She kissed me. I kissed her and we sat on the bed as a tear fell from my eye. It caused her tears to fall too.
‘Robert, I have to start work tomorrow at 6 a.m. That means up at 5 a.m. I’m getting tired.’
I could see she was tired from being on her feet all day, and tired of my service to the Russians.
‘Okay, I’d better be on my way. It’s been a difficult week.’
I stood up and faced Morag. She stood too. I was expecting a good-night kiss. Instead, she said, ‘Will you stay with me here tonight?’
And I did.
When I woke the following morning I was alone. Morag was already at work on a ward. I took a shower and dressed. Then I saw a paper on her side of the bed. It was more than a note—a billet-doux. It read:
I did not wake you as my eyes dwelt on your sleeping body this early morning. I thought, but could not say, I’ d like to wake up each day with you. Perhaps that gives you an indication of the way I feel for you.
Take care in all you do. Be safe. I trust you.
Love Morag xxx
I folded the note and placed it in my linen jacket pocket. I left the hospital that morning with my head in the clouds. I only hoped my departure was discreet. I had broken the hospital rules.
I did not head straight to my room in the embassy but deviated through Makola market square, where a hive of colourful activity unfolded before my eyes. Pyramids of tomatoes and borders of onions lined the aged wooden tables. An array of traditional Kente cloths contrasted with the rich blue sky. The stench of drying fish balanced on the heads of the market women caught my nose and made me hold my breath.
I continued past endless begging —‘please mister, buy some…’ of…this or that. However I was on a specific mission and I found the shop I had in mind at the far end of the market, on Kojo Thompson Road.
I got back to the embassy around mid-day and was greeted by Ambassador Leskov.
‘A fruitful excursion, Robert?’ he asked, his manner paternal.
I gave a disarming smile. ‘The sports club is likely to throw up some interesting information,’ I said hoping to satisfy him. But his mind was elsewhere.
He placed his arm on my shoulder and moved me along the path bordering the front lawn.
‘Your doctor friend—is she just an acquaintance in Accra, a friendly white face, or something much more?’
‘I’d say much more. I don’t deny I am very much in love.’
‘I see.’
We continued to walk and I realised he might have plans for both of us. My inkling gained credence with his next words.
‘Would you, the two of you, be willing to take on a position somewhere else? I have a place in mind.’
I felt pins and needles prickling me and sweat break out on my forehead,
‘You realise she is still a student? She has to complete her final year back in Glasgow.’
‘Ah, of course. But if we found a hospital or clinic for her—to work in Bolivia.’
‘Bolivia! Why there? What would I do?’
‘You speak Spanish, not so?’
‘Er…yes.’
‘Then Bolivia because Hugo Banzer is in power. The scourge of the left. He has imprisoned and had tortured many left-wing dissenters. He needs to be toppled.’
‘So where does his power lie?’
‘With America, of course.’
That night I returned to the hospital. I simply had to tell Morag about the Ambassador’s plans for us, but stressed it was our future what mattered to me. She was in total agreement.
‘So what do you intend to do?’ she asked.
‘It looks like I’ll be able to come home with you and—well, you complete your studies and then we find work and make ourselves unavailable to the Russians.’
‘Do you think it will be as easy as that?’
I knew there was no certainty in dealing with the Russians, but so far I had coped quite well. I had reason to believe I could pull it off. ‘I think we can do it, and I’m keeping you out of their grasp. They have no reason to recruit you.’
She hugged me and we kissed.
‘Morag, I’ve reached that magical moment. Have you?’
She looked at me quizzically. I took a pace backwards and placed my hand in my back pocket. As I brought out the silver-lined box, I knelt before her.
‘Morag darling, I love you so much. Will you be my wife?’
I could have sworn almost ten silent seconds elapsed, but I saw her smile grow wider by each moment.
‘Yes, of course, Robert, of course I’ll marry you.’
She took the engagement ring from its box and placed it on her marriage finger. ‘It fits.’
Then we kissed again.
‘We are so alone. No family to join in our happiness.’
‘You have a phone here. Can you ring your parents?’
It was not the clearest of lines and the synchronisation of voices left much to be desired. I managed to speak to her parents briefly and expressed my love for their daughter while apologising for not requesting her hand in marriage in person. Her father wondered if the marriage would be in Ghana or Scotland. I replied it would be in Motherwell in just over a year after Morag qualified.
After Morag replaced the telephone in its carriage, we kissed once more.
‘You can stay the night again. I’d like that.’
‘Darling, so would I.’
Chapter 22
An Engagement Honour
There was general excitement around the embassy when they learned of my engagement. The female staff asked if there would be an engagement party and I could not give an answer, but by the time Vitaly had heard the news, party planning was well underway.
I telephoned Morag to let her know that on Saturday, as long as she was not working, there would be an engagement party at the embassy. Excited, she let me know that was in order, and she said she would have to look out for a suitable dress.
I was out of my depth at this point. In fact, I pinched myself. It was Wednesday and I hoped to get a dribble of intelligence to please my handlers that evening.
