Quiller KGB

by Adam Hall

  ‘You will not see my point of view.’

  ‘I see it very clearly,’ Cone said. ‘And I want you to see ours. You guaranteed that while the mission was running the KGB wouldn’t interfere.’

  We waited.

  ‘But you fail to understand the weight of my responsibilities. If - ‘

  ‘You knew how heavy they were,’ Cone told him, ‘when you first approached London. Nothing’s changed.’

  ‘But of course it has changed. The General-Secretary is now to make a visit here.’

  That was true and there was only one way out. ‘Do you think,’ I asked him, ‘there’s any threat to the General-Secretary from Werneuchen Airforce Base?’

  ‘But of course. Your department in London spoke of it. Isn’t that so?’

  ‘Yes. So the day before Gorbachev lands in Berlin you can send as many people as you like into Werneuchen and close the place down and ground all the bombers and lock up all the pilots. Your General-Secretary isn’t at risk until his plane touches down here, so until then we want you to leave us alone.’

  1:15: lunch with Pollock at the Steingarten.

  ‘It’s just that I can’t work up any interest in soccer. Can you?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t imagine. Nothing like cricket, is there?’ Spoken with passion. ‘I spend most of the winter replaying the Tests on the VCR. Any time you’d like to watch, give me a buzz.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’

  At 2:15 I would walk into the street.

  ‘But even with the videotapes it seems an awfully long time till May.’

  ‘May?’

  ‘When the cricket starts again.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’

  Walk into the street, if I could face it.

  He’d told me he’d only got an hour for lunch, awfully sorry. ‘Miki’s’ visit had relegated all other business to the back burner. That was why I would walk into the street at 2:15. And there wasn’t any question, really, of not facing it. They expected it of me: Shepley, Cone, Yasolev. I expected it of myself.

  ‘Losing your appetite?’

  ‘I had rather a late breakfast.’

  ‘Ah.’

  I had asked Pollock to lunch because Horst Volper would have stationed a permanent watch on him. So far I hadn’t found a tag on me when I’d left the hotel. So far the safe-house near Spittelmarkt was unblown. Unless Cone or Yasolev had been picked up, Pollock would unwittingly provide Volper’s cell with a potential contact with me, and they’d go whenever he went. They would have come to the Steingarten. They would be waiting outside.

  It was beginning to feel hot in here, and this was normal; in fact the place was underheated.

  ‘Well, well.’ Looking at his watch. ‘Tempus fugit.’

  I got my wallet out but he put down a 1,000-mark note on top of the bill. ‘Honoured guest of the embassy.’ Clean white smile, lowering his voice. ‘Not often we get anyone out here with your kind of credentials.’

  I thanked him.

  ‘Are they looking after you at the hotel?’

  ‘No complaints, except for the view.’

  ‘Oh yes, you’re at the front, aren’t you? It’s a bit sinister, I know what you mean. I’m not really used to it myself, yet, and I’ve been here three years. Kind of presence, isn’t it?’

  I’m rather relieved. I thought I was being over-sensitive.’

  He got up and fetched his coat from the rack. ‘Oh no, it gives most visitors the willies. I send quite a few of them to that hotel, visiting artists, culture vultures. I’ve booked Cat Baxter in there.’ Chasing the sleeve of his coat. I helped him. ‘Thanks.’

  Rock star.

  When is she coming?’

  ”Tomorrow.’

  ‘She’s bringing her group?’

  Yea. Got a concert scheduled, big one. God, I hope she’s going to behave herself - she’s worse than Vanessa Redgrave, except that Cat’s thing is human rights. Share my cab?’

  ‘I’m not going far.’

  Hoped it wasn’t true. Hoped very much it wasn’t true.

  ‘Take care, then, and you know where your friends are if ever you need anything.’

  ‘Yes.’

  And where my enemies are.

  Outside.

  I found a telephone near the rest rooms. Cone answered at the second ring.

