November Man

by Brian Freemantle

  He was glad this was going to be the last job. It was becoming a strain, he conceded. The C.I.A. had promised a meeting within a fortnight. Perhaps, he thought, he could extract an undertaking before then, ensuring he could be guarded. That, and Hannah’s transfer to America, of course.

  The Austrian slid aside the cubicle door and moved towards the lift, walking slowly because of the familiar feeling in his chest. Within minutes, he was outside Hollis’s suite. He paused, inhaling deeply. The waistcoat felt tight and restrictive and he unfastened three of the bottom buttons. Breathing more easily, he approached the door, which the millionaire opened on the first knock.

  ‘Almost a regular meeting, Mr Altmann,’ he remarked.

  Altmann accepted the chair Hollis indicated, perching forward, almost apprehensively. Could it be right, he wondered. Could this man who had achieved so much actually be so stupid as to involve himself in what he believed to be intelligence-gathering? He paused, examining the question. It would appear a patriotic gesture, perhaps. The thought annoyed the Austrian: it showed casualness of reasoning and the lapse frightened him. He had allowed his complete knowledge of what was happening to cloud the scenario that Hollis had been given.

  So Turgonev could be right. Hollis could have had a complete change of mind, driven by an irrational need for recognition.

  It was right he should quit after this assignment, decided Altmann. He wasn’t up to it any more.

  He would have to be circumspect, decided Hollis. In fact, he realized with sudden desperation, he couldn’t come out openly with his suspicion and then follow up with a money offer, not here in Prague. Altmann could be a resolute idealist, as Anderson had indicated Burke to be.

  ‘… A committed communist …’ the detective had said about the British diplomat.

  If he disclosed his knowledge of Burke’s arrest, coupled with the realization that an attempt were being made to involve him in espionage against Britain – and Altmann disdained the money offer – then the authorities could move immediately, arresting him on any pretext as he tried to leave the country the following morning. There was more than enough circumstantial evidence, he knew.

  Hollis felt like a man Who had just stopped short of the cliff edge.

  ‘So you’re surprised, Mr Altmann,’ he opened, knowing the pathway to follow.

  ‘Very,’ admitted the Austrian, studying the man.

  ‘I don’t see why you should be,’ returned Hollis, taking the seat opposite. ‘This meeting was surely the object of your initial approaches.’

  Very direct, assessed Altmann. Direct and confident. He would have expected more uncertainty.

  ‘It depends upon your interpretation of the object,’ fenced the Austrian.

  ‘It does indeed,’ came back Hollis.

  He believes he can play with me, realized Altmann.

  ‘The object was to help your country,’ reminded Altmann.

  Hollis nodded.

  ‘And other things,’ encouraged the Briton.

  ‘Yes,’ accepted Altmann.

  ‘Like proper recognition for anything one did?’

  ‘I thought I’d made that clear,’ said the Austrian.

  ‘I spoke to Mr Burke about it, when I protested in Berlin,’ threw out Hollis, attempting to hold the other man’s eyes, anxious for the reaction.

  Altmann remained completely unmoved at Burke’s name.

  ‘What did he say?’ asked Altmann.

  The other man had remarkable self-control, thought Hollis. He was probably very good. Or had been, up until now.

  ‘That he had known business-men who made extensive contacts with communist countries receive honours,’ replied the Briton.

  ‘And what did you infer from that?’

  ‘I always like to avoid inference when facts are available,’ refused Hollis.

  He was sweating, Altmann realized. The millionaire’s attitude completely confused him. A man about to commit himself to some degree of espionage didn’t behave like Hollis.

  ‘Mr Burke is an experienced diplomat,’ prompted Altmann.

  ‘You know him well, then?’ seized Hollis.

  ‘No,’ said Altmann. ‘Just by reputation.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Hollis and stopped.

  He is playing with me, thought Altmann, irritably. The man had led throughout the conversation, like a conductor determining his own tempo.

  Hollis knew something about Burke, Altmann decided, apprehension immediately surfacing. He would have to be a willing partner in any game Hollis had decided to play, to find out about the British diplomat.

