by Jaye Rothman
“Professor, I’ve some questions I need answering, if you don’t mind?”
He took out a large red silk handkerchief and mopped his brow, although it wasn’t warm in the room.
“Go ahead. This has been a terrible shock.”
I nodded. “Has Bryant briefed you on our discussion yesterday?”
“Yes, yes.” He didn’t elaborate.
“Can you fill me in on the day-to-day routine of the scientists?”
Relaxing slightly, he Professor described an average day in the life of the facility, but nothing significant leapt out at me. He continued. “We’re one big happy family here. Lunch is at 1 p.m., and we all eat together in the staff restaurant. Wednesday is movie night. As you might imagine, Eastern European films are very popular.”
“So all the scientists got on well together?”
“Splendidly, splendidly. There was no sign of disharmony among any of them. They were all good friends.”
I found that difficult to believe. “How is Doctor Horaknova settling in?”
“She’s doing some fine work, but I don’t think she’s particularly happy living in the West. It’s the same for most of the defectors. They have this glamorised idea of what it’s like living here, but sadly, the reality is different.”
“Different in what way?”
“I’m sure you’ve been to the East.” He looked at me shrewdly.
I didn’t respond.
“Although there are a number of restrictions there, life is relatively uncomplicated and jobs are guaranteed. Here they miss their families, their language and their way of life.”
“Did you know Mester well?”
He stroked his beard. “As well as anyone else did. He had worked here since the facility opened. I thought he had adjusted well to life in England. Now Maksimov, though, was a very different kettle of fish.”
“In what way?”
“He hated England, the hypocrisy of the class system, the weather, the ‘narrow-minded’ people, as he called us. Originally, he wanted to immigrate to Israel and live on a kibbutz, but the Soviet authorities put the kibosh on that. So he defected to England. His contract with us was for five years. As you can imagine, it takes a huge amount of resources to, ah, encourage someone to leave their country. He had another two years to do here, and he resented this terribly.”
“I see. Do you think Mester shared his feelings about England?”
“I don’t think so. He was married to an Englishwoman, and he had settled well here. He’d been in England for over twenty years.”
“Was he Jewish?”
“No, not as far as I knew. Most scientists are atheists, including myself. I don’t know anyone here who practises a religion except Doctor Maksimov, but I would hardly consider him an observant Jew.”
I had been wondering if Mester and Maksimov were passing secrets to Israeli intelligence, but this was looking less likely. Professor Watkins suddenly changed the subject. “Did you know Mester was a founding member of our Chess Club?”
This was a new piece of information. “No, I didn’t know. Was Maksimov a member?”
“Yes, he was. It’s something all the Eastern Europeans have in common – all wizards at chess. Nothing else to do, I suppose.”
“Quite. Did they play together outside the club?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
I heard a scrabbling noise outside the Professor’s door.
“Did they play with anyone else?” As I was speaking, I jumped up, walked to the door and pulled it open quickly. Miss Reynolds was picking up files from the carpet. I stood above her as she crouched. She had clearly been eavesdropping on our conversation. “Can I help you, Miss Reynolds?” I enquired.
“I was doing some filing, and they just slipped from my hands.”
I closed the door again without replying. Was Miss Reynolds a harmless busybody, or was she snooping for an ulterior motive?
“Professor, my mission is top secret and cannot be discussed outside this room. Am I clear?”
I don’t think a woman had ever spoken to the Professor like that before: he flushed a beet red and needed to use his silk hankie again.
“Yes, Miss Faber. I can assure you I won’t.”
“Your secretary was listening by the door.”
He gulped. “Miss Reynolds is devoted to me. She’s been with me since the facility opened. You can’t be suggesting…”
I ignored his comment. “What language did Mester and Maksimov converse in?”
“Oh, Russian, of course. It’s the common language that most of the scientists speak fluently.”
“Who else played chess with Mester and Maksimov?”
