This Drakotny_A Gripping Spy Thriller

by Philip McCutchan

  “Sure, I know I am, but I’ll stop being one if you’ll just answer my question.” I had a bright idea, then. “Drakotny’s in danger — isn’t he? You know that, don’t you? You’ve got some inside whisper about it. Don’t you think you’d better tell me?”

  It was just a shot in the dark, really, but I thought it was a logical enough shot and it did go right to the target. A different look came into the girl’s eyes, a frightened look and a surprised one, and one with a question in it. I said, “You are going to tell me, aren’t you?”

  She gasped, “When I’ve had a fix.”

  I held her a little longer, just to drive the lesson in deep. “If you back down after you’ve had it, the next fix after that is going to be delayed a long, long time. Understood?”

  “Yes,” she said, gasping again.

  I took my hands away. “Okay,” I said quietly. “Have your fix. Here, I’ll give you a hand.” I slid back to my own seat and reached over into the back for her case, opened it up, and passed her the tin of talcum powder. I even loaded the syringe for her. The rest she managed to do herself and after she’d done it she lay in the seat, slackly, shaking and twittering while I started up and took the Jag back onto the carriageway. It was raining hard now, and I heard the hiss of my tyres. I gave the girl a little time, then said, “Well? Now let’s have it. What do you know about Drakotny?”

  Her voice was low, hardly more than a whisper. She said, “He … his life’s in danger. There’s a threat.”

  “What sort of threat?”

  “To kill him. I don’t know how, nor do I know when, but I’m absolutely certain it’s going to be done.”

  “I see. Who’s going to do it, Miss Strecka?”

  She said, “My information is, that it will be done by persons close to him.”

  “They’d have to be, wouldn’t they, to kill him?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. Please do not be — flippant. I meant that I believe he is to be killed, somehow, by persons perhaps in the Government, persons with whom he works.”

  “Uh-huh. Can you be more precise?” I added, “Does Vorsak know about this, do you suppose?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t say about Vorsak and I don’t know any more than I’ve told you. That much was passed to me by a man in New York. This man died soon after. He was shot in an alley, down by the docks in Brooklyn.”

  “And you really believe what he told you?”

  “Implicitly. He was a good friend. Josef Drakotny has many enemies. The man who will kill him could be one of a hundred or more. It will be very difficult to find out who it is.”

  “And yet you’re willing to go into Czechoslovakia and have a go?” I gave a short, hard laugh. “My God, you must love him!”

  “Yes,” she said. That was all. We were coming towards the end of the motorway now, and I had to decide the next move. The very first thing, of course, was Harry Foster’s body, which meant Focal House, and the mortuary. I would leave it to Max to say when the police should be informed. As we came off the motorway in the heart of London I asked Nada why she had to go personally to Czechoslovakia, why a simple message wouldn’t do, and I got the answer that I should have seen for myself when she said, “Who can I trust? I don’t know who all his enemies are. The message might never reach him. I have to see Josef myself, you see.”

  I nodded. “But you do have a communication route, do you? You didn’t cut all your links when you joined the drug-and-hippie set?”

  “No,” she said. “Not to Drakotny. To Moscow, yes.”

  I remembered what Max had told me. “You worked for Drakotny himself, then?”

  “After a time, yes, I did. I’m assured of Drakotny’s protection when I cross the frontier.” She managed a smile; it did a lot for her. She really was a very beautiful girl; the drugs were a tragedy. “You really needn’t worry about Siberia,” she said.

  “Maybe not — for so long as Drakotny goes on living! If he dies …” I didn’t go any farther; but suddenly a feeling of comradeship came over me for a girl of guts who in fact was in much the same line as myself, and I reached with my left hand for one of hers, and took it, and held it for a while, giving it a squeeze.

  She said, “You won’t do anything that might harm Drakotny, will you?”

  “I can’t commit my chief,” I said, rather unhappily, “and I’ll have to tell him all you’ve told me, naturally. But if I were you, I wouldn’t worry too much. I can’t see that a threat to Drakotny can properly concern my people, or the British Government. It’s domestic. The brass’ll want to talk to you, of course, but I’d take a pretty big bet that that part of my report will just be filed and that’s all.”

  “Good,” she said, sounding relieved. I think she trusted me in a funny sort of way. “And me? What do you do with me now?”

