by Ted Allbeury
Nolan could just make out the words. He used the bleeper and when the door opened he called out. “Get the medic down here.”
He sat silent until the young man came in. He looked up at him. “There’s something wrong. He can’t talk properly.”
The young man bent down and looked at Kleppe’s face. He touched the left side with his fingers then took a metal probe and touched the cheek. It drew blood but Kleppe didn’t flinch or move. The doctor looked at Kleppe.
“Have you been taking penicillin?”
Kleppe nodded and touched his chest.
“You’ve had bronchitis, yes? Or influenza?”
“Yes.”
The young man straightened up.
“He’s allergic to penicillin and this drug has geared it up. It’s like when you get a dentist’s injection, your mouth swells up and goes numb. And it’s drying his mouth and his throat. I’ll give him something to flatten it, but he’ll be like this for two days.”
“You do that.” Nolan said, and bleeped for the guard and left.
It took them one hour to trace Harper. He was out of Washington.
“What’s happening, Pete?”
“He’s talking, but the drug’s had side-effects, and I’ve got to leave him for a couple of days.”
“What’s he said?”
“That he’s an Armenian. An officer in the KGB. Dempsey is a Communist and works for him. They get their orders from Moscow and the UN and they used the networks to make Powell Governor and President.”
“Will he sign a statement?”
“I haven’t asked him. I’d guess he will eventually.”
“Is it on tape?”
“Yes. But his speech is distorted and sometimes he nodded rather than spoke.”
“We can’t wait two days, you know.”
“Why don’t I pick up Dempsey?”
“Who do we get to sign the warrant?”
“Nobody. I just pick him up.”
“For God’s sake. We can’t just go on lifting people. He’s been nominated as Powell’s Chief of Staff.”
“We’ve got so much now. I don’t feel it matters.”
“Pete, when we’ve got a cast-iron case, signed statements, the lot, we’re still left with the problem of what to do. When Dempsey disappears Powell’s going to raise hell all round. And who is going to interrogate Powell? There’s going to be a point when it will be ripped out of our hands into the politician’s hands. We’ve got to see it gets into the right hands. If you picked up Dempsey then you’d have to work fast before it leaks out.”
Nolan noticed the “if ” and took it as quasi approval.
“Let me pick up Dempsey and give me two days. What day is it today?”
“My God, what a question. It’s Tuesday, the nineteenth of December.”
“OK. Give me until Friday.”
There was a long silence and a sigh.
“OK.” And the phone was hung up.
Nolan phoned Langfeld and gave him careful instructions. He checked the paperwork and then slept. When he awoke at five o’clock there was a chit on his desk reporting that Dempsey had been picked up at 4.30pm. His ETA at Flushing Airport was 23.15.
They had taken Dempsey down to the basement. He was in the first interrogation room and, unlike Kleppe, when Nolan walked in Dempsey was eating from a tray. He looked up at Nolan and then got back to his eating. Nolan sat down and waited. Dempsey looked just like the photographs. His face unlined and youthful. They had taken his tie, and the plaid shirt was open at the neck. Finally he threw down the knife and fork with a clatter, reached for the linen napkin, and wiped his mouth as he leaned back in his chair and looked at Nolan.
Nolan had spent time carefully working out the order of his questions.
CHAPTER 17
All that Nolan knew about Dempsey indicated that he was not a trained operator, but he was intelligent enough to have marshalled the nationwide resources that the Soviets had made available. He had that perpetually youthful air that successful actors have. Eyes that were blue and amused, and an alertness that was cloaked by a deceptive casualness.
“Have you had enough to eat, Mr. Dempsey?”
Dempsey nodded, smiling. “Give the cook my compliments. I’ll recommend him to my friends.”
“Is there anything else you want.”
“Just to get the hell out of here.”
“Do you know why you’re here?”
The lazy eyes smiled. “No. But I guess you’ll enjoy telling me.”
