by Brian Martin
I took our used crockery back to the counter, left a tip for the girls who worked as waitresses, and we went out on to the landing. We put on our coats and Mark wrapped a dark blue woollen scarf round his face and neck. We put on our hats. It was going to be very cold outside. The giant thermometer on the side of the Town Hall read minus one and a fierce wind blew. As I held the door open for Mark, I saw Rovde striding towards the café across the square. I closed the door again and said to Mark that he should meet the burly man, whose face was not visible, who was coming towards the café and us. I explained quickly that it was Rovde.
‘So, I meet all the Americans this morning,’ he commented with a tone of satisfaction. He unwound his scarf and we waited those few moments for Uri to come through the doors. He did so with a forceful bluster, shook his head vigorously, removed his fur hat, and saw us. He smiled broadly.
‘Wow. How are you guys? It’s cold out there. Are you coming or going?’
‘Uri, we’re just leaving. But let me introduce you to a friend and colleague of mine, Mark.’
They shook hands and Uri patted Mark’s shoulder. ‘It’s good to meet you. Sorry you’ve got to go. Is there anyone else I know upstairs?’ I told him there was not. Two other tables had people at them who so far as I could tell were native Estonians.
‘Well, that’s a shame. I was looking forward to some company.’
Mark said he would be delighted to have another coffee while Uri took some breakfast.
‘I don’t have anything pressing to do. Pel has got to write his piece for the paper. So, I’ll keep you company if you like.’
‘Great. Couldn’t be better. Let’s go.’ He began to remove his coat. ‘Bye, Pelham. Ring me later.’ Mark nodded and said he would be in touch during the evening. I went out into the cold, envying them the warmth of the café and the camaraderie of their conversation.
The rest of the morning I spent hacking out an article on Estonian development, the country’s entry into the European Community and its progressive use of internet activity in every walk of life. The people I had met over those past days at the conference hotel determined the angle of its slant. Arne had left a telephone message for me: we were to meet at two o’clock underneath the thermometer on the Town Hall. I finished writing by 12.30 and thought I would go back to the English Café and have a sandwich for lunch. Like Rovde before me, I thought I might meet there someone I knew, maybe Uri himself, Mo, even Mark might have made his way back there. I was unlucky. No one was there. What were they doing? I wondered where Mark was. So, I ate my sandwich on my own. I read a newspaper, went over in my mind the article I had just written and decided to make one major revision and two minor ones. I ordered an espresso and a glass of water. At five minutes to two I went outside and strolled over to the base of the Town Hall and stood under the thermometer: it read zero. I barely had time to glance up at the reading when I heard Arne greet me.
‘Ah, Pelham. Well met. I need what you English call a constitutional. I have been sitting all morning dealing with finance. Making the books balance and always looking at the bottom line is exhausting. A good walk and fresh air is what I need. Have you spent a good morning?’
‘Thanks for asking. Yes, I’ve been productive. I’ve written an article about Estonia, the EU and internet use. I’ll have to alter it a bit; but the task is mainly done.’
‘Your talents are wasted on that sort of thing, if you don’t mind me saying so. That’s why you should come with us. We could make your efforts really worthwhile. I have not said this before, but I can say so now, we can offer you in the region of two hundred thousand dollars a year.’
He paused and waited for my reaction. I think he believed he might have hit a bull’s eye. Perhaps he was just testing me. If he believed that I had security connections, then he probably did not realise that people like me are not tempted by offers of that sort. If he were trying to neutralise me as an intelligence source that put at risk Myrex’s operations in the Baltic, then he had overlooked one thing: my colleagues and I did not work in the field of investigative journalism in order to make our fortunes. We did the work because it was fascinating in its intricacies and we were committed to the idea that what we were doing was essential for the health of our society, for the good of our fellow citizens, for the common weal. We defended our way of life, more as foot soldiers than generals. We did not expect to earn spectacular salaries. There were principles involved. Bribery was irrelevant. Few of us ever fell for financial inducements. The ones who did and Belmont immediately sprang to mind, in a sense, destroyed themselves. They betrayed their country and themselves.