  “Board and lodging for the night,” I told her, “will all be laid on the line in Focal House. We have a very comfortable guest section.”

  “Guest — or prisoner?”

  I laughed; she knew the score, all right, she wasn’t going to be fooled. I said, “Well, it’s not going to come as any surprise to you to be told we need to do a little further checking. We have to think of your safety too. You’re not in the clear from your friend Vorsak yet. Whatever happens to you in Czechoslovakia, Miss Strecka, we aim to look after you here.”

  “I suppose you know you’ve no authority to hold me?”

  “Okay,” I said, shrugging, “so what other ideas have you, as to how to spend what’s left of your first night in Britain?”

  “I had a hotel booking.”

  “Which’ll be gone by now. Stop trying to buck the system, Miss Strecka. You cant win.”

  *

  I left her, with full confidence as to her safety, in Focal House; and had Harry Foster’s body shifted out to the mortuary. Then I drove straight round to Max’s flat, where he was still up though he was in blue silk pyjamas and a maroon dressing-gown. He had the brandy decanter out, and he gave me a stiff shot while I gave him the story. He was concerned about Harry, but he was dead worried about Drakotny being under threat of extinction. Frankly, I couldn’t see why. I said as much. “It’s not really our concern,” I pointed out.

  “The Foreign Office people seem to think anything to do with Drakotny could be,” he answered, “or at any rate, could become so. So why not his possible death? By the way, all exits are being watched, as you requested, for this man Vorsak. I’ve had no reports as yet, but of course there’s plenty of time for him to try to get out.”

  I asked, “Have we anything on him?”

  “Not a thing. He’s known, of course — there is a file, but there’s nothing in it to help us just now —”

  “Have you got it here?” I thought he might have sent for it, but he hadn’t. He’d had a summary phoned through on the closed line from Focal House. He said I could have a look at the full file in the morning, when he himself would be having an interview with Miss Strecka. We talked a while about the girl and after that Max said, abruptly, that he’d had a busy day and no doubt I had too, and the rest could keep till after breakfast. So I went off home to bed. That morning I overslept and was woken by the ringing of my own closed line from HQ. It was Max himself, sounding put out. I mumbled an apology for my absence, but he cut me short.

  “You’re wanted at the F.O.,” he said. “Man named Lattenbury. You have an appointment for 1100 hours, Shaw.”

  He rang off. Not a word about Nada Strecka; maybe he hadn’t talked to her yet. I wondered how she was managing for a fix; I’d left all her possessions with her intact, and I’d told Max I thought she ought to have the facilities. I found I was worrying about the girl as I had a quick shower and shaved and dressed. This love she had for Drakotny was genuine, I felt sure, and must be deep as hell. I didn’t give much of a damn about Drakotny per se, but for her sake I hoped he would get away with it. There was something basically nice about Nada Strecka and I didn’t want the drugs to destroy it. I
still believed she wasn’t quite irretrievably hooked, but if anything should happen to Drakotny she wouldn’t have a hope.

  I had a bite of breakfast — toast, strong coffee, and a cigarette — and got the Jag out and zoomed off for the Foreign Office and this Lattenbury. I was ten minutes late and he kept me waiting another five. Then I was ushered into a sizeable room, very nicely furnished and thickly carpeted. Lattenbury was, I think, Grade Three, which is pretty high up. I didn’t care much for the look of him; he seemed a cold fish, with hard, supercilious eyes beneath arched eyebrows and a completely bald head. He was probably around fifty years of age, and scraggy. However, his manner was pleasant enough as he shook my hand and invited me to sit down, which I did. He sat behind his desk and placed his elbows on his blotter, resting a long chin on the interlinked knuckles of his clasped fingers. The shoulders of his dark grey lounge suit had on off-the-peg look about them, which was strange for the Foreign Office, I thought. They were a fairly sartorial bunch usually.

  He said, “Well now, Shaw. You’ll be wondering what you’re wanted here for.”

  “I assume it’s to do with Miss Strecka, Mr Lattenbury.”

  “Quite correct, my dear fellow. But — allow me to stress this from the very start — we, the Foreign Office that is, have absolutely no connection with Miss Strecka and no interest in her affairs or her movements. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I said, “I understand.”

