Two telephone calls to Berlin and a couple of days waiting and the call had come back setting up a meeting. The first meeting place was to be at Shapiro’s hotel.
It was raining when Shapiro landed at Tegel. There was nobody to meet him and not even the head of station in Berlin had been informed of his visit. He took a taxi to Kempinski’s and booked in under the name Macnay with a Canadian passport.
The desk phoned him an hour later. There was a Herr Lutz to see him. He asked them to send him up.
Herr Lutz was tall and thin and elegant. And he shook hands as if he really meant it before sitting down in the proffered armchair.
“So, Mr. Macnay. A good journey, I hope.”
“Fine, thank you. Would you like a drink?”
“Maybe after we talk, yes. First business and then the schnapps.” He shrugged and smiled. “As my countrymen always say, ‘Schnapps ist Schnapps und Arbeit ist Arbeit.’ ”
“How do we start?”
“Perhaps you show me some identification first?”
Shapiro got up and walked over to the briefcase on the bed. He handed Lutz an SIS ID card and a letter that stated that he was authorised to discuss the possible exchange of prisoners on behalf of Washington and London.
Lutz studied them carefully and as he handed them back he reached in his pocket with his other hand and offered Shapiro a photostatted page which included his photograph and a statement in Russian, German and English that confirmed that he was authorised to discuss all matters concerning exchanges of prisoners with foreigners on behalf of Moscow. Lutz smiled as he slipped the paper back in his pocket.
“My clients in Moscow were surprised that you had contacted me.”
“Why is that?”
“They wonder who you have who is sufficiently important to warrant a meeting.”
Shapiro smiled. “That sounds like the opening move of a professional negotiator decrying the other party’s goods.”
Lutz looked shocked. “I assure you, Mr. Shapiro …” He smiled. “I can call you Mr. Shapiro I hope …” Lutz paused until Shapiro nodded and then went on. “It is no such thing. There is no question of bargaining in these cases. If my clients are interested they will say so immediately. I assure you. We talk as intermediaries with the possibility of arranging something to both of our clients’ mutual advantages.”
“So why are you surprised at our request for a meeting?”
“As you know, I am only called upon to act when the negotiations are … shall we say … concerning significant exchanges. There are other contacts and other systems for discussing the exchange of people of less significance.”
“So why the surprise?”
“Quite genuinely my clients know of nobody in your hands, either officially or unofficially, who they could classify as being of high significance.”
“I’m representing United States interests as well as British interests.”
“Ah, yes—of course.” Lutz leaned back in the armchair, relaxed and satisfied. “Tell me who you had in mind to offer my clients.”
“I’d like to do it the other way around. May I?”
“By all means.”
“You have an Englishman named Summers. Captain John Summers. He is in a special section in one of the Gulag camps.” Shapiro looked at a card he took from his jacket pocket. “Gulag number 704913.” Shapiro watched Lutz’s face carefully as he said, “We had in mind suggesting an exchange with a man who calls himself Gordon Arnold Lonsdale. We believe that he is a Soviet citizen. It seems that his wife might be named Galyusha and that she lives in Moscow with their two children.”
Lutz put on his glasses and looked at his list again. After a few moments he said, “He is in Wormwood Scrubs prison, yes?” He looked up at Shapiro. “Sentenced to twenty-five years’ imprisonment.”
“That’s the one.”
“He has two associates. They call themselves Kroger or Cohen. Would they be included?”
“I’m quite sure that they could be part of a deal.”
Lutz shifted in the chair and looked towards the window then back at Shapiro.
“This is the first of these exchanges that you’ve been involved with, Mr. Shapiro, is it not? At least, the first when you did the negotiating.”
“Yes.”
“But they briefed you on how we go about it?”
“What particular aspect were you thinking of?”
“Long long ago, nineteen forty-seven or thereabouts, we did the first deal. We took nearly a year and by the time the year was up your man—an American—had died. And Moscow’s man—a Czech—had escaped.” He sighed. “Both sides agreed that if exchanges were to be made in the future we didn’t haggle like Armenian carpet-dealers. We said, right from the start, what we wanted and what we would offer in return. If that was not possible then one further offer. If that was not acceptable we shook hands and it was over. We never discuss those people again. Ever. It became an unwritten, unofficial rule of the game. We could tell our superiors or not, as we chose. They would learn one way or another that we were not hagglers, not stooges. But intermediaries. You understand?”
“I think so.”
“So we stop playing games with one another …” He paused, “… and I set a good example, yes?”
Shapiro half-smiled. “Please do.”
“OK. The man my friends in Moscow would like to exchange for your man calls himself Reino Hayhanen. His real name is something else. He is half-Finnish, half-Russian and at the moment he is protected by the CIA.”
Shapiro sat down facing Lutz. “OK. No bargaining, Herr Lutz. The CIA will not exchange Hayhanen for anybody. That is absolutely certain.” Shapiro paused for a moment. “Is there anyone else that your friends have in mind?”
“Make me an offer, Mr. Shapiro. Show me that you understand what we are here for. Tell me who you put on offer for your man.”
“Colonel Rudolph Abel. He is serving a thirty-year sentence in jail in Atlanta, Georgia.”
For a few moments
