Man From Barbarossa

and political kidnappers. You either scared the victim out of his wits or you made him feel at home. As a rule one person did exactly what Stephanie had been instructed to do, and should the victim have to be killed, it was usually the trusted one who did the killing. ‘So you did all that, obviously. You got him to do as you wanted.’

‘But of course. He even followed Eichmann’s footsteps. We all walked on to an Aeroflot jet dressed as flight attendants. It was very easy.’

‘So, why are you here now?’

‘There was a small problem. Bory . . . ?’ She appealed to Stepakov.

The exaggerated clown’s smile. ‘For obvious reasons we did not want to have Vorontsov sedated. Who knew when we might need him? Stephanie handed over her duties to Nina. Things didn’t work out.’

‘You see, it’s like a psychiatrist and a patient,’ Stephanie chimed in. ‘What do they call it . . . ?’

‘Transference,’ Bond supplied. ‘When a patient has so much trust in a psychiatrist that he becomes completely dependent. If it’s a difference of sexes, the patient often persuades himself, or herself, that he’s in love with the shrink.’

‘Right. Happened just like you say,’ Boris Stepakov sounded excited.

‘I was removed,’ Stephanie looked pleased with herself. ‘He pined for me, poor monster. Wouldn’t accept Nina. Even tried to attack her.’

‘Was very difficult,’ Stepakov made gestures with his hands as though miming a great physical problem. ‘Nina came to me. She couldn’t deal with it, so she suggested we bring Stephanie back.’

‘And Henri came for the ride?’

‘I came as muscle, Stephanie’s minder, as you’d say.’ Rampart did not even look in Bond’s direction.

‘Mmmm.’ Bond still did not sound completely happy.

‘James,’ Mlle Adore’s voice dipped seductively. ‘It was a kind of contract operation. We were hired. Money in the bank.’

‘Mice,’ Bond muttered, and they all knew what he meant. Mice was the English acronym used by all intelligence communities to indicate the four principle motivations of espionage agents: Money, Ideology, Compromise or Ego. The French had been attracted to the operation by money. It was often the strongest motive these days.

‘Why London? Why did you . . . ?’ Bond began. But at that moment the door opened, the screen slid back and Alex returned with a short, thin-faced man who had dusty-looking hair and wore spectacles.

‘Come in, Vladi. Welcome.’ Stepakov pushed back the chair and opened his arms to embrace the newcomer.

9

LYKO’S LITTLE ADVENTURE

Stepakov’s effusive greeting and his previous description left none of them in any doubt that the man brought in by Alex was Vladimir Lyko. Indeed, he was almost a caricature of an academic: for one thing, his shabby jacket had leather patches on the elbows, the Western badge of office within the groves of academia. His whole appearance was untidy, a person divorced from the real world, small, cowed, a grey man. Yes, Bond realised, this was the archetypal grey man – the ideal spy – one who had difficulty in catching a waiter’s eye. That was the old definition of the perfect agent. So here he was, the immaculate dissembler, moving into the room.

As Stepakov embraced him, the professor seemed to shrink back as though embarrassed by this show of affection, and his eyes bore that restless quality associated with someone who has suddenly been released from the prison of a library, the jail of study, and is now blinking in the unaccustomed sunlight of the real world.

‘My former prisoner,’ Stepakov boomed, all his heartiness up and operating at full strength, the lick of hair falling across his forehead, the long, clownish face frozen in a look of surprise, eyebrows arched and mouth split like a watermelon segment. ‘My former prisoner, now my long-term penetration agent within Chushi Pravosudia.’ He gave everyone the benefit of the major smile, ushering the small, nervous figure on to centre stage, talking as he did so. ‘Professor Vladi Lyko has much to say. You will be given a chance to question him afterwards, but you, Captain Bond, and you, Pete Newman,’ pause and a laugh, finger stabbing the air in their general direction, ‘you should realise his is the only true briefing you will receive. He has the answers, if you have the questions.’

The dusty-haired little professor cleared his throat, hands moving forward as though to arrange lecture notes on an invisible lectern. When he realised there were neither notes nor lectern, he dropped his arms and, for a few seconds, did not know what to do with his hands. He cleared his throat a second time, then started in with a confidence that seemed at odds with his appearance. He spoke in English, clear and precise, with the hint of a South London accent.

‘General Stepakov will have told you part of my story,’ he began, glancing up, his eyes almost glowering and challenging the assembled company. ‘I was a fool who wanted material gain offered to me by the Scales of Justice. When my folly was revealed, it became clear that my country, and the Party, would be best served by my working undercover.

‘Let me first explain what the general has probably hinted at. Chushi Pravosudia is a truly cunning group. In my time working for them, I have yet actually to meet another senior member of their controlling body face to face.

‘These men and women could have been trained at the greatest espionage schools in the world. During my many debriefings with General Stepakov, it’s become clear that they operate by rules so strict that the innermost cell of the organisation is always at arm’s length.’ He turned to look at Stepakov, asking if he had explained the initial recruiting methods used by the Scales of Justice.

Satisfied, Lyko continued. ‘My first duty with the organisation was, as you know, the collection and dispersal of funds, mainly in US dollars. It was during this phase that the good general showed me the error of my ways.’ Another little bow towards Stepakov.

Bond wondered how much of Lyko’s script had been written for him. In spite of his confidence, the professor seemed intent on making an apologia, a public confession which might even require a public penance.

‘I was able to carry out the duties given to me by Chushi Pravosudia very effectively, especially once the general took over my secret life. He made it easier for me to launder the funds which passed through my hands and I began to make a great impression. Within a few months, the leadership decided that I was ready to organise recruiting for them abroad. Because of my command of English.’ He gave a small self- satisfied smile and then bowed towards Nina Bibikova. ‘Not as brilliant as Nina, of course, for she has an advantage; yet I was good enough and they gave me most detailed instructions. My target would be the United Kingdom, and they were specific about the kind of people they wished to recruit. The most interesting aspect, you will probably agree, is that whenever I was required to go abroad, the necessary documents were always there for me. They were also genuine. Never first-rate forgeries. The passport and visas given to me, together with the other documents, were always the real thing. I have been out of Russia a number of times, but never with the freedom these people gave to me.

‘General Stepakov has rightly drawn attention to this. For it is another indication that Chushi Pravosudia either have powerful assistance from the authorities, or that members of the leadership are themselves high-ranking officers within the military and KGB. This concerns us greatly.’

He continued to talk for some twenty minutes on the type of persons targeted for recruitment in the United Kingdom. All were fervently left-wing in political outlook, and the accent was on assisting towards a better understanding of freedom within the Communist countries. It was also noteworthy that people with special skills were marked as high-priority objectives. Men with military experience, particularly those who had been trained for the modern electronic battlefield, also journalists, certain specialist doctors and nurses and people with experience of theatre – actors, make-up artists and designers. The reason for the inclusion of such a wide variety of specialists was hard to determine, and if the little professor was to be believed, he enrolled a fair-sized network, even though it was sprinkled with notional non-existent recruits – a trick as old as the trade itself.

‘None of us working within the general’s Banda could come up with reasons, or any logical scenario, which