  “Good, good! We simply do not come into this business at all, and we never will — officially. The reason for this will become clear shortly. Now, Shaw: I want you to tell me the whole sequence of events, in every detail, from the moment you encountered the man you now know to be Vorsak, in the — ah — Prospect of Whitby the day before yesterday.”

  I did so. Lattenbury paid the closest attention throughout, staring at me with those cold, hard eyes. I don’t believe he even blinked once; it was uncanny, really. Just like a fish; even his skin had a slightly scaly look. But he certainly had the power of real concentration; he didn’t miss a thing and never asked for a repeat or a clarification. He took it all in first go and he seemed to have a curious knack of reading my mind so that he was, I think, seeing it all from my point of view, as though he had been there with me all along. When I got to the end, the spell broke and he rubbed at his eyes like a tired old man. The concentration and the peculiar insight seemed to have robbed him of some vital energy; but not for long.

  “Good!” he said briskly after a moment. “I think I have the picture in full. A curiously interesting story. What an odd thing love is! You believe her story, don’t you.” It was a statement, not a question, and I felt no need to answer it; I did believe her story, though I wished she had been able to expand it. I still did not see, however, how it could concern the British Diplomatic Service. Lattenbury appeared to sense this too, for he said, with a bleak smile that just for a moment raised him from the coldness of the fishmonger’s slab, “I shall now fill you in on a few facts regarding international relations, my dear fellow.” He unclasped his hands, lifted the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, and briefly stroked his chin with them. “You will, perhaps, be aware that, for some time past, there has been friction between the Prague Government and the Kremlin. The Czechoslovakian Prime Minister, Racilek, the liberal-minded leader, in fact represents the majority viewpoint among the Czechs. They are not fond of Moscow’s interference in their internal affairs and they are not willing to follow the hard line of Russian Communism which Moscow has from time to time attempted to impose. There has been a good deal of unrest among students and workers, as you will have read in the newspapers. Drakotny, who is Moscow’s man, of course represents the hard-line policy. As you also know, Drakotny is currently in full control in Prague during Racilek’s absence in Russia. The good people of Czechoslovakia are suffering accordingly.”

  I said, “Drakotny must have some support, surely?”

  “Oh, indeed he has — among the extremists and to some extent among the intellectuals too. Officially, of course, he has complete support — that is always assumed, however false it may be known to be in fact. Such is the way of dictatorships, as we are all aware. If the trouble should reach really serious proportions, Moscow would step in with troops and armour to bolster the puppet regime under the acting premiership of Drakotny. This, however, is not quite the point that concerns us — except to the extent, naturally, that we don’t want to see Russian troops in Czechoslovakia in real strength.” Lattenbury gave his bleak smile once again. “You see, Shaw, we in the West are in the intriguing but not uncommon position of having to run with the hare and hunt with the hounds. You will no doubt be aware that Prague, under Racilek, has shown many signs of wishing to move closer to the West, in terms of trade and a lessening of military tension. They are far keener to do this than is Moscow — they have already gone some way along that path. We, of course, wish this process to continue. We are glad to see the gradual liberalization and we like the trade. But — and here’s the rub, Shaw — we are more likely to see this state of affairs continue if the status quo is maintained. That is, if the Racilek regime continues — but with Drakotny still there to ensure a strong touch of the Kremlin and act as a spur to liberal opinion thereby! This happens to be very important. Now do you begin to see?”

  I nodded. “You want Drakotny’s life preserved.”

  “Yes, we do. Curiously, Drakotny is a regrettable political necessity to the West and to the easing of East-West tensions. This is a continuing necessity and is nothing new. What is new, and what gives us a second reason for needing to preserve Drakotny, is simply this: Racilek is in Moscow.”

  I frowned. “I know,” I said in puzzlement. “So what?”

  “Surely you can see, my dear fellow? Racilek is currently a hostage. He has gone to Moscow to try to win some concessions for his beliefs and the people who share them. In a sense, he can be said to be working for the best interests of us in the West as well. We wish him every possible success. But if anything should happen to Drakotny in the meantime, not only would Racilek find all his negotiations totally abortive, but it can be assumed he would never be allowed to leave Russia alive. In this event, all the gains of the recent past would be negated. I can assure you, my dear fellow, that it is vitally important to us all — to America as well as to Britain and the Continent — that Racilek should return to Prague in due course. One way to this end, as you will agree, is currently to keep Drakotny alive. You see?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I see, all right.”

