has also been permitted, between Levin and his daughter.’
‘There is a relation still in Russia?’
‘In Moscow.’
‘I should see her,’ said Yuri. It would have been a reaction the other man would expect.
Kazin touched the file again, ‘The address is here. Copies of all the letters, too.’
Yuri decided upon another snare. He said: ‘I am to communicate directly to you?’
‘Only to me: this is an absolutely restricted operation,’ said Kazin at once.
Kazin had become entangled in it, Yuri judged. The reply had been too quick, almost urgent, and the insistence meant the cutting out of Vladislav Belov, the Director of the American Department, through whom all traffic should normally have been channelled. Another inconsistency. No, corrected Yuri at once. Not at inconsistency. A further indication, if he needed one at all, that this was not the operation it was being made out to be. He said: ‘How is that communication to be conducted?’
‘Diplomatic bag,’ instructed Kazin.
Was there anything else upon which Kazin would snag himself? At once Yuri thought he saw a chance and said: ‘Regulations are that any communication in the diplomatic bag should be authorized and vetted by the on-base rezident… Comrade Granov, in my case.’
Kazin pressed down upon his twitching knee, unsure if he had been right in doubting the other man’s deviousness, realizing the implication of the question. He said: ‘I will issue special instructions to Comrade Granov in New York.’
So there would be some formal record that he was involved in a specific operation masterminded by the head of the First Chief Directorate, acknowledged Yuri. Insurance of a sort, he supposed. Against what? He decided to prod in a more positive direction. He said: ‘Has the driver involved in the accident with my father been found?’
No reason for apprehension, thought Kazin. They were absolutely safe. This was nothing more than a natural, predictable question. He said: ‘No. But I assure you he will be. The investigation has been taken over from the civilian militia by our own Directorate security.’
Re-introducing his father’s death into the conversation had been throwing a stone into a pool, hoping to make ripples, and Yuri decided there had been a tidal wave. Until that moment he had not known of any civilian involvement in the investigations into his father’s death. He said: ‘Thank you, for the assurance’ And for more, much more.
The man was definitely not as clever as he imagined himself to be, decided Kazin.
The man was definitely not as clever as he imagined himself to be, decided Yuri.
This time Kapalet chose Le Vivarois restaurant, taking as much care as he always did, remaining concealed in the Avenue Victor-Hugo until he saw the CIA man enter and waiting until Drew was seated before going in himself.
They went through the formality of ordering – Drew on this occasion impatiently selecting the wine – and as soon as the chevalier left the American said: ‘Well?’
‘It hasn’t been easy,’ avoided Kapalet.
Drew sighed at the accustomed bargaining, slipping the envelope into the Russian’s hand beneath the concealment of the table.
‘I managed to ask,’ said Kapalet, which he had, but from Moscow, not the reassigned Shelenkov.
‘And?’
‘He saw sometimes a man named Dolya, who acted as the courier to Moscow.’
‘What about the other name?’
The Russian nodded in affirmation. ‘Levin,’ he said. ‘From the UN mission as well. Performed as a cut-out, between New York and Washington.’
‘How many times?’
‘Four, as far as he could remember.’
Drew smiled, gesturing with his wine glass as if he were offering a toast. ‘You’ve done well, Sergei. You always do well.’
‘There’s something else,’ said Kapalet, as he had been specifically instructed by the head of the First Chief Directorate himself.
‘What?’
‘Levin’s defected, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Drew cautiously.
‘The order’s gone out,’ said Kapalet. ‘A general instruction to all rezidentura, in case you people move him abroad, but concentrated directly to America.’
‘What order?’
‘Levin’s to be traced,’ said Kapalet. ‘Traced and killed, as an example. As assassin has already been assigned in America.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t have a name,’ said Kapalet. ‘But you’d better take special care of Levin if you want to keep him alive.’
26
Yevgennie Levin held back from any immediate inference, guarding against mistakes, but the attitude of the CIA group appeared different from the first occasion. Friendlier would have been an exaggeration. Perhaps more relaxed. The long-haired man with the legal pad might provide the indicator. They arranged themselves in the same room as before, positioned exactly as before: the bearded, shaggy man was still wearing the abused, strained suit.
‘Maybe we could get into a little more detail today, sir?’ opened Myers.
‘In what way?’ responded Levin cautiously. Don’t over-respond, don’t anticipate, he thought.
‘Tell us about Shelenkov?’ urged Crookshank. ‘What did he look like, for instance?’
Not the personal antagonism of the previous session, assessed Levin; not yet, anyway. He said: ‘Quite a small man, balding at the front. It seemed to embarrass him, because he was careful to bring his hair forward. Some facial coloration, from blood pressure I always thought. Maybe from the drinking.’
‘Good English?’ prompted Myers.
‘Very good. Fond of Americanism.’
‘Americanism!’ seized Norris – as he was intended to – remembering the original warning from Paris of the man having had the Agency by the balls.
‘Slang. Things like that. Said it provided cover.’ Levin was aware of Norris scribbling and then passing a note to Myers, curious at what it said.
It was the lawyer who took up the questioning again. ‘So you had some extensive conversation with him?’ suggested Crookshank.
‘I do not know that I would have called it extensive. More social exchanges.’
Imagining a weakness, Crookshank said: ‘You travelled down from New York for one purpose only: you were a messenger, sent to collect something?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Levin guardedly, not sure which way the interrogation was going.
Crookshank took a long time shuffling through his pad, a courtroom trick to unsettle a witness. He looked up and said: ‘A tractor sales catalogue, two letters and a holiday postcard?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which would have taken no more than seconds to pick up?’
Levin thought he knew the thrust but refused to anticipate. ‘Yes,’ he said, for the third time.
‘Why the need for social exchanges?’
It was a bad point, decided Levin: almost desperate. Easily he said: ‘ Because the handover only took seconds. If I had been under FBI surveillance and entered and left the embassy so quickly, the purpose of the visit would have been obvious. I would practically have been confirming myself as an agent of the KGB. Having made the
