DAY 4
Time Event Remarks
1200 Degree of readiness yellow Cordon round house
1600 Arrival of Ministerial group Sea patrol begins
1700 Degree of readiness red
1800–1930 Arrival of delegates Identity checks
2000 Speech of welcome, toasts Check on cordon
2030 Conference in session Land staff fed in shifts
2330 Dinner
DAY 5
0030 Conference in session
0300 Refreshments, rest period Check on cordon
0530–0600 Speech of thanks, departure of delegates
0630 Degree of readiness yellow Sea patrol returns
1200 Departure of Ministerial group, degree of readiness blue Cordon withdrawn, close down radio links
1700 Departure of staff
Arenski himself would not be departing with his staff. He had ten days' leave coming to him and proposed to spend as many of them here as he felt like. At the moment he felt like spending them all here. There was something about that boy's way of laughing …
A knock at the door brought him out of his reverie. ‘Da?’ he called irritably.
One of the two men who had first occupied the house entered and spoke in an appalling Ukrainian accent.
– Good morning, Comrade General.
– Good morning, Mily. Please sit down.
The general had quickly mastered his irritation and spoke amiably. It was a rule of his never to antagonize anybody, not even a worthless peasant like Mily who ought to be doling out bowls of soup at a labour camp.
The man perched himself awkwardly on a bad copy of a Venetian stool by the empty marble fireplace.
– Only one thing to report, sir. There was a fire at sea about five o'clock this morning. I was informed by a man at the harbour. Two boats went out to investigate. They made a search of the area but the ship had sunk without trace. They picked up one survivor, rather badly burnt. There's a hospital of sorts in the town above the port and he was taken to it. He had some story about a fire in the engine-room.
– A sad story, Mily. But I don't see that it concerns us, do you? Some fool of a Greek throws a cigarette-end into a tin of petrol and blows his ship up. It would be surprising if something like that didn't happen every week in a country as backward as this. You really mustn't go about flapping your ears at every piece of local gossip. A good Leninist like you should be able to distinguish at once between the essential and the inessential.
Mily flushed and said humbly, – I'm sorry, Comrade General, I didn't think.
– It's of no consequence, my dear Mily. Anything else?
– Boris kept listening watch on the Athens frequency at the usual time, sir. No transmission.
– Very good. See what that is, will you?
There was movement on the terrace outside and an excited murmur. A man's voice shouted in Greek. Mily went to the door, opened it, letting a bar of intense sunlight and a surge of heat into the shadowed room, and went out of sight for a moment. When he reappeared he seemed agitated.
– A rowing-boat is approaching, sir. A girl and a boy of about sixteen. They're making for the anchorage.
This sort of situation had arisen a dozen times since Arenski's arrival on the islet – tourists coming to ask if and when the house would be available for rental, tradesmen from the island touting for custom – and had been easily dealt with, as he had known it would be, by one of the Greek members of the team following laid-down procedure. Normally the general would have allowed this procedure to run its course without rising from his chair, but this time he decided to oversee the matter in person. He got up, pulled his green-and-turquoise check shirt into position and sauntered outside.
The sun beat down at him and its reflection on the water was dazzling. He shaded his eyes. A hundred yards away a white-painted dinghy was being rowed straight towards him. The senior Greek employee, binoculars in hand, asked him for instructions, but Arenski went on studying for a moment the play of strong bare brown shoulders at the oars. Finally he said in English, regrettably the only language common to himself and the man at his side, ‘Have you asked them what they want?’
‘Oh yes, General. But they are not answering me.’
‘Try them again. Ask them who they are, tell them that this is a private house and so on.’
The Greek did as he was told. This time there was a response from the girl. It was gibberish to Arenski except for one name, a name he recognized and reacted to sharply.
‘General, she is saying she is a friend of Comrade Gordienko and she is wishing to speak with the gentleman of the house, please.’