  ‘I’m sure Mr Burke gave you good advice when you complained,’ said Altmann.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Hollis. ‘He did.’

  He had to change the direction of the meeting, decided Altmann. Hollis would not disclose anything about Burke from direct questioning.

  But he might inadvertently.

  ‘It would seem you’ve come to a decision,’ said the Austrian baldly.

  ‘Would it?’

  What was the man trying to achieve, worried Altmann.

  ‘Haven’t you?’ he asked.

  Hollis shrugged, staring at him.

  ‘I’d like to talk further about it, perhaps,’ offered the millionaire.

  So the Russians had been right, thought Altmann. And throughout he had misinterpreted the other man. It irritated Altmann: he didn’t like being wrong.

  ‘We’ll discuss everything,’ said the Austrian expansively. He could trick Hollis into disclosing what he knew about Burke, he thought confidently. Just let the conversation ramble on.

  ‘What we thought …’, he began.

  ‘… Oh no,’ cut off Hollis commandingly. ‘Not here. Not in Prague.’

  Altmann shifted uncomfortably. It had to be somewhere they controlled. London would be no good; until he discovered what had happened to Burke, it could be positively dangerous.

  ‘As you wish,’ he agreed, knowing he had to make the concession. Giving way again, he thought, suddenly. Always subservient to someone with a veneer of authority.

  It would be good to stop at last.

  ‘I’d feel safer in a freer country,’ emphasized the millionaire. A switch of attitude, discerned Altmann. Of what was the man frightened? He stopped the thought. He had said a ‘freer country’, Altmann realized suddenly. If he had wanted London, he would have stipulated it. He moved quickly to grab the opportunity, selecting the obvious choice.

  ‘I have a home in Vienna,’ he said. ‘Would Austria be acceptable to you?’

  Excellent, decided Hollis. A short flight from Prague. Little more than two hours from London.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, after several moments apparently considering the venue. ‘Let it be Vienna.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ pressed Altmann. He had to know as soon as possible. If, for some inexplicable reason, Burke were still free, then there was the likelihood of Russia already knowing he was a traitor. He needed immediate American protection, he decided.

  ‘Yes,’ accepted Hollis. ‘Tomorrow.’

  Vienna was hardly more than a detour, he thought happily. He could still be home in England the following night. By then it would all be over.

  Hollis took the address and nodded.

  ‘Tomorrow afternoon,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ replied Altmann.

  How much he wanted to stop. He hadn’t realized how physically exhausted he was. As soon as he returned to Vienna, he would talk to the C.I.A. about getting Hannah moved to America. Dear God, he thought, let her be well enough to travel.

  Turgonev sat in Melkovsky’s office, apprehensively sipping the minister’s vodka. Melkovsky would be rehearsing escapes, Turgonev knew. And he would be the obvious scapegoat for the minister if the arrest of the British diplomat became a point of criticism.

  ‘Burke will get a very heavy sentence,’ said Turgonev.

  ‘Yes,’ accepted Melkovsky. ‘Pity he’s not a Russian national. We could arrange
a transfer after a couple of years with someone they wanted. What about Hugo?’

  ‘He had a long meeting with Hollis tonight at the Alcron,’ reported Turgonev.

  The minister pulled his mouth down in an exaggerated expression.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be incredible if Hollis had decided to come over?’ he mused.

  ‘Incredible,’ agreed Turgonev. They sipped their drinks reflectively.

  ‘I suppose that Britain will react in the usual way and expel some of our people from the embassy and the trade mission,’ said Turgonev after several minutes.

  Melkovsky sighed as if the discussion bored him.

  ‘I suppose so,’ he agreed. He smiled, finishing his drink. ‘Ironical if we created a diplomatic incident with the wrong country.’

  For you, thought Turgonev objectively, it would be a disaster.

  ‘Go to Vienna tonight,’ ordered Melkovsky suddenly. ‘Altmarin isn’t going to escape. I’m making you personally responsible.’

  Turgonev nodded. The first move by the minister to sacrifice him, he accepted.

  ‘By the way,’ continued Melkovsky, ‘I think Bauer has behaved very well through all this.’