I mentioned the dress issue to one of the embassy wives and she was quick to suggest taking a few dresses over to Morag to see if they would fit. I thought that a good idea and left a message for Morag that there would be a dress drop at her room that evening.
I looked at my watch. It was time to get to the Labadi sports club.
Coming off the court sweating like Derby winners, we all took our salt tablets and started our pints of Guilder beer. We were on our second and final beers when the conversation took an interesting turn.
‘Two of my staff got new cars this week—from the British embassy,’ Morgan said.
‘That’s funny. My secretary got one from them too,’ said vet Kevin.
‘I hear that they sell them off before returning home at the end of their tour,’ said Morgan raising his eyebrows.
‘There should be plenty of offers for the ambassador’s Bentley,’ I suggested and some laughter followed.
‘No,’ said Morgan. ‘It’s not at that level, Ewan. It’s the number fours to sevens that are selling them. They bring out new cars, and after two years get them polished up and sell them on, making a bomb of a profit. The ambassador seems to turn a blind eye to it all. Yet he might have no knowledge of what’s happening.’
My ears were straining to get all the details of how it worked. I felt I had an issue at last.
Willy shook his head. ‘Greed and exploitation, that’s what it is. Need to get some of the embassy staff onto my pews.’ A nervous laugh came from the gathered agnostics.
‘Anyway, they’re poorly paid at that level. Guess they see it as a perk,’ said a dreamy-eyed Roger. ‘I see the cars coming in with their CD stickers at the port. Not so many go out.’
On Thursday morning I described the scenario to Vitaly. He was extremely interested. He told me it would put some bargaining power in their hands the next time they met the British de
legation.
‘Bargaining power is that not blackmail?’
‘Call it what you want Robert, it’s good intelligence, well done.’
I accepted his praise and felt I had not damaged the Crown too much. At least if my plan went well I could explain it better to the British High Commissioner.
That night I was back at the hospital. Morag confirmed that two ladies had arrived with a collection of dresses the evening before. ‘Darling you clearly did not indicate what size I was.’
‘So none fitted?’
‘One was so big it could have fitted two Russian grandmothers.’
I sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Cut to the chase, did you get one to fit?’
‘Stay there,’ she demanded. She went into the bathroom and changed. She came out in shining patent black shoes, a necklace and a bright red dress. On her left hand was the glint of the engagement ring sitting proudly in place.
‘You look gorgeous. I wish I had my camera.’
‘The dress is not mine to keep but it certainly seems to suit my hair.’
‘You will steal the show,’ I said with sincerity.
‘I should, shouldn’t I? After all it’s our engagement party.’
She turned around in front of the mirror. She flicked her hair back. She seemed very satisfied with her dress.
‘Robert, can you undo the zip at the back?’
I had found a way to be useful.
Later that night we made tentative arrangements for our wedding. My father was the obvious choice of a participating clergyman. And there could be a reception at the Bute halls at the university. Or perhaps dad could partake at her parent’s church, St Andrew’s, in Motherwell. We could not decide. A date had to be arranged but that did not worry us. We’d wait till nearer Morag’s graduation. But time was moving on. There were only twenty-one days of Morag’s placement at the Korle Bu teaching hospital left.
The engagement party was wonderful. The Accra City Brass Band played highlife music in the well-lit garden and there were guests from the Romanian, Polish, Czech, Cuban and Chinese embassies. They had been told of the engagement party and so a collection of presents appeared from them. A silk dress for Morag and a silk tie for me from China; an invitation to stay at the Bucharest Ramada Parc hotel for a week for two from Romania. Then came the speeches. The Russian Ambassador was the first to speak.
‘Comrades, it is a pleasure to have the services of Robert Harvie. A fluent Russian speaker from Scotland who has served the red flag with dignity and honour.’
I caught Morag’s eye as this tribute progressed amid some applause. She seemed mesmerised by the pomposity on show.
‘And so it gives me pleasure in awarding Comrade Harvie with the Lenin Medal for outstanding service rendered to the State. Robert, step forward please.’
I did as I was told and stood before Ambassador Misha Leskov. He shook my hand amid more applause then turned me round to fasten the medal with a red and yellow edged ribbon around my neck.
‘And a gift for his fiancée. Something which will be of no interest to your Robert. ‘Morag, a box of Chocolate Gingerbread from Tula.’ The Russians’ present brought vigorous clapping, knowing this was indeed a special chocolate treat.
Then the Polish Ambassador stepped forward—Bogna Poczekaj-Ryszczuk. She was dressed in a mint-green two-piece suit of some light material, suitable for the climate. Her face was oval and her fair hair lay straight. She was a career woman, probably heading for a more significant posting before too long.
‘It is with great pleasure we learned of this romance, and it is not only a unique occasion but a rather rare one too, in diplomatic services. You are both young, but you have achieved much in your short lives. Morag we need women doctors and I know wherever you may serve in the future you will be able to support your husband and fulfil a valuable role yourself. We would also wish to be associated with Comrade Robert’s work and so I now ask you to come forward to receive the Bronze Polish Cross of Merit for your exemplary duty to communism.’
