In the same week Anna and Sam were married. Aarons had looked so solemn that several people had assumed that he was the father of the bride. They had a family party that night at the club where Sam had taken Andrei. There was a seven-piece jazz band that night but Sam had played one tune for his bride. It was “Love Walked In” and Rachel Henschel had sung the words at the microphone and had been applauded by all the patrons.
Anna and Sam went back to their apartment at Prospect Park and Ivan disappeared with his girl.
The rooms above the shop seemed very empty as Andrei made himself a jug of hot chocolate. Despite the late hour he had opened the parcel of books that he had bought earlier that day at Weiser’s near Union Square.
CHAPTER 25
Serov knew that the airports would be watched by men from the embassy and he took a train from Paris to Brussels and then a local train to Bruges.
He spent three days in Bruges, walking around the beautiful old town, trying to decide what exactly he should do. He had no contacts in Britain and the only contact he had in America was Malloy. He had no idea how to contact Malloy and he would have great difficulty in getting a visa for the USA. All he could do was make contact with the US embassy in Britain and see if they would help him contact Malloy.
He made his way to London without any problems and booked in at a small hotel in Sussex Gardens and asked where the US embassy was located. They showed him on a street map and he walked along Bayswater Road to Marble Arch, then down Park Lane, turning off to the left to get to Grosvenor Square.
At the foot of the wide steps to the embassy he hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and walked on up to the door. There was a US Marine on duty in the foyer and when Serov looked around for some indication of the right place to go the marine said, “Can I help you, sir?”
“You have CIA officer in the building, yes?”
But the embassy Marines were trained not to answer that kind of question. The Marine said patiently, “Who do you want to see?”
“Any CIA man. Any intelligence officer.”
“Can you tell me what it’s about?”
“I’m a Soviet intelligence officer. I want to come over, to have political asylum.”
For a moment the Marine sergeant looked intently at Serov’s face, and then he said, “Come with me, sir. I’ll get someone to talk to you.”
The sergeant stood close to Serov as they walked down a wide corridor with the sergeant talking into a portable telephone so quickly that Serov couldn’t understand what he was saying.
As they got to the far end of the corridor a door opened and another Marine sergeant came out, and the first Marine handed him over.
“This is the gentleman who wants to speak to somebody.”
The other sergeant smiled. “Come in my office and make yourself comfortable, Mr. … I didn’t get your name, sir.”
“I did not give my name.”
“OK, sir. Do sit down, make yourself comfortable. I’ve asked for somebody to come and see you.” He smiled. “I guess you’ll understand that I need to just check you over.”
Serov shrugged and raised his arms, standing there passively as the sergeant patted him over. But he was clean.
It was nearly twenty minutes before a tall grey-haired man walked into the office. He looked at Serov for a few moments and then nodded to the sergeant who left the office and the civilian took the sergeant’s seat at the desk. His face was impassive as he leaned forward, his elbows on the desk.
“How can I help you?”
“Are you CIA officer?”
“Just tell me how I can help you.”
“I am major in the Soviet intelligence service. I want to talk to Mr. Bill Malloy.”
“Who is Mr. Malloy?”
“He was captain in OSS during the war. We were in Resistance together.”
“Where?”
“In France.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Working for Captain Malloy.”
“But you’re Russian, aren’t you?”
“Yes. But I lived in France many years before the war.”
“How long have you been in intelligence?”
“Since just before the war in Europe.”
“What rank were you?”
“Now I am major.”
“Your name?”
“In French Resistance it was Pascal. In real it is Serov. Igor Alexandrovich Serov.”
“What were you doing for them after the war?”
“I spot for them. Agents of influence. I know many important French people.”
“Why do you want to meet this man Malloy?”
“I want to come over—to have political asylum.”
“And why Malloy?”
“He is only man of yours that I know and trust.”
“Are they looking for you—your people?”
“Not yet. In three, four days maybe.”
“That means you were an illegal. Not based on the embassy.”
“Is correct.”
“You’d better sleep here tonight. Do you have any bags?”
“No, nothing.”
Friedman went back to his office and made notes of his talk with Serov and then put a call through to Langley, to Harris. He was put through almost immediately.
“Harris.”
“Hank, we’ve got a walk-in. Says he’s a Soviet. Been operating in France as an illegal.”
“What do you think? Is he a plant?”
“Who knows. But I think we’d better take him through the course.”
“Why’s he come to us not the French?”
“He wants to talk to an American named Bill Malloy. Says Malloy was in OSS in France during the war and he worked with him. Says he’s the only man he trusts.”
“I’ll check the records and call you back. What’s your guy’s name?”
“Cover name was Pascal. Claims his real name is Serov. Rank of major. Igor Alexandrovich.”
“OK.” Harris paused. “You’ve got him there?”
“Yes.”
Harris was waiting for them at the airport and took them straight to a car without going through the immigration check. Serov had slept on the long flight but by the time they got to the safe-house he seemed overawed by the traffic and
