Quiller KGB

by Adam Hall

  I want police blocks set up immediately and the area contained. I want everyone searched and questioned. I shall remain in my office in the Airforce Building and you will please report to me there.

  Thy will be done.

  Move along, please. Keep the line moving.

  It wasn’t, at this end. We were a stationary herd, twenty or thirty of us in the immediate group, standing around the cars. The police kept well back against the buildings, hands behind them, guns on their hips, their peaked caps turning slowly as they watched the crowd.

  ‘I think they’re going to search us.’

  ‘Try dropping it between your feet.’

  I moved away from him; he might try something cute, and I didn’t want them to find a bag of cocaine in my pocket.

  It wouldn’t matter.

  You’re perfectly right.

  There was another man.

  ‘You’ll be late for the party.’ The girl with the red mouth.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘You want to take us along?’

  This was the other girl, the one who’d been at the wheel, a mane of black hair, gold earrings, hips tilted, one leg dipped at the knee.

  ‘If I ever get there,’ I said.

  The other man was looking around him, though not obviously, not obviously at all, just taking a quick glance as he shrugged deeper into his coat, as he brushed ash off his sleeve.

  ‘If you’re too late for the party, would you like to come home with us?’

  ‘Very much.’

  And you cannot, my good friend, say that I was lying.

  He’d been standing close to the pagoda-top Mercedes until a few minutes ago, but now he was deeper into the crowd, not so isolated.

  ‘We’ll give you a good time.’ The hips tilting the other way. ‘I’m Lili, and this is Marie.’

  ‘Delighted.’

  He was worried, the man in the crowd. The police weren’t likely to notice it because they had to keep so many of us under observation, whereas I could watch the man with more concentration.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Mickey Mouse,’ I said, and they both laughed.

  When I’d got out of the car I’d done the same as the man, taking some quick glances around the environment; I’d no need to check it again. Behind us there was the intersection and a police car was stationed there and a barricade set up. In front of us was the group of police and the head of the line. There were doorways along the street but none of them offering cover. The only exit was a narrow gap between two of the buildings, not wide enough to call an alley; perhaps only a passage where dustbins were kept. Two Vopos were stationed there.

  ‘Are you married?’

  The man had a belted coat on; he was middle-aged, medium height, with a fur hat and a good pair of gloves. He wasn’t a businessman, because of the soft rubber shoes. He wasn’t, had never been, an official, despite the belted coat: he carried no air of authority, nor even a semblance. The car he’d got out of was the black pagoda-top Mercedes, an old model but light and fast; it suited him.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. Married.

  He could conceivably be an agent of some kind; not necessarily a spook but an entrepreneur in one of the intelligence services; or freelance.

  ‘What’s your wife’s name?’

  But he didn’t have nervous stamina.

  ‘Minnie Mouse.’

  Got another laugh. By nervous stamina I mean that he was visibly beginning to break down. His head was turning more often now as he looked for a way out, and the colour was leaving his face. This is the way a trap will work on you, bringing the onset of panic by infinite degrees; and every time you look around for some way of escape and don’t see one, the nerves go through another little death. I could see what was happening to the man over there because it was also happening to me.

  Movement, near the Lancia.

  ‘If I were you,’ I said, ‘I’d shut the windows of your car.’

  Marie turned her head. ‘What?’

  ”That chap’s trying to get rid of some stuff.’

  ‘What stuff?’ Then she saw him, the short man; he was standing right against the Lancia and she took straight off like a good gal and clobbered him with her handbag and I turned away because one of the policemen had caught on and was coming across from the buildings and with the all-points bulletin out for me I couldn’t afford to let them come too close.

  ‘What’s going on there?’

  The poor little bastard had dropped the package he’d been trying to shove through the Lancia’s window and stood there with one arm up as a shield against the handbag.

  Everyone turned to look, except the man with the belted coat, and he was using the chance to move nearer the gap between the bank and the library and I decided to head him off but it took a good ten minutes, stamping my feet quietly to keep them warm, shifting them backwards an inch at a time, watching the comedy going on near the Lancia - a cop, two tarts and a drug-pusher, what a cast - and finally I made the distance and got between the man in the coat and the alleyway and stood there with my back to it, blowing into my hands, slapping my shoulders.

  Keep the line moving. Keep moving.

  You must be joking, we haven’t budged for the last fifteen minutes.

  He looked at me now, just once, his glance passing across me and away again, and by now his face was bloodless. I would have said he’d got more on his mind than a packet of snort, though God knew what it might be. Both his hands were in the pockets of his coat and I noticed that the right one seemed a little larger, as if he were holding something.

  Keep the line moving. Keep moving, now!

  The PA horn wasn’t close but its sound hit his nerves and he flinched. And then we were off at last, shuffling towards the checkpoint, and he broke and swung round and started his run and I got in his way and he tried to dodge round me and I let out a shout and he pulled his gun as the nearest policemen came away from the buildings very fast in a crouching run with their own guns out and I moved backwards out of their way and got to the alley as the first shot sounded and then a fusillade so I suppose he’d fired first and they’d just wiped him out before he could hurt anyone, they’re very efficient in East Berlin.