Nolan waited for a few seconds.
“Would you like to talk about Kleppe?”
“Not particularly.”
“How about we talk of Siwecki?”
“You talk. I’ll listen.” Dempsey’s eyes were suddenly hard and alert.
“You know he was murdered together with his wife?”
“I read it in the papers.”
“Did you regret the murder?”
Dempsey shrugged. “I didn’t consider it in those terms.”
“The sentence for an accessory to murder is quite severe, Mr. Dempsey.”
Dempsey made no reply.
“There is evidence that you were an accessory to those murders, Mr. Dempsey.”
“So charge me, Nolan. Stop bullshitting.”
“Are you a member of the Communist party, Mr. Dempsey?”
Dempsey grinned. “What do you want me to do, plead the Fifth?” Dempsey’s face went pale with anger as he leaned forward. “Let me quote you the Fifth, Nolan. ‘Nor shall any person be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law.’ When does due process start, Mr. Nolan?”
“Not at the moment. But if you prefer the formality I’ll start with holding you on a homicide charge.”
“What homicide?”
“The murder of Mr. and Mrs. Siwecki, Miss Angelo, and a CIA officer in New York named Steiner.”
“How did I murder them?”
“You were a prime accessory, you fixed it in conjunction with Kleppe.”
“For what motive?”
“To prevent them giving evidence against you.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Bribery, collusion, inciting a strike, illegal payments, blackmail. There’s more, as you know, if you want it.”
“You know what position I hold in the new administration?”
“I know you were going to be Chief of Staff to Powell.”
“I still am.”
“No, Mr. Dempsey. It’s all over now.”
“Powell will have your guts, my friend.”
“Tell me about Halenka Tcharkova.”
Nolan saw Dempsey’s breathing stop for a moment, and then go faster. For the first time his eyes held a doubt.
“I’ve never heard of her.”
“She will be in great danger now.”
“Why?”
“Because Kleppe and you have failed. They don’t like failures, Mr. Dempsey. They aren’t going to like the international exposure they get from this little effort.”
Dempsey looked away, and Nolan pressed on.
“You knew that Kleppe was a KGB officer?”
“I don’t give a shit what he is, or was.”
“And the girl in Moscow? What about her?”
“She’s an established artist. They wouldn’t dare touch her.”
“You don’t believe that, Dempsey, do you?”
For a long time Dempsey was silent, and when he spoke Nolan heard the mixture of anger and fear in his voice.
“Isn’t it time you read me your Miranda card, Nolan?”
“I’m not a policeman.”
“It applies to the FBI just as much.”
“I’m not FBI.”
Dempsey folded his hands on the table, the knuckles white as frost-bite.
“I demand to see my lawyer. I answer no more questions until he arrives.”
“Who is your lawyer?”
“Oakes in Hartford.”
“He couldn’t act for
you.”
“Why in hell not?”
“He has already signed a statement himself that incriminates you.”
“Of what?”
“Fixing the strike at Haig’s Electronics, paying twenty thousand dollars to Siwecki’s local, paying five thousand to Siwecki himself, and conspiring to illegally influence an election.”
“If you’ve got evidence why don’t you charge me? Why this crap?”
“Because those are the least serious of the charges.”
“Look, Nolan, you may have forced some lying statement out of Oakes, but you won’t do that with me.”
“Is Kleppe’s statement a lying statement, too?”
“You’ve kidnapped him as well as me?”
Nolan didn’t reply. He wanted to give Dempsey time to absorb what he had been told. Finally he stood up and pressed the bleeper. As he stood at the open door he said, “Let me know when you want to talk.”
Dempsey didn’t look up.
It was six o’clock when they roused Nolan from a deep sleep. Dempsey wanted to talk to him. He washed and shaved slowly, and dressed carefully before he went down to the basement.
Dempsey was stretched out on the concrete bed, on top of the sleeping bag. His face was pale and drawn, and the youthful look had gone.