Arenski fingered his pendulous lower lip. What was happening was inexcusably irregular, but he recognized with some weariness that he could not afford to send this person away. And there was another consideration. He said with fair cheerfulness, ‘Tell them we don't know any Mr Gordienko, but the girl and her … her escort are very welcome to come ashore for a chat.’
Two minutes later the general, hands on hips, was on the mole surveying the two arrivals. The girl, a Greek or Bulgar, was cheaply pretty, over-developed about the bust. The boy, he assured himself out of the corner of his eye, was satisfactory, muscular and tanned. Arenski waited: always let the other speak first.
The girl faced him. ‘Do you speak English?’
‘Yes.’
‘My name is Ariadne Alexandrou. I am an employee of Mr Gordienko in Athens. I have an urgent message for the man in charge here.’
‘I'm the tenant of this house, if that's what you mean. But excuse me one moment.’
Leaving the pair in the sun, Arenski strode briskly on his short legs back into the room he had just left. He took out a spring-back file bound in the yellow of Personnel and containing photostats of identity documents and dossiers. Alexandrou. Here it was. The hair in the photograph was longer but the rest was the same. He shut the file and returned to the doorway.
‘Come over here, will you? Both of you.’ When they had reached him he went on pleasantly, ‘Your credentials are in order, Miss Alexandrou. You may come inside.’ Then, his little eyes running over the boy's body, he added, ‘And please ask your young friend if he would care for a glass of something cold in the kitchen.’
The boy looked back at Arenski while the girl put the question. His look said, as plainly as any words, that he knew what was in the general's mind and found it total filth. With a word to the girl he turned his back and strolled away.
Arenski swallowed and drew himself up. By a tremendous effort he managed to smile at the girl, introduce himself, and say, ‘Let's sit down in the cool, shall we?’
The contentment he had felt half an hour earlier had totally departed. All things considered, he was probably the least suitable man in the whole of Soviet Security to react appropriately to Ariadne's story. Nevertheless he heard her out to the end without once interrupting.
When she had finished he sat silent and motionless for a time in his revolving chair, hands behind his head. Then he turned round to his desk and reopened the Personnel file. Finally he said, looking out of the window, ‘You were recruited by the Chief Intelligence Directorate, the GRU.’
‘That's correct.’
‘Why was that? What's a girl of your sort doing as an agent of the Red Army? Surely it would have been more natural for you to come directly under the orders of the KGB.’
‘Maybe it would, sir. It was just that … well, the man who originally signed me up to work for Russia was the Number Two of the GRU in Athens.’
‘Yes.’ Arenski still stared out of the window. ‘He was your lover, this man?’
‘Please, General, is this important?’
‘He was your lover, this man?’ It might have been a tape-recording of the previous query.
‘Yes. He was.’
‘And it was he who … converted you, I think would be the right word here – converted you to Marxist Socialism?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hav
e you done much counter-espionage work?’
‘Not a great deal. Chiefly on jobs that called for a girl like me.’
‘A seductive temptress,’ sneered Arenski. ‘Really, some of us behave as if we're still in the pre-Revolutionary era. Now, your father’ – he glanced at the file – ‘your father is an official of Pallas Airlines. A comfortable bourgeois.’
When this drew no reply, the general swivelled his chair round again and studied her impersonally. Eventually he drew in his breath and said in what he meant to be a kindly tone, ‘You know, Miss Alexandrou, you're not the sort of person one expects to find working for peace in a primitive country like this one. What can be your experience of the class struggle? Where are your roots in the workers' movement? You know what you are? You're a romantic. Drawn to Communism by sentimental pity for the oppressed and to Intelligence work by false notions of glamour. And this means –’
The girl cut in sharply. ‘General Arenski, I came here to discuss something much more important than why I became a Communist. There's a terrible threat against your country and against what we both believe in. I'm awaiting your instructions.’
Arenski wrinkled his nose and sniffed. ‘Romantics like you are peculiarly apt to lose their sense of proportion. Let us look calmly at what you've told me. This episode in which Major Gordienko and two of his assistants are killed. Were any of the assailants identified?’