  “There is, of course, the difficulty that we cannot be seen to interfere. You will realize how fatal that would be! If one of our men — a Government agent — were ever to become visibly connected with these events … well, I leave the rest to your own common sense, Shaw. However, fortunately there is another way.”

  “Sure there is,” I said sardonically. “Send me!”

  Lattenbury nodded. “Just so. 6D2 is nicely independent.”

  “And can be disowned at will.”

  “Yes, quite. It’s the only way. You’ll be doing a great service for freedom, Shaw.”

  I felt a trifle dazed, having had the joyful thought, the night before, that the job was virtually over. Now it was only just beginning. I asked, “What about the girl — Nada Strecka?”

  “She will be allowed to go.”

  “To follow out her schemes, to warn Drakotny about the threat?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’ll be her death as well,” I said.

  Lattenbury shrugged.

  I asked, “What about this Vorsak?”

  “What about him?”

  “We know he’s out to get the Strecka girl. Suppose he’s heard about this threat too? He’s a Racilek man. What does he do?”

  Lattenbury said disinterestedly, “I really can’t say, my dear chap. From what you report of his conversation with the girl, I would say that he very probably does not know, but, of course, we can’t be certain. It w
ill no doubt be part of your job to find out.”

  I said, “Miss Strecka’ll have to be got off the drugs before we let her go in. The way she is now, she’ll just walk right slap into it.”

  Lattenbury shook his head. “No. Her behaviour patterns must not alter. She is to be just as she left New York. And as far as she is concerned, you’re pulling out. Case open and shut, as it were. No more interest. This she has to believe, implicitly, fully.”

  I objected again, hopeless as I knew it to be, because I just couldn’t let it all happen to her without putting up a fight on her behalf even though I knew she wanted to go ahead. I said, with a touch of desperation, “But the drugs, Mr Lattenbury, you can’t —”

  He spread his hands. “I’m not in the least concerned about the woman or her habits. Only about Drakotny.” He glanced at his wrist-watch, and then pressed a button in his intercom. An oily-looking young man came in, suffering from knock knees. “Ah, Butterworth,” Lattenbury said. “Take Commander Shaw along to H7, if you please. Good morning, my dear fellow.”

  In Butterworth’s wake, I left the room. At the door I happened to glance back and saw Lattenbury shaking a little pile of Smarties into his palm from a cylindrical packet. Such self-indulgence in a fish, and the anticipatory smile that went with it, rather surprised me.

  *

  H7, it turned out, was a room number. The room was inhabited by a youngish man with curly, brown hair and very stylish clothes. He never did tell me his name, and I wondered if he also was known as H7, like Sister Theatre. Whether or not this was the case, he was terribly hush. He took a lot of quite unnecessary trouble to impress secrecy upon me, and he produced a lot of bumph, which I was sat down to study there and then, about Czechoslovakian affairs. It went back for some years. Way back in 1969-70, a real tough era of political repression and economic rigor had been well under way. There had been a drastic reduction in investment and all wages had been frozen and there had been a lot of talk from the Planning Ministry in Prague about an increase in the productivity of labour — more than five per cent was the aim; the workers were to go on toiling harder for the same inadequate rewards. All Communist Party members were to hand in their membership cards, too, for a colossal checkup. Only those who had been good boys in 1968 and who had reacted with proper decorum to the Russian invasion were to receive their cards back; several hundred thousand drops-out, whom woe betide, were expected. Various anti-Socialist plots had been unearthed and witch-hunts started, and certain Czechs of varying degrees of importance had been hauled in on account of links with an emigre set-up alleged to be financed by the CIA in Washington. There was a lot more similar stuff, including a note that late in 1969 some of Czechoslovakia’s top pop singers had been banned by Prague Radio because their popularity had had its origins in the reform period under Dubcek after the invasion of’68 — they were all too patriotic, I gathered. In the last twelve months, however, Moscow had had an apparent change of heart and had allowed a few more freedoms, culminating in their permitting Racilek to become Prime Minister on the death of their own man then in office. I couldn’t really see what all this had to offer in the way of helping me track down the men who had it in for Drakotny currently, and I said as much to H7.