In the Company of Spies

by Stephen Barlay

  Then came more news from New York. Boychenko did not know much about the details of the setup, but even he was impressed by what the KGB Resident could conjure up over there. He did not fail to be most complimentary about all this when he and the colonel were summoned to make their progress report to Major General Yemelin, head of the First Chief Directorate. The general was beginning to like him. That became obvious when at the end of the day, the general said to him: “Come and have a drink with us, Andrey Anisimovich.” The party was held at the general’s huge apartment on Kadasevskaya embankment, overlooking the river and the wall of the Kremlin beyond, and judging from the quality of the drinks and the quantity of the caviar, Boychenko knew he was “in,” at last. The kokteil business was unfortunate — on vodka, he would have stayed the full course in any company — but he did not disgrace himself unduly, and there was still no cloud on his horizon at dawn.

  He reached his office at 7:30 in the morning, telephoned his wife not to worry about his all-night absence, and asked the radio room for the latest news from New York. It was then that somebody, somewhere, must have switched off his personal sun. The prospect grew bleaker and bleaker every hour. No news from New York. There must be. Sorry, nothing. Then call the embassy Resident. Suddenly, the Resident was not available. Try the KGB Resident at the UN mission. Sorry, impossible, not his operation. General Yemelin had encouraged him to report directly if he had any problems. He tried. Sorry, the general was not in and it was not known when he would be. The adjutant and Boychenko exchanged knowing glances, but that did not help anyone.

  Boychenko then gave hell to the duty officer of the radio room, and that was reported back to his superiors. “Careful, major, don’t upset too many people — not yet,” said the Spetsburo colonel. “I can’t tell you all the details, but obviously, you must have guessed that your case has a bearing on the continued security of ‘Sapphire,’ possibly our highest-ranking agent in America. It’s an entirely independent network that services Sapphire’s needs and activities, and every move affecting security must be their responsibility, and theirs alone. It’s that important. So tread carefully.”

  Which again was no solace to Boychenko. For the New York squad, his sole source of leads, remained silent as if the two men had never existed or were dead.

  *

  The day’s first New York-Washington shuttle banked to starboard to make its final approach and land. Rust woke up and squinted as the pale sun that lit up the Potomac below glittered on the window. “I’m hungry,” he mumbled.

  “Not again!” Charles exclaimed with mocking consternation. He opened his briefcase and produced yet another of the sandwiches the hospital had packed for Rust. “Judging from your ceaseless breakfasting since midnight, you must be on the mend.”

  Rust began to munch away and glanced around surreptitiously. There were at least half a dozen semi-familiar faces. He had been promised an hour alone with Ell, but it appeared that Schramm was not prepared to take chances. Whatever was to happen between the brothers, these men would be on hand to prevent Ell from getting away.

  “What have you done about the Upstairs?”

  “The Upstairs?”

  “Yes, Charles, the Upstairs. I asked you in London to arrange something and have it watched.”

  “Oh yes, that’s done. You said you expected it might be raided.”

  “That’s right. From Holly’s boss, or whoever their man in the Moscow embassy might be, they would know that I expected some proof to be delivered to me at home. If they turn up, I don’t want Hal to be unprepared and alone.”

  Charles looked distinctly embarrassed. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Well, I haven’t had a chance to mention it before. There was, in fact, some sort of raid.”

  “What about Hal?”

  “He’s in hospital.”

  “What happened?”

  “They pumped some bullets into him. Luckily, he’s a strong boy.”

  “Do you know if anything was found?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Claimed to be CIA, at least until they started shooting.”

  “When was that?”

  “Oh, let me see. It was definitely a Thursday.” Charles took out a diary. “That’s right, the twentieth.”

  “Can’t be. I expected the evidence to be delivered on the first of October. That’s what I was told. That’s what I told Holly. So that’s what he must have passed on to whoever it was. It would have been pointless for them to raid the Upstairs earlier. They wouldn’t take an unnecessary risk like that.” Charles shrugged his shoulders. “The raid was on the twentieth.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. How’s Hal?”

  “He’ll live. Wish I could be so sure about your prospects.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  “I’d prefer to go with you. I mean, you could talk to Ell on your own, but he’d know that I was there.”

  “We’ve been through that before. Let’s stick to our agreement.”

  They took a cab from the airport. Rust noticed that the men scattered around them aboard the aircraft now followed them in two chauffeur-driven cars.

  Charles dropped him off on the corner of Ell’s street in Georgetown. “Take care. And don’t take chances.”

  “Keep warm.” Rust nodded to him as if they were in full agreement. In fact, perhaps they were. Ell might not be completely unprepared for his visit. It would be crazy to give him any more advantage by taking chances. “Just get straight on with it,” Charles had warned, “and gauge his reactions. If he tries to shoot himself, let him. Otherwise he might change his mind and shoot you first.”

  The street was deserted. This part of Washington was the precinct of late-nighters rather than early-risers. The cars parked opposite the house and farther down the street seemed empty. But there was no way to tell. Rust pressed the button of the intercom. It was only a few seconds later that a buzzer sounded and Ell’s voice rattled through the metal grille of the speaker. “Just push the door and come right up, Helm.”