Nolan dragged over a chair and sat alongside the bed. The blue eyes were paler as they looked at his face anxiously.
“I want to do a deal, Nolan.”
“Tell me.”
“I’ll write out everything. Names, addresses, money, everything, but I won’t sign it, and I won’t give evidence, until you’ve done your part.”
“What’s my part?”
“You get Halenka and the little girl over here permanently.”
“What if she doesn’t want to come?”
“She will.”
“Will you dictate the main points as a précis right away?”
“If you want, but it depends on the deal.”
Nolan looked at the troubled blue eyes and spoke quite gently.
“You know the Soviets are unlikely to play ball.”
“She’s my wife, Nolan. We were married by proxy. It’s quite legal.”
“That won’t make any difference.”
“It makes her an American citizen.”
“That won’t make any difference either. There’s no percentage in it for them.”
Dempsey looked at him, weighing up the odds before he spoke.
“They would trade her for Kleppe.”
“He’s a prime witness.”
“There’s very little he can cover that I can’t cover.”
The bravado had suddenly gone. Dempsey was pleading now. The hostage he had given to fate all those years ago still controlled his thinking. It passed through Nolan’s mind that if some diplomatic oaf had not alienated this man in 1968 neither of them would be standing in the steel-clad interrogation room now.
“He’s their man, Dempsey. He must be their top man in the US. A court may not believe your evidence, and Moscow would dismiss it all as a ridiculous plot by the CIA.”
“I won’t write a word, Nolan, until I know.”
“You’ll only have my word. Nothing more.”
“I’ll accept that.”
After Nolan spoke to Harper he did not go back to Dempsey. He walked down the driveway of the house and then to the shore of the bay.
It was bitterly cold as he stumbled over the shingle, and the snow still lay in hard icy lumps between the stones at the edge of the breakwaters. The sea looked heavy and solid under the black clouds, unfriendly and menacing as the incoming tide bit at the sandy shore. Nolan stood looking across the bay, his mind trying to follow the threads of what had to be done. It was like working out all the variations three moves ahead in a chess game. It was possible but unlikely. There were always responses that had not been evaluated.
There was already enough evidence to satisfy Elliot and Bethel when it was presented to them. But there would be others whose attitudes would depend on party politics, and some of them could be part of Kleppe’s network. He had seen the names in the black books from Kleppe’s water tank. Salvasan, the Republican National Chairman, had supported their investigation at the meeting with Harper, but from Oakes’s statement it looked as if the party Vice-Chairman, de Jong, already had some knowledge of what had gone on at the time of the Haig strike.
Harper had not been satisfied that Dempsey’s evidence would be enough. Enough to do what? It would depend on what the politicians decided to do. If it was a contested impeachment then Kleppe was not for sale, and if he were not for sale then there wouldn’t be Dempsey’s willing evidence. Which one was the key? Kleppe or Dempsey?
Nolan turned to walk back to the house and as the ice crackled under his feet on the marshy land he knew he had the answer in his head. He didn’t know what the answer was, but he knew it was there somewhere.
He walked down with the guard to Dempsey’s cell.
Dempsey was still lying stretched out on the sleeping bag, his eyes closed, but he was not asleep. As Nolan pulled up the chair alongside him Dempsey opened his eyes.
“Well?”
“I’m still talking with several people. The decision isn’t entirely mine. There’s one more question I need to ask, and I need the truth if I’m going to help you.”
“What is it?”
“Did Powell know what was going on?”
Dempsey swung his legs down so that he was sitting up. His hands massaged his face, his fingers rubbing his eyes. He looked up slowly at Nolan. “He was never told in so many words, but he knew all right.”
“He knew the strike was fixed?”
“Yes, but he wasn’t party to the fixing. He wasn’t party to any of it. He just went along, turning a blind eye and reaping the benefits.”
“Since he was elected have you given him specific instructions?”