  Chapter 20

  BLIND

  Staring at his face.

  Mission status: the executive is clear of his red sector and has gone to ground. He is maintaining contact with his DIF.

  The face in the photographs.

  Clear of his red sector, so forth, yes, but it didn’t get us very far, did it, just saved our skin, all that work and all I’d got was the Melnichenko-Trumpeter connection because the file was in his personal office.

  Volper’s. Volper’s face.

  Smooth, flat-looking, featureless except for the eyes, their being further apart than the norm, and the nose, dead straight and with almost no bridge.

  He was somewhere in this city and within the next twenty-four hours I would have to find him, and there was only one way and it was deadly because it meant taking to the streets and that was where the police patrols would be.

  I telephoned Cone at eight o’clock in the morning, with the hydrogen peroxide stinging in the cuts at the back of my neck.

  ‘I’m at the safe-house.’

  ‘What’s your condition?’

  ‘Active. There wasn’t a lot of trouble. Few cuts. I got some sleep.’

  ‘What do I report for the board?’

  I told him, gone to ground, so forth.

  ‘Do you need anything?’

  ‘Yes. I need funds placed at the Ost-Deutschbanke in Dmitroffstrasse in the name of Gunter Heinrich Blum and made available to him on demand. The amount should be the replacement cost of a Mercedes 280SE.’ I gave him time to make notes.

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Last year’s.’

  That’d get the dust out of their bustles in the Accounts department

  ‘Is there a rush?’

  ‘Make it within two
days.’

  He didn’t ask for any explanation because if I wanted to give him one I would do that. We’d got twenty-four hours left to bring home Quickstep and if I could do it for the price of a second-hand 280SE they’d call it pocket-money in London.

  ‘More?’

  ‘I want official freedom of passage from East Germany to the West in the name of Frau Hilda Marlene Blum. Her identity number is 325-A-467-10, date of birth July 9 1937, place of birth, Berlin. Ask -‘

  ‘East or -‘ then something like oh, come on. He was feeling the strain.

  ‘Ask Yasolev to see to it. There’s no immediate rush, but before this time tomorrow the shit’s going to hit the fan and I’d like things in order as soon as possible.’

  Making notes.

  ‘The pass should be left at the bank together with the funds, in an envelope with the KGB seal on it.’

  ‘One or two?’

  Not Cone. Gunter, in the doorway.

  ‘Two.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was talking to someone.’ Eggs.

  ‘Am I going to be able to reach you?’

  ‘Only by phone.’ I gave him the number and he sounded relieved. ‘I commend your fortitude,’ I said.

  ‘You know you can get me thrown out, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He wasn’t joking. The director in the field is expected to keep control of the executive in terms of his whereabouts in every phase of the mission providing the executive can remain in signals with him. I was going to remain in signals but I wasn’t going to tell him where I’d gone to ground and that left him way out on a limb and Bureau One could cut off his career the moment he got back to London for final debriefing.

  Hiss from the kitchen as the eggs went into the pan. ‘Look,’ I said carefully, ‘I think you know when any given DIF runs me through a mission he’s likely to lose track if that’s how I want things to go. Shepley knows it too. I don’t think he’ll come down on you if I can’t bring this one home. And if I can, you’ll be an overnight saint.’

  He didn’t say anything for a bit. ‘You could be pushing your luck. And mine. But I wish you well.’

  I liked his manners. We were moving very fast now into the end-phase of the mission because Gorbachev’s scheduled arrival was tomorrow morning and I’d have to do a lot of work and take a lot of calculated risks and if I went down with a shot in the spine or ran afoul of East German Intelligence and had to pop the capsule or got washed up on a rubbish tip for the want of a better grave he was leaving me with a last signal I could take comfort in as the dark came down; I wish you well.

  ‘I’ll remember that.’

  ‘When you’re not there to answer the phone, will anyone else?’

  ‘Yes. Gunter Blum.’

  ‘Is he a professional?’

  ‘No, but he’s totally reliable and he’ll do anything to get that pass.’

  ‘For his wife?’

  ‘That’s right. Use German; he hasn’t any English.’

  ‘More?’

  ‘Just one thing - I had to abandon the BMW. It’s red hot and the police will be keeping a long-distance watch on it for a while and then they’ll impound it and inform the rental company. I assume they can’t trace, it back to you.’

  ‘I used a sleeper with false papers. How soon do you want another car?’

  ‘Not yet, but have one standing by and I’ll tell you where to leave it for me.’

  ‘Any specific model?’

  ‘Something fast.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No. I’ll keep in contact, don’t worry.’

  Over and out.

  Gunter put the tray on the kitchen table for me and I told him to sit down while I was eating. ‘Listen to me. Today and perhaps tonight I’m going to ask you to drive me wherever I want to go. I shan’t ask you to follow anyone or break the speed limit or the law in any way, but I might want to take over the cab and leave you behind in the street.’

