? Why not at the embassy? What was Dmitrienko up to? They spoke in Russian. I just listened – frustrated, because I couldn’t understand a word. We dropped him just off Bayswater Road near a small hotel, and I swung back onto Edgeware.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” I was trying not to sound annoyed.

“
I must first tell you of my grandfather.”

“
You don't have to, Marijke. I know about him.”

“
Yes, of course. I should guess this.” She sat silently, brooding. “And still you trust me and want to be with me?”

“
Yes. Now what was this about?”

“
A warning from my grandfather. People in Moscow are trying to find who kills Szrubek. My grandfather thinks he knows, and if he does then others may find out. He warns me to avoid this man in case something happens.”

I had gone cold.

“Do they think it's me?”

She shook her head.

“No. They think it is House.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Past
midnight
–
Tuesday
,
June
19
,
1962

We arrived at my flat to enter past the knowing smile of the night porter. Think what you like, chum. On the way I had made two phone calls from a public phone – the first to Hammond. He was waiting for word from Dunsfold. So far nothing. Were we all being manipulated? Marijke told me the truth, I was certain. Hammond was remarkably patient. Let's see what happens, he said.

I told him the KGB theory about House. Marijke was informed that they didn't know the name of the agent – they were just piecing bits together from various police reports. Hammond felt it unlikely that they'd pursue it much further, but he was going to have House watched, and if anything suspicious ensued he would see that House was put on leave and guarded.

My second call was to House. He thought it was hilarious. I should have known. I told him to be careful. He laughed some more. “Incorrigible bastard you are,” I muttered, and rang off.

I showed Marijke around the flat, not that there was much to see. My decorating and furnishing were both Spartan, if tasteful. Much of it I had bought from the Fletchers, and since it was sufficient for my needs I felt no necessity of adding to it. I opened the door and showed her Kate's apartment.

“Tell me about her, please.”

I did, and in more detail than I realized I knew. When I finished Marijke gave me a tiny smile.

“I think maybe you are in love with her sometime?”

I wasn't sure how to respond.

“I love her, Marijke, but I am not in love with her. She's a very dear friend, like a sister. That's why I'm so angry about what's happened to her parents. I want to protect her, and now someone has hurt her and I couldn't prevent it. All I can do is try to get even. It's not rational, but emotions never are.”

“
Please,” she whispered, “let us go to bed and then hold me close to you.”

Lying together naked, I sensed that Marijke shivered every now and then, even though it was a warm night. She was tense, and it took her a while to relax. We made love, but it was different this time – almost with desperation. We both fell into a fitful sleep, and once I awoke to hear Marijke – what? Quietly sobbing? When I touched her she stopped abruptly, not responding to my whispered questions. I couldn't tell whether it had been part of a nightmare, or whether she had been awake and simply didn't wish to discuss whatever was troubling her.

I slept badly, haunted by the specter of the unknown, and wondering about this beautiful woman, this KGB agent, with whom I was desperately in love.

*

We left my flat early. Marijke had to be on duty at 07:30, so I took her straight to the embassy. I put my forage hat, tunic, and belt, in the boot, and wore a civilian jacket, in case I was seen. It would have caused quite a stir in the KGB.

Marijke kept some articles of clothing and toiletries in her office at the administration building for the nights when she was on duty, so it was not necessary to go to her flat. While we were warm with each other in the morning, I was aware of a growing tension which I couldn't interpret, and she resisted any attempt to discuss it. I hoped it was not something personal. The differences in our nationalities and ideologies I was certain could be overcome, one way or another. Hammond had given me a clue to that. Personal problems, on the other hand, do not resolve that easily.

Marijke said she would get something to eat at the embassy, so I decided to surprise Archie at Kneller Hall on my way to Dunsfold. I knew he breakfasted there at 0800 every morning, and there was always enough to accommodate a visitor.

The day was a bit dull, but the overnight rain had stopped, leaving a high overcast. I hoped the weather would hold for flying. Today was my last opportunity to experience the P1127.

It seemed hard to believe that tomorrow I would be boarding a ship in Southampton and sailing through the Mediterranean to the Black Sea and Odessa. I had promised to call Marijke during the day so she could give me the final details about the cruise. She was unable to see me in the evening because of some meeting or other, and the next time I saw her would be when I was picked up for the drive to Southampton tomorrow morning.

I pulled into a petrol station to tank up, and changed into the rest of my uniform in the men's room. It would not do to arrive at Kneller Hall partially dressed.

Just after 0800 I was at the School of Music, and a steward showed me into the dining room. Archie was as flabbergasted as House had been, but a trifle more genteel.

“
What on earth's going on, David? I never expected to see you in uniform again.”

“
I thought it might be the only way to get a free breakfast out of you, Archie,” I teased.

“
Och, sit down, lad, and tell me what you're up to.”

I filled him in on the sanitized version of the story, but I could tell it wasn't taken hook, line, and sinker. They say some Scots have the gift of second sight.

“I can't say anything more, Archie, as much as I would like to. This military pilot charade is all finished today, then I'm just a simple singer again. I must say it's been fascinating.”

“
Whatever you say, David. I only hope you're not getting into some kind of hot water, official or otherwise. And speaking of things in that temperature range, have you seen anything of Miss Templaars since you were here?”

Before I could speak the look on my face gave me away.

“Ye're smitten, lad, aren't ye!” he chuckled. “An' all that prattle about bein' too busy. I knew it! I saw it in your eye last week. Ye daft bugger! What d'ye do now? This'll hae' the Russkies skirlin' in their borscht!”

“
I don't know what we're going to do, Archie. Right now it's one day at a time. I can't think of much beyond that.”

