Bearpit

by Brian Freemantle

  This time Kapalet chose Le Vivarois restaurant, taking as much care as he always did, remaining concealed in the Avenue Victor-Hugo until he saw the CIA man enter and waiting until Drew was seated before going in himself.

  They went through the formality of ordering – Drew on this occasion impatiently selecting the wine – and as soon as the chevalier left the American said: ‘Well?’

  ‘It hasn’t been easy,’ avoided Kapalet.

  Drew sighed at the accustomed bargaining, slipping the envelope into the Russian’s hand beneath the concealment of the table.

  ‘I managed to ask,’ said Kapalet, which he had, but from Moscow, not the reassigned Shelenkov.

  ‘And?’

  ‘He saw sometimes a man named Dolya, who acted as the courier to Moscow.’

  ‘What about the other name?’

  The Russian nodded in affirmation. ‘Levin,’ he said. ‘From the UN mission as well. Performed as a cut-out, between New York and Washington.’

  ‘How many times?’

  ‘Four, as far as he could remember.’

  Drew smiled, gesturing with his wine glass as if he were offering a toast. ‘You’ve done well, Sergei. You always do well.’

  ‘There’s something else,’ said Kapalet, as he had been specifically instructed by the head of the First Chief Directorate himself.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Levin’s defected, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Drew cautiously.

  ‘The order’s gone out,’ said Kapalet. ‘A general instruction to all rezidentura, in case you people move him abroad, but concentrated directly to America.’

  ‘What order?’

  ‘Levin’s to be traced,’ said Kapalet. ‘Traced and killed, as an example. As assassin has already been assigned in America.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t have a name,’ said Kapalet. ‘But you’d better take special care of Levin if you want to keep him alive.’

  26

  Yevgennie Levin held back from any immediate inference, guarding against mistakes, but the attitude of the CIA group appeared different from the first occasion. Friendlier would have been an exaggeration. Perhaps more relaxed. The long-haired man with the legal pad might provide the indicator. They arranged themselves in the same room as before, positioned exactly as before: the bearded, shaggy man was still wearing the abused, strained suit.

  ‘Maybe we could get into a little more detail today, sir?’ opened Myers.

  ‘In what way?’ responded Levin cautiously. Don’t over-respond, don’t anticipate, he thought.

  ‘Tell us about Shelenkov?’ urged Crookshank. ‘What did he look like, for instance?’

  Not the personal antagonism of the previous session, assessed Levin; not yet, anyway. He said: ‘Quite a small man, balding at the front. It seemed to embarrass him, because he was careful to bring his hair forward. Some facial coloration, from blood pressure I always thought. Maybe from the drinking.’

  ‘Good English?’ prompted Myers.

  ‘Very good. Fond of Americanism.’

  ‘Americanism!’ seized Norris – as he was intended to – remembering the original warning from Paris of the man having had the Agency by the balls.

  ‘Slang. Things like that. Said it provided cover.’ Levin was aware of Norris scribbling and then passing a note to Myers, curious at what it said.

  It was the lawyer who took up the questioning again. ‘So you had some extensive conversation with him?’ suggested Crookshank.

  ‘I do not know that I would have called it extensive. More social exchanges.’

  Imagining a weakness, Crookshank said: ‘You travelled down from New York for one purpose only: you were a messenger, sent to collect something?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Levin guardedly, not sure which way the interrogation was going.

  Crookshank took a long time shuffling through his pad, a courtroom trick to unsettle a witness. He looked up and said: ‘A tractor sales catalogue, two letters and a holiday postcard?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which would have taken no more than seconds to pick up?’

  Levin thought he knew the thrust but refused to anticipate. ‘Yes,’ he said, for the third time.

  ‘Why the need for social exchanges?’

  It was a bad point, decided Levin: almost desperate. Easily he said: ‘Because the handover only took seconds. If I had been under FBI surveillance and entered and left the embassy so quickly, the purpose of the visit would have been obvious. I would practically have been confirming myself as an agent of the KGB. Having made the collection there was the need to remain at the embassy for a reasonable period.’ He was conscious of Myers’ barely perceptible nod of agreement.

