judged Bowden’s appearance to be intentionally careless – to inculcate ill-judged contempt. Just like it would be ill- judgement to infer respect by the man’s use of the word ‘sir’, which Levin had come to recognize from his time in America to be a verbal mannerism, the equivalent of a comma or a full stop in a sentence and nothing to do with respect. The man to his right was contrastingly neat, crisply suited, crisply barbered, open-faced. The third member of the panel wore a suit and a club-striped tie but Levin was intrigued by the hair, long enough practically to reach his collar. Of the three only the last set out pens alongside the yellow lawyer’s pad, to take notes.
Nodding towards Proctor, Levin said: ‘I have promised to help, in any way I can.’
‘You’ve said you believe there to be a spy within this agency?’ demanded Norris, direct.
‘I have also been promised help,’ avoided Levin, smoothly.
‘Sir?’ said Myers.
‘What progress has there been getting my daughter Natalia from the Soviet Union to join me?’
‘We’ve gone through all this, Yevgennie,’ came in Proctor. As he spoke he shrugged apologetically in Myers’ direction. Back to the Russian he said: ‘You know we’re doing all we can.’
Ignoring the FBI supervisor, Levin said to Myers: ‘Have you heard anything from your sources?’
Myers sighed. He said: ‘We know your concern – can understand your concern – but until today we haven’t been involved…’
‘… Can you do anything now that you are involved?’ interrupted Levin, finding no difficulty with the urgency.
‘Like what?’ demanded Norris, recognizing that the matter of the man’s daughter would have to be disposed of before they could go any further.
‘You’ve got a CIA residency at the American embassy in Moscow. Assets, presumably,’ said Levin. ‘Can’t you find out what’s happening to her?’
‘You’re getting letters telling you what’s happening to her,’ responded Norris carelessly. ‘She’s not under pressure.’
The reply told Levin several things. From it he knew there was some liaison concerning him between the FBI and the CIA. Which therefore meant here at least there was not the animosity that existed in his own country between the KGB and the GRU. And that if they knew she was not under pressure they were opening and reading the letters before passing them on. Monitoring the correspondence was to be expected, he supposed: the KGB would be doing the same in Moscow. There would be a lot of curiosity about him in the American section of the First Chief Directorate. He would have liked to convey some message but knew any attempt at a code was impossible; particularly now he had confirmed the tampering. To extend the conversation, he said: ‘Couldn’t you make some inquiries?’
‘But would that be wise?’ demanded Myers at once. ‘You are trying to get her out, right? Can’t you see the danger, of Moscow discovering the CIA inquiring about her? They could stage a trial over something like that.’
To explain the apparent thoughtlessness of the demand, Levin said: ‘I’m very worried about her. Desperate.’
‘We know, sir, we know,’ soothed Myers.
‘Will you tell your State Department how I’m helping: add to the FBI pressure?’ persisted Levin.
‘Sure,’ said Myers, the promise as glib as Proctor’s had been, that first day.
‘What is it that makes you think there’s a spy here?’ demanded Norris, maintaining his earlier insistence.
‘Things that happened when I was at the United Nations,’ started out Levin.
‘What things?’ It was the first time the long-haired man had spoken: Crookshank had an oddly high-pitched voice.
‘There was a KGB man, here in Washington…’
‘… Name?’ broke in Crookshank, pencil ready.
‘Shelenkov,’ identified Levin, as he had been instructed all those months ago, in Moscow. At that moment he was more alert than at any time since the interview began and was aware of the look of recognition that passed between Myers and Norris.
‘What do you know about him?’ said Norris.
‘He was ranked number three at the rezidentura… regarded as a good operator.’
‘How was he involved with you at the United Nations?’ asked Myers.
‘That’s it,’ said Levin, intentionally obtuse. ‘He wasn’t.’
‘I’m not following this,’ protested the CIA lawyer.
‘There is occasional liaison, between the embassy here and the UN mission,’ said Levin. ‘Just very occasional. There was a standing instruction, which could not be ignored, that Shelenkov should never, under whatever circumstances, be involved in any contact.’
‘Why not?’ asked Norris.
‘For the risk of being compromised, in something else.’
‘Something else?’ It was Crookshank who asked the question.
‘It was understood that Shelenkov was completely seconded to just one job: that he could be considered for no other operation.’
‘Understood by whom?’ demanded Myers.
‘Everyone in New York.’
‘The mission in New York were told this?’
Levin shook his head, conscious of the trap. ‘That is not the way intelligence is conducted… not KGB intelligence, anyway. Individual operations are boxed, agents working quite separately and unknown to each other.’
‘So how was it understood?’ said Myers.
Levin allowed the impression of slight irritation. ‘Because of the hands-off order. A KGB officer is never… well, rarely… allowed the luxury of just one assignment. There are always several ongoing.’
‘If Shelenkov were so removed from everything, how do you know he was not active in several, ongoing operations?’ said Norris. ‘You explained yourself a few moments ago that the very principle of espionage is limiting the knowledge of operations.’
‘People talk,’ said Levin. ‘Other agents in the Washington embassy said he was removed from any normal, day-to-day functioning. Actually complained at the extra work load it imposed upon them.’ To convey the impression of strain, which he was genuinely feeling, Levin looked in the direction of the coffee and Proctor took the hint and moved to refill his cup.
‘We’re dealing with disgruntled gossip?’ said Crook-shank with a lawyer’s dogmatism.
Levin shook his head. ‘With good reason for their being disgruntled,’ he said, in insistence of his own. ‘You must believe me when I say it’s unheard of for anyone in a rezidentura to be allowed to operate like that, without good reason.’
‘Gossip,’ said Crookshank dismissively.
Concern moved through Levin at the thought that in his keenness to protract the interview over a period, to impress them sufficiently, he might be risking the panel rejecting what he was saying. Before he could speak, Myers picked up: ‘What sort of good reason?’
‘An exceptional source,’ said Levin simply.
‘You think Shelenkov had such a source?’ said Norris.
‘I know he did.’
‘Know!’ The demand came simultaneously from Myers and Norris.
‘There are three ways of transmitting to Dzerzhinsky Square,’ recounted Levin. ‘The first is electronically, from the embassy. Secondly there is the diplomatic bag. Moscow are suspicious of both. Anything electrical can be intercepted, monitored…’ He paused, looking sideways at Proctor. ‘And the diplomatic bag is not regarded as being completely safe: there have been tests and from them we know that the FBI open them, although they are supposed to be protected by international agreement…’
‘What’s the third way?’ intruded the lawyer impatiently.
Levin did not respond at once, staring across the intervening table and realizing that of the three, this longhaired man was the one he had to convince. He said: ‘Personal courier. It’s practice for people personally to transport things… encoded and concealed in microdots or hidden in some way. This was always the way that Shelenkov’s material was moved to Moscow.’