He walked me out to my car. I knew he wanted to offer encouragement, but his dour Scots nature saw only the reality, and in his eyes that reality was impossible. He said the only thing he could as he grasped my shoulder.

“Mind yourself, lad. Don't do anything foolish.”

I saluted my friend Archie and went on my way.

*

Arriving at the Dunsfold gate, I knew something was different, and it wasn't just the armed Para who stood behind the security officer. There was a tension in the air that had not been there yesterday, as though the place were on a war alert. I went straight to Bill Bedford's office. He opened up immediately.

“Have you heard about our excitement last night?”

“
No. What happened?”

“
Hammond must have had a tip about unexpected visitors, so he sent 40 Paras with full battle equipment down from Aldershot.”

“
That must have stopped any attempt at sabotage right there.”

“
That's just it! Hammond got them in under cover in a civil registry Hawker 748. Nothing could have been more natural – a Hawker aircraft landing at a Hawker airfield. Here's the brilliant part. They towed the aircraft into the hangar and shut the doors before the Paras disembarked. The pilots were driven out of the main gate in a shooting-brake, plainly visible.”

“
A 'shooting-brake'?”

“
I think you call it a station wagon. Well, a short while later all the lights were turned off, except for the security lamps. The Paras moved into position inside and outside the hangar, around the communications shack, and of course the design office where the plans are kept.”

“
Isn't the experimental design office in Kingston?”

“
Right. I'll tell you about that presently. Somewhere around 0300 the outer fence was breached in three places. There were six men – two in each group. They were past the inner fence in 45 seconds. One group headed for the design office, one headed for the hangar, and the other kept watch outside. Two groups actually got inside the hangar and design office – they did it in a jiffy.

“
As soon as they were in, all the lights on the airfield came on. The Paras told them to throw down their weapons. The two outside tried to shoot it out and got hit in the return fire. One died, the other is critical. With the bursts of machine-gun fire, the chaps on the inside knew the jig was up, and they surrendered.”

“
Were they Russians?”

“
That's the surprise – not a Soviet amongst them. From what I've heard, they're all IRA except one, and he's Algerian.”

“
What were they after?”

“
They were offered a lot of money to get the plans for the P1127, and more if they blew the two prototypes up as well. The two who got into the hangar were carrying enough explosives to flatten it.”

“
Who hired them?”

“
A voice on the telephone. They picked up their instructions with a cash advance at a 'drop', I think they called it. After the job they would have been contacted again and told where to leave the plans and how to get the rest of the money.”

“
Who filled you in, Bill?”

“
Our head of security. He was in on the preliminary questioning. But that's not the end of the story. They broke into the design office in Kingston last night as well.”

“
Damn, I hadn't thought of that. Bad news?”

“
No, thank the Lord. Hammond had called Surrey Constabulary. They put a Flying Squad in place and nabbed the buggers after they breached the fence. Same story – explosives, and one man a known IRA safe cracker. All in all, I'd say it was a good night's work.”

I mulled over the events. Something wasn't right. Bill noticed my concern.

“What's wrong?”

“
I'm not sure. I've been on the inside of this for a week now, and a few things don't make sense. The trouble is, it appears to add up, and I can't help wondering if that's what we're supposed to believe. We got out of it too easily.”

“
For all our sakes I hope that's the end of it. Does this change your plans now, David? Do you want to carry on today with your familiarization?”

“
More than ever. I don't think that's the last of it, Bill, and every bit I know about the P1127 will help. I'll be spending next week with the Soviets. If they're planning something else I want to be as conversant as I can be. Maybe I'm just being paranoid.”

Bill went to check on the aircraft, leaving me to change into my flying suit. My mind was working overtime. If these raids were all the KGB was attempting, why had Marijke taken me to that house on the south coast? She'd told me that the house figured in the operation, and if last night was the attempt they were planning, where did the house fit in? Since I was the only one who knew about the house, and they didn't know I knew, last night's attempt could be a complete set-up, a red herring. I still couldn't tell Hammond about the house. If only six KGB were aware of it, it would be very easy to narrow down the leak. I couldn't take that chance with Marijke's life. The horns of
this dilemma were sharp indeed. Bill collected me and we drove again in his car around the perimeter track past the flight line near the hovergrid.

“
We're using 972 today. 831 is primping for night trials.”

As we passed the flight line I saw 831 and its ground crew doing pre-flight operations. A tall, red-headed man in a flying suit was talking to one of the engineers.

“Who's that, Bill?”

“
Stavic. He's the one who's doing the night trials. I hear he's something of a legend in the U.S. Air Force because of his night-fighter experience – Lightnings and Thunderbolts in World War II and F84 Thunderjets in Korea. I still don't think we're ready for this, so I'm keeping my distance.”

“
What am I doing today?”

“
This morning mainly taxiing on one of the disused runways. I want you to get the feel of the aircraft in a conventional sense. If we're both happy we'll try some touch-and-go’s so you can adjust to the landing characteristics. How does that sound?”

“
Great. Anything to warn me about?”

“
Wait until we do our walk-around.”

We parked on the perimeter at the most southern part of the airfield. During the days of piston engines, flying fields were generally constructed with a triangle of runways. This was to allow the use of whichever runway was suited to the prevailing wind. With the power and speed of jet engines the wind factor was far less critical, and the main runways were used almost exclusively. Thus, on older airfields, there were often remnants of runways which were allowed to deteriorate. This was not the case at Dunsfold, for though disused for landings and take-offs, they were invaluable for taxi trials, clearing the main runway. XP972 didn't look any different from XP831. In aircraft, however, as in anything else, looks can be deceiving. Control responses can vary widely, and the feel of each aircraft is unique unto itself. An aircraft, then, develops a personality, and most pilots prefer one aircraft over another. Bill liked XP831.