  ‘For what it’s worth,’ I told him, ‘Cat Baxter is bringing her rock group here tomorrow. The embassy’s putting them up at our hotel.’

  ‘Well, now.’

  ‘I suggest you tell London. How is Yasolev?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s across at the Soviet Embassy.’

  ‘Do you think he’s breaking up under us?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s a very tough bloke, but he’s got a very tough assignment. Thatcher and Reagan are one thing, but Gorbachev is turning half the world inside out and we don’t want anyone to stop him. But that’s my worry. You’re still with Pollock?’

  ‘He’s just left here.’

  ‘The Steingarten?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And when are you leaving there?’

  ‘Now.’

  ‘Immediate plans?’

  One, two, three: ‘I’m going to see if I can get them interested.’

  He didn’t answer right away. ‘You’ll have support.’

  Not really.

  I said, ‘Understood.’

  ‘I want you to keep in contact.’

  Said I would. What else could I say? If I made contact with him before this day’s end it would simply mean I was still alive and had access to Horst Volper. If I didn’t make contact then he’d have to signal London: shadow down.

  I dropped the receiver back and walked through the lobby, big poster over the door - Berlin, capital of the German Democratic Republic! – they put it everywhere, on posters, book matches, hotel stationery, as if they might be having a little trouble getting people to believe it.

  Swing doors, a woman behind me - Danke schon, bitte - and out into the street.

  Felt suddenly naked, vulnerable.

  The afternoon’s operation was simple enough. I was going to make myself conspicuous so that they could catch me in the open and try killing me off as they tried before and I was going to give them a chance because Volper was the target for Quickstep and we didn’t know where to find him and the only way to do it was to meet with his people at close quarters and ask them questions. It hadn’t worked very well with Skidder but at least we’d got Werneuchen into the picture. This afternoon it might work better. But as I went down the steps onto the pavement and turned west along Dieckmannstrasse I felt so very vulnerable because they’d known I was in the Steingarten with Pollock and they could have got a hunting-rifle set up on a rooftop across the street and they could be lining up the reticle and putting pressure on the trigger spring now, and the air felt supernaturally cold and my body felt strangely light because whether you are very close to death or only think you are very close to death the nervous system reacts in precisely the same way: you go through a subtle shift in reality and feel poised, floating.

  Then it was over and the nerves steadied and the street came back into focus and I went on walking, keeping up a good pace, business to do, so forth, because one of the things I had to do this afternoon was to make them believe that I didn’t know they were there.

  ‘Tewson.

  He was one of Cone’s people, a man I knew, and he was fifty yards behind me on the other side of the street.

  You’ll have support.

  Cone didn’t use amateurs. He would have hand-picked them as soon as he’d reached Berlin and he might even have brought some of them with him or sent them ahead. Yesterday it had taken me almost two hours to throw one of them off before I could start out to Werneuchen. Today it would be quicker. I’d made arrangements, because these streets were strictly a red sector and I didn’t want anyone coming in to help me when I could be into a close hold with one of Volper’s men and getting
the answers I wanted.

  Tewson wasn’t keeping to my pace; he wouldn’t have to shorten the distance before I reached a corner: there’d be relay men, two, even three, somewhere ahead to take over and pass me on.

  This was all Cone could do. We’d chewed the whole thing on the mat and he knew I was liable to go solo at any minute and he could only try to follow Shepley’s instructions. Viktor Yasolev had his heavy responsibilities but so did Cone. He wouldn’t be shot at dawn if he failed to bring me home from Quickstep but he’d find sleep hard to come by for a long time afterwards. He was one of the few field directors - Ferris was another, and Bainbridge - who took a personal pride in protecting their executives, and he’d brought them home again and again, sometimes from last-ditch situations where other directors would have left them for dead and pulled out. This afternoon he’d try to make sure I was never alone, never without support, but I couldn’t let that happen because when it came to the crunch I wanted a clear field to work in.