  Crookshank refused to give up. He said: ‘As a member of the Soviet mission to the United Nations you are an international civil servant. You had no purpose being at the Soviet embassy in Washington in the first place.’

  How thorough and all-encompassing the preparations had been, reflected Levin. He said: ‘My attachment to the United Nations was in the mineral division. The Soviet Union has the largest deposits of minerals anywhere in the world. Had there ever been a challenge – which there never was – the explanation was to be that I was actually using my position as a Russian to obtain Soviet mineral data for UN use and benefit. I always brought back with me some statistical documentation, to substantiate such an account …’ Completely to out-argue the long-haired man, Levin turned sideways to Proctor, who had again accompanied him in the helicopter from Connecticut, and said: ‘My approach to you was the first indication the FBI had that I was KGB, wasn’t it? I was not suspect until then?’

  Proctor did not directly answer the look, forced into an admission of oversight. ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘You were never suspected.’

  ‘Always clever!’ said Crookshank, almost petulantly.

  Always, echoed Levin, in his mind. He said: ‘I thought I had made it clear how important Shelenkov’s position was regarded. How he had to be protected, at all times.’

  ‘And we’ve rather drifted away from how we began this conversation,’ came in Myers, appearing irritated at his colleague’s digression. ‘So you’ve told us what Shelenkov looked like and talked about social chit-chat. As it was social chit-chat, where did you meet?’

  ‘Always in Shelenkov’s office, within the rezidentura.’

  ‘Never elsewhere.’

  ‘Certainly never outside of the embassy. Once … no I think it was twice … we had a drink in the embassy mess.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To pass a period of accountable time. As I said last time, Shelenkov liked to drink.’

  ‘To go to the mess was his idea?’

  ‘Everything always had to be initiated by him,’ said Levin. ‘He actually ranked as my superior officer.’

  ‘What did he drink?’ asked Norris.

  ‘Scotch whisky, usually. Sometimes vodka,’ replied Levin. He knew none of the questions were as inconsequential as they seemed: obviously they had another source, with which or with whom everything he said could hopefully be checked. Still very much on trial then: and would be, for a long time.

  ‘What can you remember of these conversations?’ pressed Myers.

  ‘Even in conversation I had to defer to Shelenkov, of course,’ embarked Levin cautiously. ‘He was a boastful man …’

  ‘… Tell me some of his boasts,’ interrupted Norris.

  ‘He would always laugh, sneering. Say he had never been suspected,’ said Levin.

  ‘He was wrong,’ insisted Crookshank, smarting from the earlier exchange. ‘He was suspected in Canada and came near to arrest in London, before he was transferred here, in 1985.’

  ‘From which time he successfully ran a spy accorded the highest priority in Moscow without once being detected by you, didn’t he?’ came back Levin. The remark was intended to deflate his constant antagonist but it was Proctor who was embarrassed by the immediately critical attention of the
CIA committee. The Russian realized there might be protection in fomenting discord between the representatives of the two agencies: it was something to keep in mind.

  ‘What other boasts?’ persisted the CIA’s Russian expert.

  ‘He said something once about Latin America … the Caribbean Basin Initiative …’

  ‘One isn’t linked to the other,’ argued Norris.

  ‘Shelenkov linked them,’ insisted Levin.

  ‘How?’ demanded Myers.

  ‘Said something about it being inconceivable that you relied upon the sort of people you did in Latin America,’ recounted Levin. ‘Then he said he thought it was madness, the type of people whose word you accepted in the Caribbean. Said they were all drug dealers who only knew how to cheat.’

  ‘Wait!’ stopped Myers, actually holding up his hand. ‘This is important: very important. “You”. That’s the word you’re using. What or whom did you understand Shelenkov to be talking about? America as a country? Or the CIA, as an agency?’

  ‘The CIA of course,’ said Levin, as if he were surprised by their need for clarification. He spread his hands apologetically. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I was paraphrasing and that was wrong. What he said was that he thought it inconceivable that the Company relied upon such people in Latin America. Like I said last time, he used that expression …’

  ‘… I remember what you said last time,’ stopped Myers. On his own pad he wrote ‘Latin American desk’ and followed it with a hedge of exclamation marks, and Norris nodded back in agreement.