  Rust looked up and faced a small, closed-circuit security camera. From the speed of Ell’s answer it was obvious that the visit had been expected. Rust walked through the door. He was surprised to see a neatly dressed crewcut just inside. “Right through and up the stairs, sir.”

  It was a spacious, elegantly furnished yet homey living room with two tall French windows beyond which some fine wrought iron closed in the nonexistent balconies. Rust’s eyes had to search for Ell, adjusting slowly to the semidarkness of the room, and discovering that the hominess was probably due to all the mucky leftovers of a long night’s vigil. Half-empty coffee cups and glasses, half-full ashtrays, the sour-stale air of smoke, sweat and dust. Ell’s wheelchair squeaked as he rolled out of the darker end of the room.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Good question, Ell. Anything else you want to know?”

  “Yes. Why didn’t you turn up at Idlewild?”

  “I was there. You know that.”

  “At the Hertz desk?”

  “No, not there.”

  “That’s what my men told me.”

  “Really?”

  “At least you could have called me.”

  “Let’s not play games, Ell. There’s no time for that.” Rust was irritated by his brother’s feeble effort to defend himself by going on the attack. He found it a pitiful performance. “I’m in no mood for games, I can assure you.”

  “I’m not surprised. Even if you don’t know all the facts, you must suspect, even expect, the worst. And I’m not in the mood to give it to you gently.”

  “There’s no need either. I know everything.” Repson looked at his watch. “And the final bit of proof should be here any moment now.”

  “You mean the bodies?”

  “Whose bodies? What are you talking about?”

  “Your men.”

  “What men?”
r />   “Mann and George. At least that’s what they called themselves.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Suit yourself. I’m not your prosecutor, Ell. I only wanted to see a traitor in the flesh. To hear your excuses. To try to understand you. So that one day I’d remember you with some sympathy. I wanted to see you blush. But I was wrong. You must have forgotten how to blush a long time ago. Or feel embarrassed. That’s why I’m sorry to say I have at least some news that may please you: you’ve probably managed to get rid of Anna if not me.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “It was clever of you to send her to Idlewild.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You mean she just decided to come and meet me there? And she proved herself a mind-reader to discover that I’d be there at all. Not to mention the code. Had she just guessed it? Mother’s favorite color — that’s right, Mrs. Repson, you win the jackpot. Or have I suffered too much to remember clearly? Perhaps ‘mauve’ was not the code.”

  “It was. And that’s what I gave the men who were waiting for you at the Hertz desk.”

  “Why did you send Anna?”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “You could have killed her yourself. Or they could have done it here. Or was it more convenient that I should be implicated in some way?”

  “You need a doctor, Helm. A psychiatrist, to be precise. And I pity you. Even though I shouldn’t. You’ve thrown away your right to my sympathy. I know you wanted Anna to meet you at Idlewild. I know how you tried to force her.”

  “That’s a good line — I mean, knowing that she won’t be able to contradict you because she’s dead.”

  “You poor, poor man. Anna! Anna!”

  The door opened, and Anna came in. She was wearing a long silk dressing gown and at first did not seem to notice Rust. She looked tired. He started toward her.

  “Don’t!” Repson barked and waved at Rust with a gun. “Just stay where you are.”

  Anna shook her head in disbelief. “No, no.”

  “I’m sorry, honey,” said Repson. “You were right. He did have the nerve to come here after all.”

  Rust was in a state of shock. Were these two in collusion? And if yes, why did they try to keep up some pretence? He turned to Anna: “How did you get away?”

  “From where?”

  “Long Island.”

  “I haven’t been to New York for at least a couple of months. Come to think of it, I haven’t been away from Washington since May.”

  “Then where were you on Saturday?”

  “Saturday? Hm … Saturday … ”

  “It’s all right, honey, you don’t have to answer him,” said Repson without taking his eyes away from Rust.

  She stepped behind her husband and put her hand on his shoulder as if seeking refuge. “There’s no reason not to answer. I was in the office. There was some urgent extra work to be done for Bobby. I was there most of the day and met you for dinner.”

  “That shouldn’t be difficult to check,” said Rust, thinking hard in case he had made a mistake about the day. Was it Saturday? The days in the house on Long Island had fused into an endless one in his memory.

  “There’s no need to check. We spoke on the phone at lunchtime. We dined together in the Army and Navy Club. We met in the Farragut lobby. And we came home early because of you, Helm. At that time I was still worried about you.”

  “But you were on duty all day,” Rust pounced as he spotted the gap in the story.

  “That’s right.”

  “So you had no way of telling what time she left the house in the morning.”

  “N-no.”

  “Except that somebody in the office will be able to confirm what time I got in on Saturday,” she said.

  “I hope you’ll have a watertight alibi, sweetheart. It will try to prove, no doubt, that you’ve never had a chance to fly to New York and spend some of the morning with me. And if it does prove that, we’ll know at least one of your accomplices.” Repson raised his shoulder so that her hand, resting on it, touched his face. “You don’t have to stay here and listen to all this, honey, when he’s obviously bluffing.”