  Charlottenstrasse, and I turned the corner and walked north, a damp chill in the air, the river smell drifting through the streets from the Spree. I felt better now; the nerves had reacted to the fear of imminent death when I stepped into the street but the gooseflesh had gone by this time and I was walking steadily and the organism was gradually eliminating the excess adrenalin. Not all of it. I could need more, at any time.

  The relay man was a hundred yards ahead of me on the other side. I couldn’t see his face but I knew he’d be there somewhere and I picked him up fairly soon; if I hadn’t been looking for him I could have missed him easily: he was using good mobile cover - other people - and had his back to me most of the time.

  ‘How are things, Gunter?’

  I got in and slammed the door and sat back straight away. There was a Mercedes SEL behind us and I didn’t want to overlook anything.

  The relay man was at the intersection of Charlottenstrasse and Franzstrasse by now and he’d seen me get into the cab and he was turned away from us and using his walkie-talkie, but there wasn’t anything he could do unless Cone had put a vehicle into the field and that wasn’t likely with a relay tag in operation.

  ‘I was on time?’

  ‘Yes.’ He wanted praise, and I should’ve thought of that; in this trade we don’t give it. ‘Exactly on time. Take a right and a left as fast as you legally can.’

  ‘Whatever you say.’

  Give me your wife’s name and her sister’s address, and by the end of the month I’ll see she gets a permit to visit the cemetery on the other side.

  He didn’t think I’d give him a bill. I hadn’t put it specifically but I’d given him the cover of being what they called a live-body entrepreneur. Ever since the Wall had gone up there’d been a steady trade in people who needed to reach the other side. Prices varied, and the cost of getting young people across was higher, their working life and value to the German Democratic Republic making them expensive: in the region of twenty-five thousand US dollars. For this man’s wife the price would normally be a quarter of that: she was middle-aged and a woman. But he didn’t think I’d give him a bill because I’d told him there were things he could do for me.

  ‘Get into Unter den Linden.’

  He nodded his head.

  I wanted Unter den Linden because we’d have more room to manoeuvre. The Mercedes had been behind us when we’d pulled out from the kerb in Charlottenstrasse but that didn’t mean anything. I didn’t think it was Cone’s because it was a four-door model and too big, too noticeable for a tracking vehicle and too expensive for the Bureau’s economies. It could be Volper’s, making a series of sweeping passes ever since I’d walked out of the Steingarten. It couldn’t have shadowed Gunter from his apartment because I’d taken extreme care before I’d decided on it as a safe-house. The SEL could have more than one, more than two men in it. The object of their operation was to get onto my track and stay with me until they’d set up the kill and could trigger it but it didn’t have to take all afternoon - they could pull into the next traffic lane at any time and come alongside and put out a burst of rapid fire. But I didn’t expect that. The streets of East Berlin are well policed and the bleak, quiet atmosphere would deter anyone from calling attention.

  And I was beginning to know Horst Volper’s style. The first attempt at a kill had been carefully organised, and designed to look like a hit-and-run. He wouldn’t start lashing out in a panic.

  ‘Gunter. What kind of car have we got behind us?’

  ‘A VW.’

  ‘And behind that? Don’t move your head.’

  He let the cab drift a couple of feet to the left side and checked the mirror again.

  ‘A Mercedes SEL.’

  ‘Find me a phone box.’

  It took us another three blocks and he pulled into the kerb and waited for me while I got out and crossed the pavement to the telephone and called the Soviet Ambassador.

  Chapter 12

  SHARK

  ‘Liaison.’

  ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘Is Major Yasolev still in the embassy?’

  ‘I will see.’

  It was only three o’clock but the rooftops were already losing definition. Dark would soon be coming down.

  ‘Yasolev.’

  ‘Liaison.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Have you put a tag on me?’

  ‘No.

  The Mercedes had pulled into a space well ahead of us; I could only just see its rear numberplate. Within that distance Gunter wouldn’t be able to make a U-turn legally and there was no sidestreet. All they had to do was wait, and if I didn’t go back to the cab they’d simply deploy people on foot.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I asked Yasolev.

