Making Enemies

by Francis Bennett

  He feels his confidence growing. His own identity is submerged by the words he is using. He and his message have become one. He feels a surge of power. This is the world’s press and they are listening to him. Through them the world will listen to what he has to say.

  This is his chance, he thinks, this is his opportunity. To hell with Andropov and the promises he’s made to him. He must go through with it whatever the consequences. He must take the opportunity that is offered to him because it will never occur again. He has to do it. His mind is made up.

  Now.

  *

  ‘Let me take you forward in time again. You are now in Moscow. Are you living with Marchenko?’

  ‘No. I was given my own apartment.’

  ‘Did you spend much time with Marchenko and her son?’

  ‘Not as much as I wanted to.’

  ‘Did that surprise you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You were prevented from doing so?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you do about that?’

  ‘I complained to Andropov.’

  ‘And what did Colonel Andropov say?’

  ‘He asked me to fulfil certain official functions, as he put it, and then I would be free to spend as long as I wanted with Marchenko.’

  ‘A bargain, in other words.’

  ‘No, a proposal. A change of plan.’

  ‘Did you accept his change of plan?’

  ‘No, I refused to go along with it.’

  ‘For what reason?’

  ‘I hadn’t come to Moscow on that basis. I had agreed to come to see Marchenko and her son. That was it. Nothing more. Certainly no conditions.’

  ‘After your arrival Andropov imposed conditions?’

  ‘Continuously.’

  ‘When he first put to you the idea of going to Moscow, did you think that you might achieve something more than just getting to know your son?’

  ‘My objectives were to see my son and to protect Ruth Marchenko if I could. I had no other motives.’

  ‘What happened when you turned down Andropov’s offer?’

  ‘He insisted we meet to discuss my response.’

  ‘Can you describe that meeting to us, please?’

  ‘There’s not much to describe. I said I wouldn’t accept what Andropov was proposing for the reasons I have given you. He said news of my arrival had slipped out to the international press corps and the circumstances were now changed. He asked me if I would speak to the press. Reluctantly I agreed.’

  ‘Why did you agree?’

  ‘Andropov made me a series of promises which he subsequently dishonoured. I agreed to see the press on the understanding that then I would be free to see Marchenko and my son. In the event, I always had one more obligation to fulfil before I was able to do properly what I had come for.’

  *

  He pushes aside his text. He is seeing everything with an astonishing clarity: who he is, what he is, what he wants to say, what must be said, all fitting so perfectly that there is no blurring at the edges, no lack of focus. Everything is precise and correct and sharp. One complete, perfect circle of truth.

  ‘I would like to add this one point,’ he says. This is it. This is his moment of greatest power and influence. Andropov looks at him nervously.

  ‘Scientific knowledge is used for political purposes when there is an imbalance in knowledge, when one side knows more than the other. That is the case now. The West has exploded the atomic bomb. The Soviet Union has yet to do so. The West is striving to maintain its advantage, the Soviet Union to reduce its disadvantage. How much safer the world would be if this race was not being run, if nuclear secrets did not exist. How much safer our lives would be if we shared everything between us, if we put this extraordinary knowledge at the disposal of humanity, not ideology.’

  This is what they came for, he can see that in the greedy looks on the faces of his audience. This is the news they wanted, the real story of the British scientist in Moscow.

  ‘I appeal to the scientists of the world to forget their national origins, to take their rightful place as citizens of the world and to serve mankind. I appeal to my colleagues in the West and my friends in the Soviet Union to pull down the towers of secrecy. Let us ignore the politicians, and together put all our energies into the task of using science for the benefit of all mankind. A world without secrets would be a far safer place.

  ‘My prime purpose in asking you to meet me here today was to state publicly the offer I now make to the Soviet government. In order to reduce the growing tensions in the world, I am prepared to remain in Moscow and work with my Soviet colleagues on the peaceful uses of nuclear energy, providing they will send a senior scientist to take my place in a similar programme in the United Kingdom. That way, we will ensure that there is no longer any knowledge that can be exploited against us.’

  He sits back. He has done it. He is pleased with himself. He has said what he wanted to say and the world’s press has listened. Andropov can do what he likes now, it is too late.

  *

  ‘Let us come now to your press conference. Remind us, please, of what you said.’

  ‘I repeated the views I have expressed on numerous occasions, that the control of nuclear weapons must pass from the hands of politicians into those of the international scientific community.’

  ‘I have here a transcript made by the Reuter’s man in Moscow who was present. He agrees that is how you began.’

  ‘It was an appeal for sanity above the emotional draw of nation or ideology.’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it. Our reading is that you urged scientists everywhere to reject the whole concept of secrecy by opening their files and giving away to their enemies the information those files contained.’

  ‘That is what I said because that is what I believe.’

  ‘Why did you choose to make this statement in Moscow? Why not in London or Washington?’