  He paused, looking challengingly at the K.G.B. colonel.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Turgonev quietly.

  ‘I think we should start entrusting him with more important work.’

  ‘I’ll ensure he’s properly brought on,’ promised Turgonev sincerely.

  Ornisher replaced the telephone, doodling with the gold pen upon the notepad before him. No lunch at the Krönenhalle tomorrow, he thought sadly. And the poor woman in the sanatorium in the mountains would be disappointed, too.

  His involvement with the Austrian was very dangerous, the lawyer now knew, staring down at the carefully kept files he had obtained from the Swiss Banking Corporation vault that afternoon with his letter of authorization.

  He could die because of what lay on the desk before him, decided the Swiss lawyer.

  He was going to have to be very careful. Very careful indeed.

  (17)

  Hollis sat easily in the back of the Mercedes picking its way slowly through the confusion of Vienna’s underground construction on the way towards Sonnenfelsgasse, smiling to himself at the recollection of his escape. Almost at the check-in desk he’d excused himself to go to the lavatory, assuring Ellidge he would see him on the aircraft. Ellidge would have delayed the flight, he knew, insisting on a search. He laughed in the back of the car, careless of the driver’s reaction, at the thought of the man’s embarrassment. There would be time for apologies later. Only survival mattered now.

  It was four o’clock in the afternoon when he located Altmann’s apartment. He stood outside, halted by a sudden fear. What would he do if Altmann were like Burke, committed to an ideal rather than profit? They obviously had a file upon him, perhaps even enough to stage-manage one of those show trials. Please God, let Altmann be greedy, he thought. Let him be like the British minister.

  It was an old apartment-block, blackened by dirt and age, with a high, turreted roof. There was no lift. Hollis located the flat at the first floor, up a leisurely curve of stairs. For a few moments he stood outside, rehearsing the meeting, then decisively rang the bell. Altmann answered immediately, standing aside for Hollis to enter.

  It was a large apartment, beautifully decorated with heavy antiques, each room glistening beneath a chandelier. But there was something wrong, he decided. It did not have the appearance of being lived in; rather it seemed like a set piece in a museum, where furniture and curtains were arranged to show the lifestyle of a previous era. But it showed a man who enjoyed money and luxury, thought Hollis hopefully.

  Altmann followed him into the room and the two men examined each other, cautiously.

  ‘Can I get you some refreshment?’ asked Altmann.

  The phrasing of the offer was like the room, out of date, thought Hollis. He wondered if Altmann lived alone.

  ‘No, thank you,’ he said.

  There was little need for courtesies. It was a business discussion, nothing more. He selected a chair and sat, his briefcase by his side. The refusal seemed to disconcert Altmann. He hesitated, then sat down opposite. Each waited for the other to speak.

  ‘Perhaps,’ opened Altmann, breaking the pause, ‘now we are in a country in which you feel safer, I’ll outline what the British government has in mind.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hollis, smiling. ‘Why don’t you?’

  It was like playing cards for large stakes, with your opponent sitting before a mirror reflecting his hand, thought the millionaire.

  ‘Let’s immediately remove any thoughts that it would be espionage,’ said the Austrian. ‘It would just be relaying to the government the information that came your way in the normal course of business.’

  ‘Relaying?’ picked up Hollis. ‘You mean I’d have meetings with people in London?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Altmann. Hollis had to believe that, thought the Austrian.

  ‘With Mr Burke, perhaps?’

  The old man stopped at the question. This wasn’t right, he knew. The Russians had misread everything. He was sure of it. The conversation had come almost too easily to the subject he wanted to discuss.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said gently.

  ‘No,’ said Hollis. ‘I don’t expect you do.’

  It was proceeding like a well-rehearsed play, thought Hollis, a performance in which he was the lead actor, word-perfect in his script.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ frowned Altmann, confused. ‘I don’t think I understand.’

  ‘No,’ said Hollis again. ‘But I do. I understand perfectly.’

  The dizziness engulfed Altmann. He tightened his hands along the chair-arms, straining against a collapse, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to dear his vision. He mustn’t faint, he knew.