‘I forgot to tell you that. Mr Bond recognized the man he shot as one of the group who kidnapped his chief in England.’
‘Just so. I must say that kidnapping appeals to me. It has such an air of fantasy about it. But of course we know that fantastic things do happen. It's a pity that we have no way of obtaining confirmation of this one. And then the episode of the fight in the boats. You yourself recognized the man called Theodorou. A traitor to the working class, clearly. A criminal, you said. There you are likely to be right. That episode carries conviction of a sort. It would be interesting to interview the man who survived it.’
‘There was a survivor?’ asked the girl, sitting up sharply.
‘Oh yes. He's in the hospital here. I will institute inquiries.’ Arenski's tone carried no sense of purpose. One of the minor irritations of this intrusion was the way it had compelled him to change his mind about the significance of the fire at sea. He forced himself to continue his analysis.
‘There are other elements of fantasy in your story. Consider this idea – put forward by Bond, naturally – that the Chinese People's Government is conspiring against us. Now I know it's fashionable to take the view that China has replaced the capitalist West as the chief threat to world peace. And it's true that our leaders have been properly severe on the ideological mistakes of the Chinese. But it would be disastrously un-Marxist to jump to the conclusion that their pride, their ambition and their envy of the USSR could ever drive them to the attempted use of violence against our conference tomorrow night. That would be gangsterism; gangsterism of the same kind as you have been twice involved in, though of an infinitely greater degree. And gangsterism is the typical resort of Western warmongers.
‘My dear young lady,’ – Arenski tried another smile – ‘the key to this whole affair is the character of the man Bond. I know him well by repute. He has conducted terrorist activities in Turkey, France and the Caribbean. Quite recently he committed two assassinations in Japan for motives of pure personal revenge. He is a dangerous international criminal. He has very cleverly involved you in his schemes with tales of kidnapping and wicked Chinamen – the very thing to appeal to your romantic nature. Who his opponents really are is scarcely worth conjecturing about. Some rival gangster group, probably American. Our concern lies elsewhere.’
‘May I ask a question, Comrade General?’ For the first time, the girl spoke with proper respect.
‘Certainly Comrade.’
‘How does this theory square with the murder of Mr Gordienko and his two assistants, and with Mr Gordienko thinking for sure that there is a traitor in our organization in Athens?’
‘That is two questions, but we will examine them. Gordienko and his two men were killed because the rival gang wanted Bond and they were in the way. Very regrettable, but not mysterious. Gordienko's notion of a traitor … well …’ The general turned over a small, well-manicured hand. ‘I respected old Piotr in a way, but he was never the most efficient of men. And he's been out here too long. By your own account a breach of security had clearly taken place. There'd been a leak. Gordienko had slipped up, but he didn't know just how or where. What is more natural than to create an unknown traitor who takes the blame for all your mistakes?’
‘I quite understand that, sir. You make it very clear. But I would like you to explain why, if there is no traitor, my message to you via the Embassy in Athens has never arrived.’
Arenski sighed. ‘You said you don't know who you spoke to there. Some junior clerk, no doubt, probably a Greek, who was too stupid to understand your no doubt guarded phrases, went out to lunch and forgot the whole thing. And your zeal was commendable, but before very long I shall be reading all about the affair in the newspapers when they're fetched from the port. It'll be interesting to see how they treat it.
‘There, then, is your explanation. There are half a dozen other such explanations. Whereas your explanation, of course, involves the mysterious traitor.’
‘Well … yes, sir.’
‘Kidnapping, Chinese terrorists, traitors: is there no end to it?’ Arenski turned businesslike; he had spent too long being reasonable. ‘Now, I will outline our course of action. I want Bond here. He clearly has designs of some sort against our conference. Aided by this Greek ruffian and an unwashed small boy he has little chance of achieving anything spectacular. There are weapons here that would drive off a small warship. I think I can say that I've neglected nothing.’ The general gave a narrow smile. ‘But Bond may be a nuisance. He must be kept out of harm's way until our delegates have departed.’