‘That’s very generous,’ I said. ‘But as I have said, I’m really not interested. I’m happy as I am.’ We had hardly started walking, and yet Arne had already pitched his hard-sell technique at me. I wondered what was in store. He was certainly eager to make his assault. We took our way out of the main square into the narrow cobbled Voorimehe, emerged into Pikk Street and entered the Toompea by the Long Leg Gate. We ascended slowly the Pikk Jalg, gained an eminence and looked back over where we had come from and beyond to the new town and the docks. As we looked seawards the sky was clear. It gave the concrete and glass buildings, and the shining metal of refineries and factories, a frosted brilliance. We were standing in the midst of thirteenth- and fourteenth-century architecture looking out on to late twentieth-, early twenty-first-century functional, modern constructions. We continued up to the Nevsky Cathedral. Arne said we should go inside.
At various points inside the cathedral candles burned and half banished the gloom. Gold, silver and red were the colours that dominated the extravagant decoration of the interior. There were images of dark-faced saints hung as icons on walls and pillars. The heavy scent of unusual incense misted the air. A number of the faithful knelt at prayer. Arne paced slowly round. He stopped at a small shrine. A glass case revealed precious jewels and a crown of gold, embellished with silver and pearls. Arne saw the cathedral as a museum. It held no religious significance for him. I remember commenting to my inner self that if he were not working for capitalism, he would have made an exemplary communist. Religion for him was the relic of history. It had been overtaken, rendered obsolete. For him, as he told me in discussion later, God was dead. That was another factor that set me against him. I realised that he was soulless. He was a realist, a materialist. I am, and was more so then, a romantic. Our philosophies were irreconcilable. It occurred to me that also, given other circumstances, he could have been a Nazi. I could see that he would not think twice about taking life, about having to kill. I know that is a question that all intelligence personnel have to answer, but behind their conviction to kill lies a philosophic argument to do with the preservation of good in the face of evil, the mortal battle between good and evil: troops on both sides must perish in the conflict. I suspected that Arne put little value on human life, except that of his own. The visit to the cathedral, and the walk round Toompea, convinced me that he had the capacity to be utterly ruthless.
On our way out, towards the rear of the cathedral, we met an old priest coming in. He was well protected against the cold by a heavy black overcoat, under which you could see the trail of his black cassock. He wore his beard long and broad, and it was neatly trimmed. He kneeled briefly, bowed his head towards the altar and crossed himself. He straightened himself with a little difficulty and looked straight at me. I smiled. He had sharp eyes, pale blue, but when I smiled they sparkled and he smiled back. He looked at Arne and beamed warmth at him. Arne nodded at him. It was as though the old priest detected in Arne a contrary spirit: he raised his right hand in the air, and with his middle and forefinger touching, he made the sign of the blessing towards Arne. I thought to myself that Arne needed as much of that influence as possible. Arne merely turned his back on the old man and went to the door. We went out on to the steps and looked right towards the Tall Hermann Tower and the Estonian Parliament Building.
‘What do those priests do al
l day?’ Arne asked. ‘All they seem to do is perpetuate the practice of all that mumbo jumbo. They should be made to do a proper job.’
‘You sound positively Stalinist,’ I said. ‘They minister religion. It’s of service to the community. No matter whether it’s right or wrong, they serve a welfare purpose, keep people on the straight and narrow, preserve mental stability: they do all sorts of things. And, who knows, they may be right about the existence of God and the way he should be worshipped. You should take out an insurance policy and become a convert. There’s nothing to lose. You can gain some comfort from quietness and meditation, and from the contemplation of beauty, settle your mind and make yourself agreeable to other people.’ I did not for one moment believe that Arne would accept my analysis and proposal, but he replied surprisingly, ‘I wish I could. Sometimes I feel that I belong to the Church and somehow I have been exiled. My parents you know were strict Orthodox Christians.’ So that was it: I was listening to the conscience of the apostate.
We went past the parliament, along Toom-Kooli. Arne skirted round St Mary’s Cathedral, an ancient thirteenth-century edifice. I did not suggest we went inside. It seemed to me that Arne wished to avoid another ecclesiastical visit. We passed a huge town mansion. It had obviously been neglected and fallen into disrepair. Arne paused and stared at it. Then he said, ‘I have an investment in that building. You can see at the far end that work has begun on refurbishment. I am in a partnership that has bought the site. We are converting it into forty apartments.’
I noted that the building was probably eighteenth-century in origin. ‘You are relying on the future prosperity of Tallinn as a major trade centre. I hope you’re right and not let down.’