  ‘I have spoken to Ministers, to senior politicians in Government and in the Opposition, and I have got nowhere. I have made similar appeals in the British press for some months now and in all that time I have received no more than a dozen letters, the majority of which do not support my views. I have corresponded with my American counterparts but my views have not met with any positive response there.’

  ‘You felt upset that you were being ignored, so you went to Moscow to get more attention.’

  ‘I repeat what I have said before. I went to Moscow to see my son. While I was there, I was presented with an opportunity to give my message to the world and I took it. I have no regrets about what I said.’

  ‘I suggest you said what your Moscow host Andropov wanted you to say.’

  ‘If that were true, why had I been putting forward the same message for so long before I went to Moscow?’

  ‘You have answered my question. You have been saying for some time what the Soviets have wanted you to say.’

  There is uproar. He cannot make out the questions over the babble of voices. Everyone is shouting at once, some are waving their pads to attract his attention. One or two are standing up. The cameras whirr furiously.

  Andropov leans towards him. ‘That was misguided,’ he says. ‘Very foolish. Outside our agreement.’ His tone is threatening but Stevens hardly hears it above the roar of his audience. He knows now that he has achieved what he set out to do.

  ‘Let us look at some of your unscripted remarks, Professor. “The antidote to an arms build-up is to share information about nuclear development.” “There should be no national or political barriers to the freedom of movement of research in nuclear energy.” Did you really say that?’

  ‘Yes. I continue to hold to every word.’

  ‘You advocate the giving away of nuclear secrets to our enemies?’

  ‘Perhaps they would no longer be our enemies if neither side had secrets to defend.’

  ‘That is a dangerous philosophy, Professor.’

  ‘How do you know? Hav
e you ever tried it? The purpose of scientific enquiry is to find solutions to problems. The same is true of politics, except our politicians do not practise this method. They stick to their narrow ways, which is why they so often make a mess of things.’

  Somehow order has been restored. The hubbub dies down. The first questioner raises his hand. Andropov nods at him.

  ‘Professor Stevens, have you already followed your own advice since you have been in Moscow, and given British nuclear secrets to your opposite numbers here?’

  ‘Did you follow your own advice while in Moscow? Did you share your knowledge of our nuclear secrets with the Soviets?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It was not appropriate to do so.’

  ‘Is appropriate the right word?’

  ‘You know exactly what I mean by it.’

  ‘You gave them no secrets, yet you spent time in the company of members of the Institute of Nuclear Research in Moscow.’

  ‘These people are academic colleagues, we work in the same field. We deal in similar problems. Some of us have known each other for years.’

  ‘I would remind you, Professor, that these people are in the pay of a state whose ideology is committed to the elimination of capitalism from the world, which is another way of saying they want to conquer the free world, submit it to the barbarities of Marxist-Leninism and eradicate the unbelievers. If you ask me, at best they have an advocate in you, at worst a fellow-traveller.’

  ‘They are scientists, not politicians. They have no interest in ideology. Their commitment is to scientific truth.’

  ‘You are asking us to believe, Professor, that in your meetings with them, you betrayed no secrets to the Soviets.’

  ‘I had one meeting with them. They thought I was an emissary from the West come to treat with their government on their behalf. When they discovered I had no such role, they ignored me. They never asked me one single scientific question. They weren’t interested in me as a scientist. It was a major disappointment.’

  *

  ‘We must cut this short,’ Andropov says. ‘It is getting out of hand.’

  He gets to his feet and grips Stevens firmly by the arm. There are shouts of complaint at his action from the audience. Stevens remains unmoved. The sense of complete power has not left him. He wants to make this moment last.

  ‘Sit down,’ he says to Andropov under his breath. ‘You asked them here to listen to me. Let them have their chance.’

  Andropov sits down. There is some laughter at this from those in the front rows, who have caught at least some of the whispered conversation between the two men. They do not often see an officer from Military Intelligence bettered by an English academic.

  ‘We have time for two more questions,’ Andropov says grimly. There is a renewed appeal at this but Andropov is adamant.

  ‘Professor Stevens, will you be going back to Britain in the near future?’

  ‘I expect to do so, yes.’

  ‘How do you think you will be received? As a hero, or a villain?’

  *

  ‘During your time in Moscow, Professor, you saw yourself on a one-man mission to save the world. What made you think you could succeed where others had failed?’

  ‘I failed.’

  ‘You set out in the expectation that you would succeed.’

  ‘At the press conference I thought it might be possible, yes. Worth a try.’

  ‘I suggest you had no such thought in your head. You went to Moscow for selfish, personal motives, to save your former mistress and to see the son you didn’t know you had. All this concern about the safety of the world is posturing, ad hoc justification and very unconvincing. While you were there, you betrayed nuclear secrets to the Soviets and you allowed yourself to be used by Andropov and his cronies for the benefit of the Soviet Union. You became a pawn in their game. You even went so far as to say you were prepared to stay on in Moscow. They used you successfully to promote themselves as responsible and the West as irresponsible. I would say that, as a result of your visit, you have advanced the Soviet cause in a number of important ways. Not least, you will have helped to bring forward the day when they explode their own nuclear device. No doubt you’ll soon be getting your Order of Lenin through the post to add to your other awards.’