  “I’ll stay. I don’t need to be afraid of him anymore.”

  “Anymore?” asked Rust. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Cut it out, Helm, she’s told me everything.”

  “Really?”

  “I always knew that you could be pretty ruthless, but I never thought that you’d stoop that low.”

  “How low?”

  “Are you trying to deny that you had an affair with her in Leningrad?”

  Rust hesitated. She looked right through him. He shrugged his shoulders. “No. When did she tell you?”

  “On Sunday.”

  “Why only now?”

  “I didn’t want to hurt Ell,” she said.

  “But now you’ve changed your mind, right?”

  “You forced me to.”

  “Did I?”

  “Yes, with that call on Sunday. When you told me that if I didn’t pay, you’d come here and tell him yourself. It left me no choice. I haven’t got that sort of money.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “Stop it, Helm!” Repson raised the gun. “And don’t forget, nobody could blame me if I shot you now.”

  “But you won’t. Because you’re no fool. Because you know that I wouldn’t have come here without some insurance.”

  “You mean the negatives?”

  “What negatives?”

  “We’ve already found them. So it’s no good to deny things anymore. And the guy who let you in is a fed. Other agents are next door. They have all the evidence they need. They’re waiting for me to finish with you.” He paused, then added very quietly: “I only hoped you’d have the decency to apologize to me.

  “I didn’t know that she was your fiancée at the time.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then what do you want me to apologize for?”

  “The blackmail. The extortion of money. The anguish you caused her. The final threat on Sunday.”

  “I didn’t call her on Sunday, or ever since Leningrad. And she knows that. Because she knows where I was on Sunday.” Rust was beginning to understand. She had returned from Long Island as soon as Mann and George had taken over. So she had to be working with those two. Which made her a Soviet agent. In which case their meeting and affair in Leningrad were no coincidence. Perhaps that’s why he had received that unexpected permission to do the Hermitage story. It took him to Leningrad. It was a setup. And he fell into it because it was plausible and, above all, flattering. It helped to ensure that if he ever grew suspicious of his sister-in-law, his word would carry no weight because he could be proved to be a jealous, jilted lover. Even his father might have been part of the trap. And most probably, photographs would have been taken by the KGB in the hotel. The old, old honey trap that was rendered inconspicuous by the fact that the girl was not only an American but also a trusted member of Bobby Kennedy’s staff. A position that would give an agent supreme importance. Which left Rust with two questions: Was Ell in the setup with her? And if not, why had he given her the agreed code?

  “Go on, take your time,” said Repson. “It’s your turn to think up an alibi. Just make sure that it’s a good one.”

  “Why did you give her the code, Ell?”

  “I told you. I didn’t.”

  “Okay, suppose you didn’t. Could she have listened in on my London call to you?”

  Repson glanced toward the telephone. “Yes, I suppose she could have, but why would she want to?”

  “We’ll come to that.”

  “Sure. As soon as you’ve cleared yourself of blackmail.” Repson nodded toward a file on an octagonal wine table. “You don’t deserve it, but you’re entitled to see the evidence.”

  Rust flipped over the cover. There was a photograph, enlarged from a probably b
lurred, amateurish negative. She was kneeling in front of him. Rust remembered the words. “I don’t know what it is. I’m craving for your sperms. I want them inside me. Everywhere.” Rust looked at her. She avoided his eyes and stared out the window. Why had she given Ell the reversed blackmail story on her return from Long Island?

  “Do you deny that it’s you in the picture?” Repson asked.

  “No. But that’s no blackmail.”

  “It wasn’t until you sent it to her with your demands.”

  “And you have my demand note, I suppose.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I burned it at the time,” she whispered.

  “Pity. It would have been ever so useful.”

  “We don’t need it,” said Repson. “It’s all there.”

  Rust put the photograph back into the folder, only to be confronted with a copied set of his bank statements for the past six years.

  “The FBI got those for me yesterday. Look at the ones marked with a red tick.” Repson gestured with the gun. “Can you tell me who the source of those payments was?”

  “Yes, you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and you know it.”

  “I know nothing of the kind. I mean, I knew nothing of it until yesterday. Why should I have paid you, anyway?”

  “For the information I sent you from time to time.”

  “If you were one of my anonymous informers, you’d have claimed money for it.”

  “But I didn’t. Because I didn’t do it for money.”

  “No. You just accepted these anonymous payments.”

  “Yes. Partly because I knew that they could only come from you, and partly because the cash kept me a professional instead of a fucking amateur. It gave me a sense of belonging. It kept me in the game.”

  “A likely story. But the truth of the matter is that I’ve never sent you a dime. Nor did I authorize any Company payments to you. On the other hand, all these sums can be traced as payments from Anna’s private account. There — see it for yourself.”

  “Okay, so you covered up the payments by putting them through her account.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Besides, you must admit, Ell, that if I was a blackmailer, I was dabbling in small potatoes if these paltry sums were my reward.”