  ‘He definitely mentioned both: Latin America and the Caribbean?’ said Norris.

  ‘That is my recollection,’ agreed Levin. ‘You will appreciate that at the time I did not attach particular importance to it. Not as I do now.’

  ‘It’s important all right,’ said Myers, a personal remark.

  ‘What about countries: any countries?’ pressed Norris. There were sub-divisions and departments for each geographical unit and island, so without more definite leads it would still be a haystack hunt.

  ‘Never,’ said Levin, at once and unhelpfully. ‘It was a general remark, not specific’

  ‘What did you infer from what he said?’ came in Crookshank. ‘Could the remark not have been that he knew the quality of our informants from your own Soviet presence in the regions? Not necessarily that he had a source within this Agency?’

  ‘I do not think that would have been possible,’ said Levin.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The KGB division of which Shelenkov was then a member – of which I was a member – is limited entirely to the United States,’ lectured the Russian. ‘There is no liaison with other divisions concerned with the Caribbean or Latin America. So therefore no way he could have known. It had to come from somewhere here, internally.’ He was aware of Myers nodding, in agreement again. He would have thought he had by now given them enough to check and to investigate but they gave no indication of wanting to end the session. Levin wished they would. The concentration of remembering the rehearsed disclosures and revelations was physically draining him and he was frightened. Just one mistake, one slip, he thought, the perpetual warning litany.

  ‘Sure Nicaragua was not mentioned?’ persisted Norris, reluctant to give up.

  ‘I do not recall it.’

  ‘Honduras?’

  Seeing a way to end the interrogation, Levin shrugged and said: ‘It doesn’t trigger any recollection.’

  ‘San Salvador?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Levin made himself a bet and won.

  Crookshank said: ‘That’s neither a negative nor an affirmative, to the last three questions.’

  ‘It is difficult to be positive,’ protested Levin. ‘I need time to think, to recall …’

  Once more Myers held up his hands in a placating gesture. ‘There’s no hurry, no pressure,’ he said reassuringly. ‘We got all the time in the world.’

  ‘I’ve been here for five hours,’ reminded Levin. He’d found the helicopter ride easier this time than on the previous occasion: he’d have to describe it in tonight’s letter to Natalia.

  ‘Let’s break,’ decided Myers, moving his hand again in a halting gesture when Levin started to rise. ‘Think on it, Yevgennie,’ he urged. ‘Try to remember as much as you can.’

  ‘I will,’ promised the Russian.

  On their way back through the Langley grounds to the waiting helicopter, Proctor said: ‘I felt pretty stupid in there a couple of times, Yevgennie.’

  ‘You know why I held back about what I knew in the CIA,’ said Levin. ‘Nothing I did was intended to embarrass you.’

  ‘No more surprises about possible mistakes the FBI might have make. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ agreed Levin. Poor man, he thought.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ insisted Crookshank.

  ‘I sure as fuck don’t like it either,’ said Myers. ‘I’m supposed to be head of internal security, don’t forget. This isn’t a can of worms: it’s a whole fucking drum full.’

  ‘I mean Levin himself,’ argued the lawyer.

  ‘What’s not to like?’

  ‘The last time we talked of gossip and rumour, so that we have to drag from him the fact that he was a go-between,’ reminded Crookshank. ‘From what he said today, he was hugger-mugger enough with Shelenkov to be best buddies.’

  ‘That’s an exaggeration and you know it,’ disputed Norris. ‘I don’t find any difficulty at all in accepting his nervousness, the first time, against what he told us today. Kapalet came back with every confirmation we asked for. And look what more has come out today …’ The Soviet expert extended his hand, ticking the points off by collapsing his fingers one by one. ‘He said Shelenkov prefers Scotch whisky, which from Kapalet we know he does. He said sometimes Shelenkov shifts to vodka, which from Kapalet we know he does. He said Shelenkov is a boastful son-of-a-bitch which from Kapalet we know he is because that’s how we started this whole affair in the first place. He describes Shelenkov as Kapalet describes him, physically …’ He was aware of Crookshank about to speak but shook his head against interruption. ‘Don’t tell me they’re small, unimportant points. They’re exactly the sort of small, important points which convince me that Levin is genuine and he’s got a lot to tell. And if you don’t like the unimportant points, don’t forget the most positive proof yet to come from Paris. According to Kapalet, Moscow has issued a kill order against the guy. You’re telling me they’d do that if Levin were a plant! Come on, Walt, for Christ’s sake!’