  ‘I was wrong to go to Moscow, I realize that now. I was used by the Soviets, I see that too. But I betrayed nothing.’

  ‘That’s not the information we have.’

  ‘Then the information you have is false.’

  ‘Our intelligence is from a hitherto impeccable source, one we have no reason to doubt. He informs us that, as a result of your visit, it is now possible to foresee a Soviet nuclear device being exploded within a year at the most.’

  ‘That is untrue. I did not give away any information.’

  ‘Our source maintains you did.’

  ‘There is no chance the Soviets will detonate anything for three or four years at least.’

  ‘That is your opinion.’

  ‘I am far from alone on that point.’

  ‘So you are asking us to believe that our information is wrong. What is your explanation then?’

  ‘How can I have an explanation? I have theories, nothing more.’

  ‘What is your theory, then?’

  ‘It is very simple. False statements are being attributed to me for reasons of propaganda. For as long as you believe them and disbelieve me, you are in the pay of the Soviets. You are the traitors, not me. My conscience is clear. I may have acted foolishly, I accept that. But I have not criminally. I am no traitor.’

  *

  ‘Last question,’ Andropov says coldly. Some sense of his authority has reached the audience and for the last few minutes the press conference has been more orderly. He looks around the audience for a raised hand.

  A blonde woman, in her late thirties, sitting in the front row looks up. She has not said a word so far. She puts up her hand.

  ‘Yes.’

  Andropov points at her. For a second or two she is unsure if she has been selected. She looks round to make sure. Holding her pad tightly in her hand, she looks up at Stevens.

  ‘We have heard your proposal, Professor Stevens. What intrigues me is your motive in putting this idea to the great powers. Is it true, Professor, that you have a son in Russia?’

  *

  During the three days of questioning Stevens did not leave the house in Wimbledon. He was not under arrest but nor was he free. There were guards in the building and a watch was kept at night as much on his bedroom window as at his door. He ate all his meals alone. Corless and Maitland conducted the interrogation in relays, two or three hours at a time. They were joined for one or two sessions by Adrian Gardner, who went over ground that had been fully covered the day before. I supposed the point was to spot the discrepancies and try to trick Stevens into changing his story, but he didn’t. I’m not even sure that he was aware of the technique we were using. The rest of us listened through concealed microphones. A transcript was made.

  I felt sorry for Stevens. He was bemused and exhausted by the process he was engaged in, utterly lost dealing in a world of which he had no experience at all. It was clear to me an hour or two into the first day that the man was a fool, naive, arrogant, that his mood alternated between moments of humiliation and superiority. But during those three days he never cracked, nor even showed signs of cracking; he never deviated from his story, he never fell over himself, and that convinced me that what we were seeing was not a performance but the expression of truth from a complicated and difficult man.

  Whatever else Stevens may have been, I was sure he was no traitor. We were going to have to let him go.

  16

  RUTH

  She does not see the car racing up alongside them, nor the sudden nervous glance from the driver. The car drops back out of sight only to reappear a moment later. This time the movement catches her eye. She sees the driver come level with them, th
en spin the steering wheel and drive into the limousine. They rock violently from the impact. There is a tearing sound as metal engages metal and body-work is shorn away. Tyres scream on the tarmac as the car swerves to the right. Their driver desperately fights to regain control of his vehicle.

  She is thrown off her seat and on to the floor, a movement that saves her from serious injury. Andropov is projected forward against the glass partition that separates the passengers from the driver, and she sees his forehead split open as his head hits the glass. Blood spurts from the wound. On her knees on the floor, her hands protecting her head, she feels the jarring impact as the Zil is rammed a second and a third time and a tyre bursts.

  They are out of control now, slewed across the highway, unable to change direction, unable to stop. Their car mounts the kerb, narrowly misses a street light and crashes against the wall of an office building until it comes to a halt, steam hissing from the broken radiator, the bonnet buckled and dented, the headlights smashed and empty. The cracks in the windscreen fan out like a spider’s web. Their driver lies unconscious against the wheel. The acrid stench of spilled petrol and burning rubber permeates the night air.

  The other car, itself a wreck, pulls up a few yards ahead. The passenger door is forced open and the driver gets out. He limps towards the Zil. His face is concealed by a balaclava.

  ‘Colonel Andropov.’ It is a voice she knows so well. He has found his prey. She wonders how he did it, while she cowers on the floor, holding her hands against her face, hoping her presence will not be noticed.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Andropov holds a blood-soaked handkerchief against his head. ‘You could have killed us.’