“Yes.”
“The defence cuts, withdrawing troops from NATO. Those were your instructions?”
“Yes.”
“He knew where they came from?”
“Sure he knew. I told him.”
“Did he protest?”
“Nolan, he was riding a tiger. He daren’t get off or he’d have been eaten. And he knew it.”
“What was the Soviets’ ultimate aim?”
Dempsey shrugged. “God knows. I doubt if Kleppe knows.”
“Why did you go along with this?”
Dempsey looked up at Nolan’s face.
“You won’t ever understand, Nolan. I loved Halenka. I had enough money to give her anything she wanted. She didn’t want anything. I joined the Party as a gesture to her—to show that I loved her. She didn’t ask me to, she wasn’t all that impressed when I did it. She was no more a Communist than I was. She was just a girl. Those French bastards beat us up and put us in jail. I wrote to our embassy and they left us to rot. Kleppe got us out. OK, they had an interest. I was in love with a Soviet girl. Some day I might be useful. It was years before they approached me. I’d almost forgotten about Kleppe. But I hadn’t forgotten about Halenka. And I hadn’t forgotten that some pig in our embassy had given us the thumbs down. Just a nod and the French would have released us. I was nineteen or twenty. Halenka was eighteen. What the hell danger were we to the United States?”
There were tears of anger and frustration in Dempsey’s eyes as he looked at Nolan for an answer.
“It was stupid, Dempsey, I give you that.”
“No, my friend, it was more than that, it was deliberate, inhuman. She was pregnant, and she was my girl. And I was a US citizen born and bred. And because I scratched my name on a piece of paper they let us rot. The Soviets didn’t let us rot, they got us out. Our embassy didn’t make the rules. They carried out the rules that Washington laid down. I bought a Washington Post at Orly the day they let me out. D’you know what the main news item was? The President was defending his bribe-taking crony who he’d nominated as Chief Justice of the S
upreme Court.”
Dempsey trembled with anger, and Nolan sensed that he was creating resistance by his questions.
“D’you want something to eat?”
Dempsey sighed and shook his head. And at that moment Nolan’s radio bleeped and a message came through that there was an urgent phone call for him.
It was Harper speaking from Washington.
“I’ve had a call from Powell’s secretary. He wants to see me. What’s the position at your end?”
“I’m going to get a statement from Kleppe or an interview taped with a witness present. And then I shall do the deal with Dempsey.”
“How long do you need?”
“Twenty-four hours. Maybe a little longer.”
“Is there any chance that there were witnesses when your team picked up Dempsey?”
“None. He was driving his car. The street was empty. I’ve seen them do it. Even when you know what’s gonna happen you don’t absorb it.”
“If Powell raises any question about Dempsey I’ll have to give a denial.”
“I don’t think he will.”
“You’ve seen MacKay’s report on Mrs. P?”
“Yes. Interesting, but it doesn’t help us.”
“When will you be ready for another meeting with Elliot and Bethel?”
“Sunday afternoon?”
“OK. Keep in touch.”
The CIA doctor had given Kleppe another shot and most of the paralysis seemed to have gone.
Kleppe tried to stand when Nolan went in, and he staggered and held on to the heavy table. Nolan shoved up the chair so that Kleppe could sit down. The remote tape-recorders were already on, and Nolan sat on the edge of the table.
“Just a few questions, Kleppe.”
“Da.”
Nolan hesitated, and re-framed his question in Russian.
“You gave the orders to Dempsey? Nobody else controlled him?”
“Just me. Only me.”
“How did you get your orders?”
“By radio. And the bag.”
“The diplomatic bag?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
“Both. The embassy and the United Nations.”
“Who controlled you in Moscow?”
“Directorate S.”
“Who?”
Kleppe seemed to have difficulty in breathing, and Nolan realized that Kleppe was fighting the drug. The words came out explosively when he finally spoke.