  ‘I agree, one hundred per cent,’ said Myers. ‘I just wish to hell he’d hurry up and show us the way to go.’

  ‘What can we do about the Caribbean and Latin America?’ asked Norris.

  ‘Check the desks, like you suggested,’ said the security chief. ‘But discreetly: I don’t want to drive anyone into the woodwork.’

  ‘What about analysis divisions?’

  ‘Those too,’ agreed Myers.

  ‘We could play it back to Paris, in the hope Kapalet can offer something?’ suggested Crookshank.

  ‘It’s worth trying,’ said Myers.

  ‘At this stage anything is worth trying,’ said Norris. ‘What about the hunt that Moscow’s started for Levin? Do you tell the FBI?’

  ‘I don’t want to,’ said Myers. ‘There’s a risk of it spooking the Bureau. I don’t want them running all over the country, trying to find a new place to hide and delaying our access to him.’

  ‘It would be a bigger problem if the Russians did get a lead and blew him away before he told us what we need to know,’ said Norris.

  ‘I guess you’re right,’ said Myers reluctantly. ‘If they get jumpy, volunteer some protection from us.’

  ‘The improvement – the change – is remarkable,’ praised Sylvester Burns. Petr Levin’s tutor was practically a caricature of an academic, fair, disordered hair almost to the collar of a suit of expensive material and cut but seeming to have been tailored for someone at least two sizes smaller: th
e sleeves rode up his forearms and the trouser cuffs were ankle length. There was a hole in the heel of his left sock.

  ‘I’m glad you’re pleased,’ said the boy.

  ‘Pleased!’ echoed the man. ‘I’m delighted. I’m sure your parents will be, too. Everyone.’

  Never once during their one-to-one lessons had Burns referred to the FBI by title, used the word defection or shown any reaction to the unusual circumstances of his teaching. Petr supposed Burns was a contract employee of the agency. He said: ‘You think I’ll have no difficulty, achieving my grades?’

  ‘I’d be shocked if you didn’t.’

  ‘I’ll be able to do it all, from here?’ asked Petr, directing the conversation the way he wanted it to continue.

  ‘Tutoring like this most definitely has its drawbacks,’ said Burns. ‘Apparatus for science, particularly. And there’s a physical limitation on the number of textbooks I can transport.’

  ‘I’ve not found it easy, denied reference text,’ said Petr impromptu.

  ‘Maybe I should speak to someone,’ said the tutor.

  As soon as you like, thought the boy; as soon as you like.

  27

  Knowing the side road off Novaya Street in which his father had been killed made it easy for Yuri to identify the nearest civilian militia post from which officers would have been summoned and his impulse was to go there immediately to find and question whoever had initially been called to the scene that night. But he didn’t. Although he was conscious of the convoluted irony, Yuri decided the best way to discover what really lay behind Kazin’s instruction to locate Yevgennie Levin was actually to attempt such an investigation and by so doing set himself up as a knowing bait. And having done that, to spend more time looking behind than in front. So Natalia Levin had priority.

  Before setting out for Mytishchi, he went through the material Kazin had made available, almost at once disappointed. And then equally quickly irritated at himself for expecting a lead where to start in America. If Russian security attached to the UN mission had suspected the remotest contact with the FBI, Levin would have been arrested and hauled back to Moscow on the next available plane. Muddled thinking – and he couldn’t afford muddled thinking. He concentrated upon what information there was, memorizing the biographical details that were available and particularly studying the photographs: Levin and his wife both fat, heavy people, the black-haired fourteen-year-old girl he was going to see squinting myopically at the camera through thick-lensed spectacles, but quite pretty apart from them, the boy smirking self-consciously, dressed up for officialdom.