Both Myers and Norris came perceptibly forward in their seats. Myers said: ‘Let’s get this into sequence, Yevgennie. What did he begin talking about first, Latin America or the Caribbean?’
Levin appeared to give the question consideration. Then he said: ‘I think Latin America… yes, it was definitely Latin America.’
‘Think you could remember the exact words?’ suggested Norris.
Levin laughed, guessing at another disguised pit. ‘How could I possibly remember the exact words after all this time!’
‘Paraphrase it then,’ shrugged Norris.
‘He lifted up his glass – showing off, like I said – and toasted the progress of communism. He said Latin American. Then Nicaragua…’
‘Nicaragua!’ Myers spoke lightly ahead of Norris but it was the suspicious Crookshank who pounced with the question.
‘We asked you specifically about countries last time!’ he challenged. ‘You said you couldn’t remember!’
‘You asked me to try to remember,’ corrected Levin. ‘I’ve done so, as best I can. I recall Shelenkov making that toast and mentioning Nicaragua. He was laughing, like I told you, about the people you trusted. He said there was no danger to the Sandinista regime while the main opposition was the Nicaraguan Democratic Force. And then there was a name.’
‘What name!’ demanded the lawyer.
Levin shook his head, in supposed apology. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘I’ve tried to recall it precisely, but I can’t. I’m not sure which it was.’
‘Give it to us!’ said Myers.
‘It was either Hernandez or Fernandez,’ offered Levin. ‘They both seem to be among the commonest names in the region, so I don’t think it means anything… I’m sorry.’
The identity was, in fact, Ramon Hernandez and he was deputy operational commander of the CIA-backed Democratic Force and regarded by the Agency as their leading asset in the attempted overthrow of the Sandinistas. All of which Moscow knew from their support and infiltration of the Managua government and none of which had come from any encounter with Shelenkov, whose sole responsibility had been running the CIA spy John Willick.
Already on the pads in front of them Myers and Norris had a ring around the name Hernandez. On his sheet Myers wrote ‘We’ve got a trace’ with several exclamation marks and thrust it sideways, to Norris.
‘Great, Yevgennie. You’re doing great,’ encouraged Myers. ‘What else?’
‘Shelenkov said Nicaragua was going to be a communist success and then he said he thought there would be some success in the Caribbean, like there had been with Cuba…’
‘Another country you’ve specifically remembered!’ cut in Crookshank.
‘Having remembered one, I remembered the other, because of what was said,’ replied Levin.
‘I don’t follow that,’ complained Norris.
‘A lot of it was history,’ said Levin. Despite the hours and weeks of rehearsal and training, he was beginning to ache again, from the strain of necessarily presenting everything piecemeal and convoluted and jumbled.
‘Take us through it,’ said the soothing Myers. ‘Your pace, your way. Just so that we get some idea of the picture.’
‘It was confused; I still don’t fully understand the significance. Even if it’s significant at all,’ set out Levin.
‘He talked about the missiles that we put on Cuba and how President Kennedy was able to face Castro down and get them removed. Said American strength was not in the U-2 overflight photographs that you obtained, here at the Agency. It was in having as an asset in Russia Oleg Penkovsky, who was able to confirm that at that stage of development our rockets had ineffective guidance systems… that there was no real danger and that Krushchev had to back off…’
‘You’ve lost me,’ interrupted Crookshank. ‘I haven’t a clue where we’re supposed to be going here.’
‘I said I did not know if it had any significance,’ apologized Levin once more.
‘Don’t stop,’ urged Norris. ‘Let’s hear it all, no matter how confusing it seems.’
‘He said it would never happen again. That we were aware exactly how much you knew about our main rocket centre at Semipalatinsk…’ Levin was conscious of the reaction from the three men, unknowingly coordinating the supposed information passed on weeks before by Sergei Kapalet, in Paris. ‘… And not just in Semipalatinsk… at our other installations, too…’
‘I’ve got to stop you here, because it’s important,’ broke in Norris. ‘What, exactly, did you think Shelenkov was telling you at that moment? Was he telling you that we were being fed disinformation, from assets we think we’ve got within the Soviet Union? That we were getting it all wrong?’
Almost there, thought Levin. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘That was something else Shelenkov laughed about. I can’t remember the precise words, of course. But he said something like “And it’s all coming from the Company themselves” and then added that you were never going to know it.’
‘But now we do,’ said Myers distantly. ‘And we’re going to screw the motherfucker into the ground.’
John Willick felt better than he had in weeks; months. More months than he could remember; wanted to remember. The last $2,000 had got Eleanor and her fleshstripping piranha lawyer off his back at least for a while, he’d picked three out of five winners at Aqueduct during the weekend trip to New York, and today the metals were showing two points above what he’d bought in at. He intended to gamble up to a four-point increase and sell. Maybe just take the profit and sit back a while, not be in a hurry to get back into something too quickly. Money in the bank. It was wonderful to be free of pressure. He’d always known it would get better, one day. Just taken longer than he’d expected, that’s all. Christ, he felt good.
Willick joined the line and filed behind the guide on to the viewing gallery of the Library of Congress, looking down at the readers at their circular reading benches and listening to the hushed commentary of the number of books stored in the honeycomb vaults of Capitol Hill. He thought the woman said twenty-four million, but he wasn’t sure. At her suggestion they all gazed up at the intricate mosaic ceiling and Willick did so in genuine admiration, able at last to think of something outside his own personal problems. Didn’t have any personal problems, not any more.
‘It’s magnificent, isn’t it?’ said Oleg, arriving beside him.
‘Wonderful,’ agreed Willick.
‘Ever been to Rome?’
‘No.’
‘There are some roofs and mosaics there that remind me of this.’
Willick filed after the Russian from the gallery, down the steps to the ground floor and across the zodiac- signed marble floor to the exit. The wind howled up the hill, biting into them, and both men huddled down into topcoats. Oleg went into the direction of Independence Avenue and the CIA man caught up, falling into step.
‘Moscow were very pleased with that last batch,’ praised Oleg.
‘I’m glad.’
‘What else have you got?’
‘Files on a lot of the senior analysts. Twenty-four.’
‘But not all?’
‘I warned you my Records Section wouldn’t have everything, for Christ’s sake!’
‘We’re not complaining,’ placated the Russian. ‘That’s very good. But you’ll try to get more, won’t you?’
‘Yes,’ sighed Willick.
‘The biographies are complete of those you have got? Particularly their specialities?’
‘Yes,’ assured the American.
‘That’s good, John. Very good.’
Willick passed over the envelope to the other man and said: ‘Don’t I get something in return?’
‘Money,’ agreed the Russian, handing over a smaller envelope. ‘And advice.’
‘Advice?’
‘We want you to be careful, John. Very careful.’
‘Why?’ demanded Willick, feeling the beginning of that familiar stomach churn.
‘Nothing unusual happening up there at Langley?’
‘No,’ said Willick doubtfully.