  ‘Of course I am sure. We agreed.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t trust you. I’m just checking.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ I said, and rang off and went across the pavement and got in and saw the small black Audi reflected in a window on the flier side. It had swung into Unter den Linden three blocks ago and I’d seen its image in windows at the first and third intersections. I thought it was best to leave it alone and blow the Mercedes.

  ‘Gunter, that SEL is parked about seventy metres ahead of us on this side. When you go past it, put your foot down hard and take a right into Spandauerstrasse and then a left as fast as you can.’ He started the engine. ‘If the lights are against us at Spandauer, go into it when they change and then do whatever you think best to lose the Merc.’

  ‘Without doing anything the police - ‘

  ‘Your own discretion.’

  ‘I could lose my license, and it’s my living.’

  ‘Absolutely at your own discretion. Just lose the Merc.’ He got into gear.

  It wouldn’t be difficult.

  They would let him do it.

  Host Volper knew more about me than I knew about him. He knew I was experienced: witness the Skidder incident. He knew London wouldn’t send anyone out here who didn’t know what a tag was, who didn’t know how to get rid of it: they’d seen me lose Cone’s man a few minutes ago. So I had to blow either the SEL or the Audi because that would be my level of street-craft and they’d expect me to conform. The Merc had been with us longer and it was more noticeable and it was slower on the gun than the Audi so this was the better one to go for.

  And they’d let it happen because then I’d be lulled, satisfied that we were alone again. I wasn’t expected to know about the Audi.

  ‘Yes,’ Gunter said, ‘it’s just - ‘

  ‘All right. Turn your head and look at it when you go past and then give it the gun.’

  But the lights were red at Spandauer and we had to wait till they changed, but he’d gone through the motions and worked up a bit of tyre-squeal and when the green came on he jumped it by a fraction and took a right and two lefts and I told him to slow and take it easy: we’d lost the Merc.

  The Audi was still with us.
<
br />   ‘Put me down outside the U-bahn station at Alexanderplatz. Have you had lunch yet?’

  I eat on the job.’

  ‘You did well.’

  I got out and went into the subway entrance, checking the environment as a precaution, simply as a precaution, looking as if I didn’t expect tags now that the Mercedes was blown.

  Two men got out of the Audi but I made sure to catch them only at the edge of the vision-sweep; then I went down the steps.

  Chicken, I suppose.

  I mean going down into the subway. Nerves.

  All right, I’m not your bloody hero.

  The subways in Europe are normally safe from killing attempts because they’re confining and limiting in terms of freedom to get away. You can make the kill quite easily - I’ve done it twice, but only because I had to do it there or nowhere - but if there’s going to be any noise or fuss you risk getting cut off from escape. I used my hands on both occasions, in total silence.

  The U-bahn in East Berlin is a safer place than most others in Europe; as safe as in Moscow. I didn’t expect an attack at Alexanderplatz; all I wanted to do was make sure they were still on my track and begin the major work of the afternoon. This was to make it seem that I had a rendezvous to keep, that I realised they were still in the environment and that I couldn’t make the rdv until I’d thrown them off, This meant using a phone at intervals, to give the impression that I was having to shift the rendezvous in timing and location because I wasn’t alone and mustn’t expose the contact. The entire operation for an agent’s enticing the opposition to make an attack in the hope of securing one of them for interrogation is in the books at Norfolk but I don’t know anyone who’s carried it through; the risk factor is exorbitantly high and a director in the field would never ask his executive to do it, because it’d be like giving him a loaded revolver with five rounds in the chamber and asking him to play Russian roulette.

  Sitting with my tea in this sleazy cafe scared to death.

  I’d got on a train and got off again at Schillingstrasse and here I was and here they were, one of them at a table across by the door and I couldn’t help that because I hadn’t wanted to sit there myself: it was too exposed. The other man was in a corner as far from the door as possible, so that I couldn’t keep both of them in sight at the same time, which is good close-surveillance practice and very effective.