The Professor scratched his head. “I believe Polakoff did and Leonid Yerzov, and of course I did.”
I’d never heard Polakoff’s or Yerzov’s names mentioned before. “Yerzov. I’m sorry, who is he?”
“Leonid Yerzov is my deputy. He’s based in the laboratories. He checks if there are any problems with the running of the facility, makes sure the scientists are working well. He’s a, ah, kind of shepherd keeping his flock together.”
Shepherds? Flocks? What was the Professor talking about?
“Braithwaite didn’t brief me about Yerzov. When was he promoted?”
The Professor looked uncomfortable. “Last week. After what happened, I thought it would be a good idea...” His voice trailed off.
“Did you run this past MI5?”
The Professor stared ahead at a bookcase. “Bryant knew.”
And Bryant had neglected to inform Braithwaite. Whether this was intentional or deliberate I would have to find out.
“Do you speak in Russian with the scientists?”
The Professor looked at me as if I were deliberately being obtuse. “Yes, of course. I just told you, it avoids communication problems if we speak in a language that we all understand. Do you speak it well, Miss Faber? I expect you would.”
The Professor spoke the last two sentences in Russian. I showed no sign of recognition.
“Please speak in English, Professor. You’re not addressing the scientists now.”
At this admonishment the Professor’s face coloured to puce. His voice grew colder. “I was simply asking, Miss Faber, if you speak Russian.”
“Come, Professor. Why on earth would you think I did?”
His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Because, my dear Miss Faber, you wouldn’t be working for MI6 if you didn’t have excellent command of an Eastern European language.”
“May I remind you, Professor, that I’ve been tasked by the Minister of Defence to find out who murdered Mester and Maksimov.” I put heavy emphasis on the word murdered. “So I’ll ask you another question, and you will answer it: Who gave you approval to speak Russian in a laboratory of a Top Secret facility in the United Kingdom?”
This time the Professor’s eyes shifted down and to the right, and he pulled at the beard on his chin. “No one. This facility is under considerable funding pressure from the government and our allies to deliver first-class results. Did you know that the Soviets are more than three years ahead of us?”
I shook my head.
“No, I thought not,” he declared triumphantly. “As you might or might not be aware, Miss Faber, to converse in a foreign language, with all the nuances and idioms it commands, when explaining a complicated subject such as chemical and biological weapons, was quite frankly beyond the scientists’ capabilities. So I simply decided to implement a constructive change. I took an executive decision as head of the facility that Russian should be spoken in the labs, and I must say this has improved productivity and communication.”
I smiled coldly. “Except, Professor, that we are not living in the Soviet Union, but in England in 1978.” A chilly silence descended on the room.
“Incidentally, does Miss Reynolds speak Russian?”
The question startled the Professor, but he recovered quickly.
“No, of course not. Why would she?
Now, I suppose you’ll report this as ‘Reds under the Beds’ propaganda?”
“Well, I don’t think that that would be far wrong.” I took my packet of cigarettes from my handbag, extracted one and lit it. The Professor glared at me savagely.
“I’d like to speak to Polakoff first and then Yerzov.”
Still glaring, the Professor picked up the telephone, dialled a number and spoke in Russian. He was asking someone to send Polakoff to his office. He didn’t bother to translate for me. As he listened to the response, his face turned a deeper shade of puce; apparently he was not hearing good news.
“What?” I enquired sharply.
He placed his hand over the mouthpiece and looked at me. “Polakoff didn’t turn up for work this morning at the lab. Bryant has been to his cottage, but he appears to have disappeared.” Again he ran his silk hankie all over his face which was perspiring freely.
“Disappeared?”
“Yes, he’s gone. It looks like he’s left the facility.” He looked shocked. But perhaps he was a good actor.
“Can you check the files he was working on?”
