“If you co-operate—really co-operate. We’re prepared to let you carry on as a journalist for six months. After six months you will tell Moscow that you think that you’re under surveillance and you think you should be withdrawn back to Moscow. Tell them that you’ve had enough of the West and you want to be back in Moscow.”
Grushko seemed to be considering what Shapiro had said and then he took a deep breath. “Maguire-Barton gave me profiles of Members of Parliament. Their lifestyles, their finances, their sexual habits—the usual stuff. And he gave me reports on his colleagues’ attitudes to the Soviet Union. Who might be influenced or bribed with money or sex. Nothing more than that. I passed the information to the embassy KGB so that certain MPs could be recruited as agents of influence.”
“Tell me about Lonsdale.”
The Russian looked back at Shapiro, shaking his head. “I daren’t. If I talked about him they’d know that your people could only have got it from me.”
Shapiro said quietly, “We arrested Lonsdale today. About an hour ago. We’ve arrested his network too.”
Shapiro could see that the news of Lonsdale’s arrest had really shaken the Russian. It was best to let the news sink in.
“When were you recruited to the KGB?”
“I never was.”
“Was it the GRU then?”
“I was never a member of either organisation. I genuinely am a journalist.” He shrugged. “But as you know we get used by the KGB for odd jobs from time to time.”
“What did you think of Maguire-Barton?”
“As a man you mean?”
“Yes.”
“He’s what we call in Moscow “a skater.” A chap who just skates on the surface. Likes to be seen around but no real interest in anything. He’s a kind of playboy. A political playboy. Likes publicity. Likes women of course. Especially if they help in getting his picture in the papers. He’d like to be a TV personality doing chat-shows. Recognised wherever he goes but not needing any real talent. I think he knows he’s second-rate. He’s not really ambitious. Just wants the good life. Or what he thinks is the good life.”
“What kind of money did he take?”
“A few thousands a year. Not a lot.” He shrugged and smiled. “He didn’t do a lot either.”
“Did you get receipts for the money?”
“Yes. Moscow wanted to have a hold on him.”
“Have you got them?”
“I’ve got photocopies.”
Shapiro looked at Grushko’s face. “Anything else you think I should know?”
“You’re not bluffing about Lonsdale being arrested?”
“No way.”
“What were the names of the others who were taken?”
“Do you know their names?”
“Yes.”
“OK. They were Harry Houghton, Ethel Gee and a married couple named Kroger.”
Grushko sighed. “Lonsdale is KGB. I’m not sure what his rank is but it’s senior, major or lieutenant-colonel.”
“What was your role in the network?”
“I was just a post-box for his material. He’s an illegal so he has no contact with our embassy. Not even a KGB contact. He was mainly responsible for getting naval information.”
“What kind of naval information?”
“I’ve no idea. I should imagine anything he could get.”
“Who ordered you to co-operate with him?”
“Our embassy in Ottawa briefed me. Told me to assist him in any way he needed so long as it didn’t compromise my position here.”
“And what did you do for him?”
“I took his material and passed it to the embassy and they forwarded it in the diplomatic bag. They thought it was mine. I arranged meeting places and drops.” He shrugged, “That’s about it.”
“Tell me about him. What sort of fellow is he?”
“He’s an arrogant bastard. Sees himself as the master-spy. The spider at the centre of the web and all that rubbish.” When Shapiro smiled Grushko said, “I mean it. I got the impression that Moscow didn’t like him much either, so he must have been useful. Women go for him. God knows why. He’s an ugly bastard. You’ve only got to look at his eyes and you’d know that he’s a crook. He was a born capitalist. Fancied himself as a tycoon with his tatty little business. He told Moscow it was just as a cover for his movements but it wasn’t. He told me he was aiming to be a millionaire. He’d have probably ended up staying here permanently if you hadn’t spotted him.”
“Who’s your girlfriend? The dark-haired one. Lives in Cardiff.”
“I don’t know who you mean. I’ve never been to Cardiff nor had a girlfriend who lives there.”
“You’ve been seen with her and she’s been to embassy receptions with both you and Maguire-Barton.”
Grushko smiled. “I know who you mean now. Do trains to Cardiff stop at Birmingham?”
“Most of them do.”
“She’s the girlfriend of a Party member who lives in Birmingham. She brings material from him for me and takes instructions back to him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Holloway. Jake Holloway.”
“And what does he do?”
“He’s a left-wing activist, a lecturer in Birmingham at the university.”
“Tell me about him.”
“I don’t remember much about him. He’s a friend of Maguire-Barton. He put me in touch with Holloway. Said he was a Marxist activist. I had brief contacts with a lot of these grassroots types.”
“What sort of contacts?”
Grushko shrugged. “Sometimes they needed aid but usually they wanted to talk politics.” He half-smiled. “Wanting to tell Moscow how to run our foreign policy.” He paused. “Was this fellow bald with a beard?”
“Yes.”
“I remember him now. He saw himself as the leader of the revolution in Britain. Used to give me messages to Gromyko and the Politburo. When was the revolution going to start? Had they forgotten Marx’s article in 1855 about tearing off the mask of the bourgeoisie in England? The usual crap these people go in for.”
“Did you pass money to Holloway?”
“I don’t remember. I never met one of them who didn’t want funds for some wildcat scheme. I gave them small amounts and just kept them happy.”
“Is that all Moscow wanted?”
“Moscow was happy to keep them on