‘Anything I can do, Comrade General …’
‘Yes, Comrade Alexandrou, there is a great deal. I take it you have been sleeping with our Mr Bond?’ Arenski managed to keep out of his voice very nearly all the distaste he felt at the idea.
‘Yes, sir. He won't let me alone.’
‘Is he infatuated with you?’
‘Oh yes. I've very much influence over him.’
‘Better and better.’ Arenski almost beamed. ‘Persuade him to come here for an interview. Say I am gravely concerned about what has happened and need his help. Give him my word that he'll be able to depart unmolested at any time he may wish. You'll know what arguments to use. Is that clear?’
‘Perfectly clear Comrade General,’ said the girl, getting up. ‘I'll bring him here as soon as I can, but you must give me a little time.’
‘By all means.’ The general also rose. ‘Tell me, how did you persuade him to let you come here this morning?’
‘By the same sort of methods as I shall use to persuade him to come himself.’
‘Just so, just so,’ said Arenski hurriedly, then, remembering his manners, added, ‘A glass of something before you go my dear?’
‘No thank you, sir. The sooner I return the better.’
‘We shall make a Marxist of you yet. Let me say how much I appreciate your services.’
The girl smiled gratefully and said with obvious conviction, ‘And let me say, Comrade General, how grateful I am to you for interpreting the situation scientifically to me and for being merciful with me about my bad attitude to this spy's deceptions. I hope I have learnt from the experience.’
Arenski bowed. He had thought her a typical Balkan whore, foolish, sentimental and pleasure-loving with a streak of gangsterism, but she had determination and her readiness to correct her mistakes was promising. He would mention her favourably in his report. ‘Au revoir, Comrade Alexandrou, I look forward to seeing you very soon.’
Left alone, he paced the floor for a time, frowning. It crossed his mind that t
he notion of a Chinese attempt to sabotage the conference was not entirely fanciful. According to report, Mao Tse-tung had been in some odd moods recently, as his retirement approached. And the behaviour of the Red Guards, the new hostility to foreigners … Then the general's brow cleared. Fantasy must be catching. Overt violence on the scale required was unthinkable in peacetime, even granted the uttermost in neo-Stalinist irresponsibility among the Chinese leaders. Nevertheless, one or two points must be cleared up at once.
He went to the desk and rang a small brass hand-bell. Mily came in.
– Go to the wireless room and tell the operator to contact Athens immediately. I'll come along and speak in a couple of minutes.
– And break wireless silence, sir?
Arenski clenched his small fists. This ploughboy gaping would drive him mad. He answered in a tone of caricatured patience, – Yes, Mily, and break wireless silence. Exactly that. Now go and do as I say. And get one of the Greeks, the fat one, to go up to the hospital in the town and inquire about a – no, tell him to come and see me.
The fat Greek arrived, was briefed and sent on his way with Arenski's usual politeness. (Once outside the door, the man made the traditional five-finger gesture, meaning roughly, ‘May all your senses leave you.’) Then the general went up to the tiny oven-hot cubicle on the top floor that housed the wireless station with its R/T links to Athens and to Plovdiv in Bulgaria, which would act if required as a relay to Moscow. The latter circuit was not to be used except in conditions of threat-to-peace emergency. The room reeked of sweat and cheap Russian cigarettes. An unmade bed filled most of the space not occupied by the grey-enamelled set. Arenski pulled out a scented silk handkerchief and inhaled.
The operator, a bull-necked Muscovite with a heavy shaving-rash, handed up the microphone and Arenski got down to it.
It was frustrating, it was unbelievably prolonged and the howl of static surrounding and blurring the incoming voice set his teeth on edge, but at the end of twenty agonizing minutes he had the situation clear. He thanked the operator and left the room, sweating freely.
Colonel Sun Page 13