He uncovered the mouthpiece and spoke again in Russian, waited for a few seconds and then shook his head. “The files are missing. I saw him yesterday afternoon; he seemed perfectly all right. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
Another formula and possibly a toxin missing. There would be no good news to impart to Manning.
“Tell me about Polakoff,” I said after the Professor had rung off.
“Dmitry Polakoff has been here three years. He’s a defector from Kiev. He has a brilliant mind, and some of his work on toxins has been outstanding, simply outstanding.” The Professor passed the silk hankie over his face again.
“What about his personal life?”
“He’s in his thirties, unmarried. I don’t know much about him. He’s kept himself to himself.”
“Was he homosexual?”
The Professor’s voice rose with annoyance.
“No, of course not. The assumption these days appears to be that if some men choose not to marry, like myself, we are all that way inclined. Some men decide on a bachelor life, and that doesn’t make us gay.”
He stood up and walked to the window, making an effort to lower his voice.
“Miss Faber, I can assure you that I’m not homosexual.”
I smiled inwardly at this injured denial.
“I wasn’t asking about you, Professor, but we both know that homosexuals in our line of work are at risk of being blackmailed.” I thought briefly of my own circumstances. It was always hanging over my head like an executioner’s sword. Jack Butler, another agent from MI6, knew about my sexuality. He had discovered that Dvora and I were lovers when we had trained with the Mossad and had made a deal with me. My secret wouldn’t be divulged, but I owed him, and one day he would call the ‘favour’ in. It was blackmail, as simple as that. I was waiting for the phone call, because I knew that, one day, it would come and I would have to pay the price.
“What were his politics?” I enquired.
“Left of centre, I suppose. He was pleased that a Labour government was in power.”
Polakoff may have heard that I was arriving and decided to cut and run, figuring that the facility would be locked down. He probably was halfway to Moscow by now.
“Is this a secure line, Professor?” I indicated the phone.
“Yes, of course.”
Standing at the Professor’s desk, I dialled the Broadway number and was connected to Manning. As I told him the news, he uttered a number of expletives down the line. The Home Secretary and the Minister of Defence would be informed, and probably a lockdown of the facility would be in the cards.
Ringing off, I resumed my seat and turned my attention back to my host. “Two more questions, Professor.”
“Yes, Miss Faber?”
“Does Dr Horaknova play chess, and is she fluent in Russian?”
He looked horrified. “No! You’re not thinking she could be mixed up in this? I know she isn’t the most social of the scientists but…”
“Just answer my questions, Professor.”
“No, she doesn’t play chess. Yes, she’s a fluent Russian speaker, but…”
“Thanks for your help.” I stood, cutting him off.
“Miss Faber, do you think, will you be able to recover the formula that Polakoff was working on?”
“I think that it’s looking increasingly unlikely, don’t you, Professor?”
With that, I took my leave. I closed the door firmly, leaving the Professor staring at me open-mouthed.
Bryant was pacing up and down in Miss Reynolds’ office. His perfectly knotted tie was slightly askew, and beads of sweat had appeared on his brow. Miss Reynolds had disappeared, probably miffed at being discovered snooping. I sat in her chair and indicated to Bryant that he should take a seat opposite me.
“Good morning, Faber.” The niceties of yesterday had disappeared. “Did the Prof update you?”
“Yes, he did,” I replied. “Has Polakoff taken his personal effects?”
Bryant nodded. “Yes, everything has gone. It looks like he never lived there.”
Two scientists murdered and a third missing. What was going on at Norton on the Marsh?
“Did anyone notice anything out of the ordinary? Did you ask his neighbours?”
“Yes, yes. Mrs and Miss Reynolds are Polakoff’s next-door neighbours and heard nothing. Mrs Reynolds is very deaf, and it’s difficult to communicate with her.”
“Was Polakoff at the facility when Mester and Maksimov were murdered?”
“Yes, he was here. Well, his electronic tag showed he was.”
“Can the tag be removed?”
Bryant puffed out his cheeks.