  ‘It hasn’t worked, Mr Altmann,’ Hollis continued, lounging back in the chair. ‘Your rather amateur attempt to embarrass me has collapsed completely.’

  Gradually the weakness ebbed. Altmann sat quite still, breathing shallowly, chest jerking with the effort as the thoughts butterflied through his mind. If Melkovsky were made to act desperately, he was sure he would move with the circumstantial evidence he already possessed. He still didn’t know about Burke, thought Altmann.

  ‘So you’ve been too clever for me,’ coaxed the Austrian.

  Hollis nodded in quick affirmation. ‘You. And many others,’ he said, confidently.

  ‘It would have taken a brilliant mind to work it out,’ prompted the Austrian.

  Hollis shrugged. ‘That was everybody’s mistake,’ he said. Altmann wondered if he would be able to survive. He would have to run immediately. The C.I.A. could always get Hannah out afterwards, he reasoned. The important thing was that she got to America, not that she reached there first. Surreptitiously he glanced at his watch: his appointment with the American was still three hours away.

  ‘I’d be interested to know how you worked it out,’ he urged.

  ‘Simple,’ said Hollis. ‘Burke has been arrested.’

  The tenseness fell away from Altmann. The Russians still had nothing from which to suspect him. And he had time to manoeuvre.

  Why hadn’t Turgonev told him two days before, he wondered suddenly. Perhaps they didn’t know yet.

  ‘From that, everything was as easy as a child’s jigsaw,’ boasted Hollis. ‘I was to be fed a lot of fringe material, incriminated and then blackmailed.’

  ‘Blackmailed?’ Altmann pressed, intrigued with the near-accuracy of the solution.

  ‘For the secrets of the guidance-system being installed in the NATO planes,’ enlarged the millionaire.

  Altmann relaxed further. The final misinterpretation was immaterial, he conceded, vaguely recalling the NATO contract from a file upon Hollis he had studied months before. It meant the circumstantial evidence was worthless, he thought. For a show trial to work it had to be conducted in the glare of world publicity. Now they could
never risk Hollis appearing in anything like an open court. An element of guilt was essential. So the millionaire had escaped. He smiled, unexpectedly. He was glad the last assignment had failed so completely. No one would ever again be destroyed by him, he realized.

  There was a flicker of doubt. Burke, of course. Since he was an Englishman, it wouldn’t be possible for the Russians to arrange an exchange.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Hollis. ‘Right or wrong?’

  It was better he didn’t know of the correct conclusion, Altmann decided. All he had to do now was extricate himself from the meeting with Hollis. And then, he determined, extending the thought, extricate himself from a life he’d followed for the past twenty-five years. He liked America. And Hannah would be happy there, he thought. He’d insist a new life was made for them somewhere in the sun. Florida or California, perhaps.

  ‘Right,’ said the Austrian, ‘completely right.’

  Hollis seemed to inflate. He smiled like a child awarded ten out of ten in a spelling test.

  The tightness came to Altmann’s chest and his throat felt dry. He desperately needed a drink.

  ‘Once you’d realized the danger,’ invited Altmann, ‘I’m surprised you came back.’

  ‘Oh, but I had to,’ insisted Hollis.

  Altmann waited.

  ‘The meetings with Junkers and Kodes had to be ploys,’ said the millionaire. ‘I guessed that you would already have a file upon me, with material that would be embarrassing.’

  In other circumstances, he thought, he might have enjoyed Hollis’s company. The man was very intelligent.

  ‘And you have got a file, haven’t you?’ asked Hollis, hinting his apprehension.

  ‘Yes,’ admitted Altmann, a desperate idea formulating. ‘I’ve got a file …’

  Hollis’s reaction confirmed his fear. He winced, as if he were almost in physical pain.

  ‘I want it,’ said the millionaire.

  Altmann stood, the dryness in his throat almost burning now.

  ‘I’m going to get a drink,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you don’t want anything?’

  ‘Positive,’ said Hollis. The man needed time to consider, decided the millionaire. It was going to work.

  Altmann drank almost a tumbler of water in the kitchen, then filled it again and carried it back to the lounge with him.