I was overwhelmed with these unsuspected honours, though all I really wanted was to get back to Scotland, marry Morag and end this bizarre stage of my life. Yet I did not show this in my heart-felt responses to their generosity.
Food was laid out on a side table and everyone had a plate in one hand and a glass of wine perched nearby on the table or on one of the bookcases which lined the room. We tried to stay together as much as possible. Morag’s ring shone a clear bright light whenever it caught the shining candelabra. All the ladies wanted to see and touch it. Those with more than a spattering of English spoke to Morag, while I attracted the Russian speakers.
Ambassador Leskov struck a coin on a glass. He immediately got our attention.
‘Forgive me. There is just one more announcement to make. How could I have forgotten?’ The guests stared at each other, wondering what was on his mind.
‘I wish to inform you that Robert Harvie has been promoted and will forthwith be located in Bolivia. His fiancée will join him after they are married in Scotland.’
Thunderous applause resounded for some time. After all, the Russian ambassador had found an excellent agent and was ready to exploit him further.
The brass band had had their break and they struck up some strangely familiar Scottish airs. I suspected some of the band had been schooled at Mons, or at Sandhurst and had memories of celebrating Burn’s Night in the barracks.
We danced on the lawn in each other’s arms and Morag whispered in my ear. ‘I don’t like their plans for you Robert.’
I buried my face in her hair as eyes turned discreetly away from the loving couple. ‘Nor do I, but my plan is being thought through.’
Chapter 23
Planning Political Asylum
My information about the British embassy staff car scam had gone down well. So, I was encouraged to get to the Labadi beach club more often and mix freely, which I did. I had to be seen keeping up my espionage to my host’s satisfaction. In fact, I was now at the club four days a week. It was a time of freedom. I knew there were no listening devices there, and it was an excellent place to meet ‘normal’ people and keep fit.
A man approached the table where I was nursing a cool Club beer. I smiled at him and he drew back a chair.
‘Hi, I’m Ralph. Ralph Owens and you?’
‘’I’m Ewan Shankland. Been here long?’ I asked—the usual question.
‘Coming up two years,’ he said. I knew he was trying to identify me.
‘So where do you earn your cedis?’ I asked, smiling.
‘British High Commission.’
I had to think quickly, take a chance? Now or never—time was running out. My palms were sweating and I felt a panic in my heart. My plan was materialising right before my eyes. ‘So where are you on the ladder of progress?’ I asked to see where he stood in the ranks.
‘Third Secretary. Two off the top but I hope to make progress as long as I don’t blot my copybook,’ he laughed and clicked his fingers at a passing waiter. A Guinness was ordered.
‘And you? Let me guess. Banker?’
‘No, you’d never guess.’
‘Okay, then I won’t try.’
I took a deep breath.
‘I’m a Soviet agent, wanting to defect.’
Ralph laughed loudly—till he saw my sad expression.
A silence grew. His Guinness arrived. He put his lips to the glass and his eyes focused on mine.
‘But you are Scottish aren’t you?’
I nodded. ‘Would it be possible to speak to your ambassador?’
He held his glass in both hands. ‘Maybe.’ His face turned serious. ‘It depends how much you can tell me here and now.’
I asked if he had an hour to spare so my story could be laid bare.
‘I’ve all afternoon, and it looks like overtime for me,’ he said rubbing his hands together.
So I told him how I fell into the clutches of the Soviets, and how the chocolate’
s I delivered in Sandema killed a traitor to their cause and four African children. I also warned him that the Russians knew about how the diplomatic car scheme was being exploited by his own staff. He took considerable interest in that.
‘Tell me again, how did you find that out?’
And I told him. He could see the honesty in my eyes as I began to reveal myself. It made him uncomfortable. He shifted from one buttock to the other. I could see he was ill at ease.
‘So it’s all about choosing the correct timing. I want my fiancée back in the UK before I make my move,’ I told him.
‘When is she leaving?’
‘Next Friday.’
‘So you are looking for political asylum?’
‘Exactly and I’ll spill the beans on the Russians in Ghana and London too,’ I said making an offer he could not refuse.
‘What time is her flight?’
‘It’s a midday flight to London, then a hop up to Glasgow.’
‘I see. Could you be at the British Embassy by 1:30 pm after she has flown?’
Chapter 24
Asylum denied – Morag Flies Home
That night I went to see Morag. She told me how much she had enjoyed the last six weeks, and how she was looking forward to getting home to show her parents her engagement ring.
‘But how long will it be before you come home?’ she asked.
‘I’ve made some progress there,’ I began.
‘Not flying home from Bolivia then?’
I patted her arm playfully. I shook my head. ‘If I play my cards right I’ll be home a few days after you.’
‘You seem confident.’
Caught In a Cold War Trap Page 10