“It would be difficult, but not impossible. The alarms in my office and my home would sound if the tag were to be taken off.”
“So I suppose that leaves me to ask you, Bryant: What were you doing on the afternoons that Mester and Maksimov were murdered?”
“This is outrageous, asking a senior MI5 officer for an alibi,” he blustered. “I’m going to phone Braithwaite immediately and report you.”
“Are you sure you want to do that? I’ve been given complete authority by the Minister of Defence to ask any questions…”
Bryant looked down at his nails. “I say, Sinclair…” He cleared his throat. “Look, this could land me in a spot of bother.” He stammered. “I didn’t follow certain protocols that I should have. The rule is that I should divert the alarm to another telephone, depending on my whereabouts in the facility. The afternoon Mester was murdered I was with Eva Horaknova. We were…”
“Yes?”
“At her cottage, and having, uh, intimate relations. I didn’t want to spoil the afternoon so I didn’t divert the phone. Ask her. She will give me an alibi.”
What was Eva doing with a toad like Bryant? I wondered. Still, there was no accounting for taste.
“Yes, I will,” I said. “What about the afternoon Maksimov was killed?” I lit another cigarette and waved the smoke in the direction of Miss Reynolds’ desk. “Where were you?”
He had paled. “I wasn’t here. It was the oddest thing. I had a phone call from a nurse at Chichester Hospital. She asked me to come immediately, as my mother was very ill. When I got there, Mother hadn’t even been admitted – she was as right as rain, having tea at home. I didn’t rush back here, although I should have, because the whole experience completely unnerved me.”
“So you didn’t report it?
Bryant said defensively, “No – would you have? I was in breach of protocol. Look here, Faber…” Recovering himself, he stared pointedly at my cigarette. “Miss Reynolds is very particular about smoking in her office.”
I ignored him. “Just to be clear: any of the scientists could have left the facility, because you weren’t monitoring them, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.” He looked a picture of misery, and I
’m sure he knew I would report him to Braithwaite.
“Yerzov – where is he?”
Bryant straightened his tie. “Leonid Yerzov’s office is in the lab. He’s the Professor’s deputy now. The Professor felt that more leadership was needed, particularly after what had occurred. Yerzov’s very capable.”
“I’m sure, but did you get this approved by Braithwaite?”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, not exactly. The Professor said he would deal with it. Would you like to meet Yerzov?”
“Yes, I most certainly would.” I replied, getting to my feet. “Lead on.”
Yerzov was staring at a blackboard on the wall of his office when Bryant ushered me in to meet him. He had close-cropped black hair, shorn so that I could see the whiteness of his scalp. His dark brown eyes watched me intently and, when he spoke, one hand unconsciously smoothed his large black moustache. He looked like a Cossack from a nineteenth-century painting. His face appeared familiar to me, though. Where had I seen him? Perhaps in the rogues’ gallery, a large photo album of agents and operatives that were known to MI6. As I studied him, Yerzov’s eyes roamed all over my body, lingering on my breasts, and he ran his tongue over his thin lips. He chose not to shake hands with me, for which I was grateful. I wondered if other women employees felt uncomfortable around him.
“I’m Nikki Faber, from the Ministry, undertaking a time and motion study.”
Yerzov’s Russian accent was very pronounced. “Yes, I know who you are,” he said. “The Professor briefed me. As we’re down three scientists, we are very busy, so ask your questions now, as I have to get back to the lab.”
Obviously Yerzov was not concerned about making good impressions. I would ask Manning to run him through the database as a priority.
“How long have you worked here?”
“Four years.”
“Do all the scientists get on well together?”
He scoffed. “Who told you that? That is joke. Every one of them thinks they are so important to the programme.”
“What about Mester and Maksimov?”
“What about them? We play chess together. Sometimes they argue, but we all argue.”
“Do you all speak Russian in the lab?” I asked this to gauge Yerzov’s reaction.
