13
Vladislav Belov finally decided it was time to shift allegiance. Not openly of course. Rather to begin to move away from someone certainly in personal decline and arguably in mental decline, as well. Someone, therefore, through whom there was the risk of being carried down in the whirlpool he’d thought about before. Maybe the suck of dirty water going down a plughole was a better analogy. More had become common knowledge now, carefully distributed by the GRU, for Belov to know that Kazin’s failure to respond quickly enough to the Afghanistan insanity had risked an unthinkable disaster. Just as the maniac had endangered years of careful planning by signalling Levin prematurely, while his child was still in Moscow. That had actually been the greatest insanity, knowingly creating a situation in which Levin might not have gone at all. So maniac was certainly the right word. And maniacs had to be avoided if they weren’t removed altogether: it was unfortunate the inquiry had merely censured the man, rather than getting rid of him completely. Definitely the time to move away. And now, luckily, the opportunity had presented itself. He knew he’d have to be careful, as careful as he had been in formulating the proposal that was going to disrupt the CIA with festering suspicion, as British intelligence had been disrupted by the festering suspicions left over from the time of Burgess and Maclean, Philby and Blunt. But he was sure he could do it.
Personally interviewing Yuri Malik, rather than deputing a subordinate, showed just how careful. There would be no indication of favouritism, because of who his father was, nor any preference instructions sent ahead to New York. That would be too heavy footed. At the beginning, protective association in Dzerzhinsky Square began with nuance and suggestion. But Vasili Malik would recognize it, when his son reported back that he had been briefed by the division head himself. And Belov was confident that the very fact of his being head of the division to which Malik’s son was going to be attached would automatically result in more contact between the joint Chief Deputy and himself. Having initiated the approach by conducting this meeting, the pace had in future to be dictated by Malik, a reciprocal invitation for him to respond. Which he would. But very carefully, very slowly, very safely. Belov had moved too quickly, far too quickly, coming out as a Kazin supporter in the past. He had no intention of making the same mistake twice.
‘There is no way we can determine the supposed function that will be assigned you at the United Nations,’ began Belov. ‘That is the decision of the secretariat of the Secretary General. We have people in that secretariat, of course. So I will exert as much pressure as possible to ensure a position giving you the greatest opportunity to fulfil your proper role.’
‘I understand, Comrade Director,’ said Yuri.
Belov liked the other man. And decided he would have done so without the family connection. Certainly the appearance and demeanour were perfect for a New York posting. There was not a vestige of any Slavic colouring, no dumplings-and-black-bread heaviness. He was clear-eyed and clear-skinned and the fair hair was perfectly cropped to suggest the recent change from the sort of crew cut that seemed inevitable in American college graduation pictures. The man would be able to move around America, under the cover about to be explained to him, and never once appear different from anyone else beside him on the train or plane or street. The attitude was right, too: respectful but not cowed. Confident, like Americans were at his age. Belov said: ‘There’s been a defection from our United Nations rezidentura.’
‘Yes,’ said Yuri.
Belov waited but the younger man did not continue. ‘Because of which some of our people will inevitably be identified.’ Dolya, of course. And two others – Onukhov and Lubiako – whom it had been decided Levin was to name to substantiate his defection. There would have to be some token punishment against Dolya, because the man would have been punished if the crossing were genuine, but Belov intended to be as lenient as possible. He picked up: ‘The new head of station is Anatoli Stepanovich Granov. He has been attached to the New York mission for two years. He has already been advised what you are to do.’
‘A special function?’ queried Yuri. To which faction was this man attaching himself? His father’s? Or Kazin’s? Important to be ultra-cautious until he was sure of the answer. If his father were to be believed he was as much a target as the old man. Why, wondered Yuri, in recurring, intrusive irritation, wouldn’t his father tell him what had happened between himself and Kazin? It appeared there would always be some connection between them.
‘You are to be the courier,’ declared Belov. Surely the most positive indication to the joint Chief Deputy which way he was declaring himself! To be courier was to occupy a position of great trust and responsibility.
‘I would like that explained to me,’ said Yuri curiously. In ancient Rome couriers of bad news were put to death.
‘The FBI are aware how we use the United Nations,’ expanded Belov. ‘They’d be fools if they didn’t. They spy on us as much as they can, electronically, and we are not prepared completely to trust the diplomatic pouch. Which is why we have a courier personally to ferry the most highly classified material. It was formerly the function of Granov, before his promotion to rezident.’
‘Surely it’s not possible for me to move in and out of America at will!’ queried Yuri at once. ‘I’d be detected after the first trip.’
‘Of course you would,’ agreed Belov. ‘There is an apartment block on the corner of Second Avenue and 53rd Street. Flat 415 is rented permanently in the name of a publishing company which has provable headquarters in Amsterdam. You will be provided with a bona fide British passport – an American document could be too easily checked – in which you will be described as a travel writer. Your legend name is William Bell. We issue four publications a year from the Amsterdam house and contributions under the name of William Bell will regularly appear, particularly from North America and from the Latin American countries you will visit: in your passport, of course, there are valid visas wherever necessary.’
It was superb tradecraft, thought Yuri admiringly.
‘Naturally you must expect surveillance because you are Russian, attached to the United Nations,’ continued Belov. ‘Always take the greatest care to clear your path before undertaking any journey: this system has taken a long time to establish and must not be endangered.’
After the last few days in Moscow Yuri was determined to take the greatest care about everything. Politely he said: ‘I will do nothing to endanger it.’ Was that a promise he could keep, surrounded by so much uncertainty?
‘As a supposed travel writer you’ve every reason to fly in and out of New York direct to Europe,’ went on Belov. ‘But use that routing sparingly. On a British passport you can cross into Canada without any record being made. And from there don’t always travel West to East, to reach Europe. Asia is available, from Vancouver: it’s protracted, I know, but it’s secure.’
Yuri tried to remember how early trail-clearing and route variation had been instilled into him, at training school: certainly one of the first sessions. He said: ‘And Latin America is to be used the same way?’
‘The Caribbean, too,’ said Belov. ‘There are direct flights across the Atlantic from nearly all of the islands. But minimize the use of Colombia and Bolivia and Peru and Mexico. They’re target countries for drug smuggling into America. So more attention is paid to people on incoming flights than from other parts of the region. Always travel light, if you’ve no alternative: no large luggage to bring yourself to any Customs attention.’
Or hammer and sickle motif on his tie or ear-flapped fur hats, thought Yuri. This really was very basic.
‘At all times, during these return trips, you will be travelling on the William Bell passport,’ said Belov. ‘There must be no occasion whatsoever, no matter what the emergency or crisis, when you make contact with any Soviet embassy. We have, for instance, made extensive use in the past of the Soviet legation in Mexico City: so much so that the Americans maintain permanent surveillance upon it. We ignore it now, happy for them to waste their time and manpower. But I don’t want you detected, making such a mistake.’
That he might have done so was even more unlikely than over-using Colombia or Bolivia on return trips, thought Yuri. He said: ‘I would not consider using the same entry points into Europe, either. I would always employ transfer connections, between one country and another, before routing myself back here…’ He saw Belov preparing to speak, but hurried on: ‘And of course I would not always enter direct, through Moscow. There is always Leningrad, either by air or the ferry, from Finland.’
Belov nodded, smiling slightly, conscious of the other man’s need to prove himself. Why not? Confidence was one of the most important requirements for an operator forced constantly to maintain a false identity in false – or alien – surroundings. He said: ‘How do you regard this posting?’