‘There is no doubt in my mind,’ he responded. ‘Tallinn is going to be the centre of Estonia’s economic success. There is going to be great need for smart apartments.’
So, I thought, Arne is branching out on his own, as well as running his major part of the show in Myrex. We walked along Lai Street to another thirteenth-century church, St Olaf’s. Most landmarks in old cities are churches: Tallinn was no exception. The power of the Church, no matter if Orthodox, Russian or Greek, Roman Catholic, or Anglican in the British Empire, equalled the power of the multinationals today. Suddenly Arne stopped. He turned and looked at me full in the face. He held my gaze and looked deep into my eyes. He said abruptly, ‘You must join us. I shall not say this again, but I must warn you. If you do not, then your life is in danger and you open yourself up to the most forceful persuasion. Raoul is determined to have you on our side, or…’ He had no need to finish his sentence. I knew what he would have said. The very fact that he had used the expression ‘on our side’ convinced me that they knew exactly what I did. Raoul, indeed no one in Myrex, was fooled by any innocent gloss given to my Journal employment. It was clear to me that they needed me to stop working as a journalist and cease to be an intelligence source, or they wanted me to continue but feed them with information useful to their activities. I remembered Willy’s director’s instruction: I had to continue refusing their offers and advances in order to discover how far they would go in insisting I worked with them. It was at that point that I knew, without any doubt, I was in real danger. Myrex would turn the screw.
I had no choice but to go on. That was my fate. It was my contract, not only with Willy’s people but also with my conscience. As we altered course and began to walk towards the Town Hall, I said to Arne, ‘You make what you say quite clear. But you know my answer. I’m not in the market: Myrex cannot buy me.’ Arne did not reply. He walked steadily on. He flicked his hair back from his forehead. It seemed to be a nervous gesture, although I was not convinced he was nervous. Maybe he did it out of habit, or even annoyance. For a minute or two there was silence between us. Then as we emerged from the Mundi passage into the main square, he said, ‘I have warned you. I can do no more. You must expect intense pressure.’
The atmosphere between us was strained. I found myself in the ridiculous situation of striving to lower the tension. Arne had retreated into himself. It was as though his thoughts were elsewhere.
‘We should have some tea,’ I suggested.
Arne looked at his watch. ‘Thank you, but I must go back now. I have been away from my post long enough. There are things I must do.’
I felt that our excursion had been curtailed. Our meeting had not gone well for Arne. He had failed in his mission. He faced me again and emphasised, ‘If you change your mind, let me know immediately.’ He added, I thought rather regretfully, ‘You should do so today. Time is running out.’
I thanked him for the Myrex offer and his concern on my behalf. We shook hands and as he left me he said, ‘Tomorrow, then, we shall go to Paldiski. A driver will pick you up at nine.’ Rather formally he said goodbye.
25
Arne walked away across the square. He went purposefully, upright and brisk. Whenever you saw him, you realised that he was a man who knew exactly what he should be doing. I turned away and entered the English Café. There were four or five people at the tables upstairs, but fortunately one of them was Mo. She was reading a book, but, as I went in, she looked up. She waved and I called out hello. I asked her if she wanted anything more, but she did not. I went to the counter, ordered Earl Grey tea and then sat with her. She told me that Rovde was meeting some Riga bankers: he had told her that the Americans were concerned about the laundering of dirty money coming out of Russia. The bankers who benefited from US dollar funds put up for inward investment were happy to assist the Americans stopping the increase of financial crime. Mo stressed that it was an important meeting, and she hoped Uri would find out useful information that would further his career. I wondered to myself, was she contemplating marriage and Uri’s long-term economic future? The book she was reading was The Cash Nexus. We spent half an hour chatting pleasantly; but I was on edge. What Arne had said to me had unnerved me. I did not know what was in store. I felt an urgency to talk to Mark: after all he was my safety net.
Mo was in no hurry. She was relaxing, taking time off after a few hectic days. I made my excuses, said that I had to file my latest Journal report, and went directly to the Italian hotel where Mark was staying. There was no sign of him. His room was empty. The desk had not seen him since just before lunch when he had gone out carrying his briefcase looking as though he was going to a meeting. He had left no indication of where he was going. I decided to return to the Gloria.