  He sat scratching the blister on his huge hand, watching me with his head lowered and his eyes lifted. ‘I don’t know that I -‘

  ‘If you’ll let me do that, you can tell the police later, if necessary, that I took your cab at gunpoint and threw you out. That will leave you in the clear. Is that frying-pan still hot?’

  He took a second to switch his thoughts.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Drop this one back for a minute, will you?’

  I can’t stand them runny.

  He lumbered away and I did some thinking and when he came back with the egg I told him, ‘I’ve made arrangements for you to pick up the cost of a replacement cab in case I do in fact take over and write it off. The funds will be in your name at the Ost-Deutschebanke in Dmitroffstrasse and all you need to do is show them your ID card. If I don’t damage the cab, then take enough from the funds to cover my bill, and be generous. The balance can stay there and it’ll be picked up.’

  ‘I don’t like it.’ Scratching his blister. ‘You can lose your license easy in this city. They get you for the slightest -‘

  ‘I will look after that too, but you’ll have to trust me. If you can’t, then forget it.’ I wanted to use the cab because I was going to try making a switch in the streets and it’s a terribly difficult thing to pull off, but quite a bit easier if you can sit in the back of a taxi and check the environment the whole time without having to drive; you can also get out and do some work on foot and have it follow you around as a mobile base.

  ‘Whether you decide to trust me or not,’ I told him, ‘there’ll be an envelope at the bank for you with an official Emigration Office pass for your wife in it, sealed by the KGB.’

  In a moment, ‘By the KGB?’

  ‘I’m not a member of their organisation, but I’ve got useful connections.’ With emphasis, ‘The pass will not be a forgery.’

  He took time again before he answered. ‘I’ll do whatever you say.’

  Cone made contact soon after four in the afternoon when the early-winter gloom was settling over the city. I’d spent the day working on the mechanics of the switch I’d have to do and testing them out. It would need darkness, and Cone caught me within an hour of leaving the safe-house.

  ‘I’ve just had a call,’ he said. ‘It was for you, but when I said you were unavailable he agreed to give me the message.’

  ‘Did he use a parole?’

  ‘No. He said his name was Geissler, and that he’s got something for you from Lena.’

  ‘He just said Lena? Not Lena Pabst?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘He left a number for you to call.’

  I wrote it down.

  ‘This was minutes ago?’

  ‘I phoned you right away. Does the name mean anything?’

  ‘Geissler? No.’

  ‘When she phoned yesterday,’ Cone said, ‘she said she’d got some documents for you, remember?’

  ‘Yes.’

  A shrug in his tone. ‘It could be that.’

  ‘Or it could be someone in Trumpeter.’

  After a bit he said, ‘Yes, in which case you’ll have to step gingerly.’

  ‘I’ll work on it and report back.’

  I rang off and gave it some thought. Lena Pabst could have had someone with her when she’d started infiltrating Trumpeter, and he could be Geissler. Or someone in Trumpeter itself could have gone through her papers after she’d been shot dead, and found my number at the hotel and decided it was worth trying. They would have been desperate to know how much she’d found out and what she’d passed on.

  Pick up the phone.

  ‘Speaking.’

  He had a quiet voice, though not passive; quiet in the same way as Shepley’s.

  ‘I’m told you’ve got something for me.’

  I was listening very hard, particularly for the sound of aircraft in the background, or an office PA system. I was probably speaking to Werneuchen Airforce Base.

 
; ‘Yes,’ he said.

  I hadn’t turned the light on in the room, and the distant glow from the Wall was coming through the window.

  ‘How do I obtain it?’

  The brief, circumspect language of caution. I might even be speaking to the chief of the Trumpeter operation.

  ‘We would agree on a rendezvous.’

  She hadn’t mentioned anyone. She hadn’t said, I know someone who can help me.

  ‘I’m willing to do that.’

  ‘You would have to be alone.’

  ‘I agree.’

  I might even be speaking to Volper.

  ‘Then we shall rendezvous at six o’clock this evening, in Karl Liebknechtstrasse. Is that convenient for you?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘What car will you be driving?’

  I was trying hard to detect an accent. In a blind rdv it can help if you can establish the other party’s voice in the memory. This man’s accent was educated and, I thought, Jewish.

  ‘I’ll take a taxi,’, I said.

  ‘Very well. Tell the driver to go east along Karl Liebknechtstrasse and pass the church and cross Liebknecht Bridge. Tell him to put you down between there and Spandauerstrasse. Do you understand?’

  Said I did.

  ‘When you get out of the taxi, forget to tip the driver. Walk a short distance and go back and give him the tip.’

  I liked his style.

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Then walk towards Spandauerstrasse. You will be met.’

  ‘What do I look for?’

  ‘Just keep walking. I will meet you.’

  Captain Friebourg … Will Captain Friebourg report immediately to Wing Command…

  Faint, but clear, metallic, a woman’s voice.

  Werneuchen.

  ‘All right,’ I said.

  ‘I repeat. You will come alone. If I see anyone who might be with you, I shall not meet you, and of course you will receive nothing.’

  ‘Understood.’

  The line went dead.