There, I found myself in such a disturbed state, I stripped off my clothes and took, what I hoped would be, a therapeutic sauna. It was certainly good while it lasted, but after a few minutes out of it my anxieties came back. I needed company. It was no good being on my own. I went down to the cellar. Apart from the barman and a waitress, it was deserted. It was too early for clients to have arrived. I looked out into the street. The weather was miserable. It had become much colder than earlier in the day, and a fine sleet was falling. It was so inhospitable outside that I went back upstairs to my room. I paced to and fro for a while, and then thought of Buddhism’s Threefold Way, ethics, meditation, wisdom. I tried to meditate. I sat in, what for me, was the closest I could manage to the lotus position, and concentrated on myself. I considered the sort of person I was and what I was doing with my life. I knew that I was then supposed to think about someone I loved, and Roxanne came immediately to mind. There was something unsatisfactory about that. I did care for her, immensely, but I questioned myself, did I really love her? Mark, I thought, I did love, not in any sense carnally, but as a whole person. I knew him intimately, valued the ways he thought, and admired his views and intelligence. So, in my meditation I settled on Mark. Again, after some time, I moved on to consider someone I did not particularly care for. I had difficulty deciding between Arne and Raoul. In the end, I decided on Raoul. He was a man I did not admire. He was powerful, self-interested, gross physically, and led a life I thought louche in the extreme. He was a spoilt brat of mature years. I did not like him. I made him
the pinpoint of my focus, and I tried to exercise pity and understanding. An hour must have passed while I concerned myself with that bout of intensive thinking, and it helped. My anxiety subsided. Mark and Raoul fully occupied my mind. At the end of my session, with a slight cramp in my right leg, my position in the world, in the universe, seemed unimportant. I found I was not worrying and merely accepted what was to be. As the Threefold Way taught, there is a path to wisdom and understanding.
So, feeling better, I spent the rest of the evening alone. I rang Mark a couple of times but failed to find him. I was surprised that he did not ring me. I allowed the sedative effects of a malt whisky to lull me to sleep. I dreamt of Roxanne, but was haunted by an ogre-like Raoul who threatened me in my sleeping fantasy with all sorts of physical violence. Once, I woke up sweating and threw the duvet off. It must have been close to morning because I did not grow cold and awoke from a deep sleep at seven in my warm, centrally heated, air-conditioned room.
Once again I used the sauna and showered. I felt refreshed and smartened myself up with a change of clothes. I put on a new shirt that I had bought in Jermyn Street just before I left London. I decided to wear a suit. It would please Arne who was always very formal. I had brought with me my Prince of Wales check suit that doubled for both formal and informal occasions. My reflection in the mirror made me look more distinguished than I was or deserved to look. Still, I thought if there were important Myrex people at Paldiski, Arne would appreciate me making efforts.
Breakfast was particularly good. I took some mushrooms, tomatoes, and a venison sausage. Orange juice and strong coffee accompanied my menu choice and I enjoyed it all without hurry. At our agreed time, I was ready for the car. The driver appeared at the desk and asked for me. I was sitting in an easy chair scanning an Estonian newspaper trying to pick up the gist of what it said. When I heard the driver ask for me, I got up and introduced myself. He was a medium-sized, well-built young man of about twenty-seven or -eight, athletic and obviously fit. His fair hair was en brosse. I noticed that his jacket bulged slightly and hung loose under his left armpit, the usual sign that he was carrying a gun there. That made me distinctly uneasy. He spoke competent English and was Scandinavian, probably Swedish. He advised me to take warm outdoor clothes with me. It was minus eight Celsius outside and it was possibly going to be colder later in the day. He said we were instructed to drive round to the Myrex house. There we would meet Arne and then proceed to Paldiski and the Myrex operation there. He spoke to me, and treated me, as though I were a Myrex employee. He must have assumed I was on board, as it were. We went out into the bitterly cold but clear air. The coldness literally took my breath away. He opened the rear door of a large black Mercedes and ushered me in. In other circumstances I might have felt like a film star being chauffeured to some premiere. On that occasion I felt rather queasy and generally unsettled. We quickly drove to the house. I hoped that I might see something of Paul but that was not intended. While the driver, who had not mentioned his name to me, went to the house doors, I remained in the car. As he closed his driver’s door, I heard all the car doors lock, and I could see there was no means by which I could release myself from the inside. I had been purposely locked in. That made me even more uneasy than I had been up to that moment.
