He was aware of the clatter of another keyboard in a neighbouring booth, and could not shrug off the sense that he was being checked upon by whoever was operating that second terminal. He shivered. In the distance, the central heating clunked.
Vienna, during Pavel Koslov's period as deputy Rezident. Shelley knew that the current Vienna Rezident, Karel Bayev, had been Koslov's superior during that time, and his friend. He tapped the keys, demanding access to Koslov's biography and record in Vienna. Then, he summoned information on Koslov's relations with his superior, then information on that superior.
Finally, he called for an update on the Vienna Rezident, under contacts with Koslov in recent years. Trips by one to Vienna, the other to London, holidays, meetings throughout eastern Europe…
The information unrolled, cancelled, sprang up again; none of it betrayed what Shelley had hoped for. He summoned surveillance reports by SIS on Koslov and the Rezident in Vienna — as recently as the previous year, a long weekend visit by Koslov.
Women — professional? Reference earlier reports, same woman — ? Yes. Regular visits by the Vienna Rezident, a long-term strictly professional arrangement. A file number was supplied.
Shelley exhaled, inhaled deeply. If someone followed him this far, they would guess. If they took the next step with him, they would
And he might kill Hyde and Massinger, because he had found what he wanted, and he knew what they would put into effect on the basis of this information; Massinger's crackpot plan.
He demanded that section of the Vienna Rezident's file dealing with Social/Sexual Contacts, looking once more at his watch. His tension flickered in his mind, short-circuiting him to an image of his wife waiting to serve dinner, and the clock at eight-thirty; it wasn't important, but expressed his desire to leave Registry, get out of the place, finish this.
There it was. The girl's name, address, security check, together with the decision that she could not be used. The Vienna Rezident visited her once a week; a prostitute. No other involvement, no leverage. Payment in US dollars, equivalent to a hundred and fifty pounds sterling. The girl supplied him with nothing but her body and her ersatz passion. Even the sex was uncomplicated. No deviations; no kinks. Sex without strings, sex without danger of compromise.
Shelley memorised the address and the other details, and then pressed the Escape key. He had to force himself to return the screen's interest to Pavel Koslov. His fingers trembled. It was a futile bluff, but it might just confuse a bored officer assigned to keep surveillance on Shelley. The screen supplied information concerning Koslov's relationship with the Vienna Rezident until the section of file was completed.
Shelley logged off and shut down the terminal. He had read none of it, simply sat there until the programme had ended; a man waiting for the end of a previously-seen and not-much-liked film.
He stood up, feeling cramped and chilled. He had to force himself to walk at a leisurely pace past the desk, to nod a goodnight to the clerk, to pass the two duty men in the corridor with a neutral expression on his face, hands thrust casually into his pockets. He felt cold, suppressing an almost feverish shiver until the doors of the lift had closed behind him.
Thursday. The day after tomorrow. The Vienna Rezident visited his whore on Thursdays, without a security escort.
Thursday.
Shelley realised he would have to hurry to catch his train.
Eldon had lost patience with him, but Aubrey could not begin to exercise any control over the situation. He had, instead, to hold his hands together in his lap to still their tremor. He was desperately tired, lost in a maze of protestations and evasions and denials. He was increasingly edgy and uncertain. It was the third day of his interrogation by Eldon — his 'debriefing' as they persisted in labelling it, with manifest irony — and they had no intention of lessening the pace or increasing the time-span. He was to be worn down as quickly as possible, made to admit, agree…
To confess and confirm, Aubrey reminded himself as he watched Eldon's darkened, handsome features. Yes, the man had lost patience; but his anger was groomed and fresh-looking, not shirtsleeved and weary. It might be no more than pretence, but Aubrey did not think so. Eldon believed in his guilt, and he was now angry that the old man opposite him wriggled and lied and evaded evident truths — the facts of the case. During the past few days, Aubrey had seen the glow of Eldon's righteous indignation. He was passionate in his loyalty and honesty. He despised traitors, and he was convinced that Aubrey belonged to that detestable species. His passion made him the most dangerous adversary Aubrey could have encountered, and revealed how well he had been chosen by Babbington. Eldon was Aubrey himself, but younger and stronger.
'Sir Kenneth,' he observed in a clipped, even tone which yet managed to sound repressed, held back, 'you have lied and prevaricated for two days. You ignore evidence that points to your complicity — you deny everything, you answer only the questions you choose.' Aubrey summoned an ironic bow of the head. Eldon's eyes glittered. 'You have, in fact,' he continued, 'no friends or allies — anywhere…' Aubrey realised that the anger had at first flared up like a spot-fire but was now under control and being used by Eldon. 'Of course, we monitored all your calls yesterday.' Eldon employed a smile.
The information did not surprise Aubrey, but to be reminded of it weighed on his weariness like an immovable stone on his chest. Increasingly desperate telephone calls, all the previous afternoon. Grasping at straws, or lifelines. The Foreign Office, the Cabinet Office, the PM's office. All had fended him off or turned him aside. Each individual, each department; not at home. Only Sir William Guest had received his call in person. That in itself had alerted Aubrey. Contempt, rejection, dislike had come down the telephone line to Aubrey; seepages from his life-support system, fatal damage to it. Sir William had abandoned him as all the rest had done.
And this man knew it, this dangerous, clever man opposite him. Eldon knew and approved, and felt his own obligation to produce the admissions and agreements which would confirm the evidence against him.
He could not hold Eldon's gaze, and dropped his eyes. His feet shuffled irresolutely on the carpet, a signal which Eldon did not fail to notice. Aubrey was daunted — frightened, yes, he could even admit to that — by his sense of isolation. He was unnerved by the subtlety and cleverness and completeness of the trap into which the KGB —
'It isn't quite like 1974, is it, Sir Kenneth?' Eldon enquired silkily.
'I don't understand—' Aubrey blurted, startled.
'We should have had you in 1974,' Eldon said, his hand closing slowly into a fist on his knee. 'We must have been within a hair's breadth of exposing you then.'
'What—?'
'Bonn, dammit!' Eldon snapped, his impatient contempt revealing itself again. 'In April — after they arrested Gunther Guillaume. You recall the
'That was a ridiculous rumour,' Aubrey protested.
'It lacked proof, but not credence. Someone in your service tried to tip off Guillaume just before the Germans got him. I became convinced of that during my enquiries.'
'You were forced to clear every member of the SIS staff at the Bonn embassy,' Aubrey retorted, feeling a landslip of confidence within himself. Another old bogey now to be laid at his door. It was true, there had been rumours that an officer in British Intelligence had tried to help the Russian double, Guillaume, to escape the net closing around him. Gunther Guillaume had been Willy Brandt's closest adviser during his period as Chancellor of West Germany — and Guillaume had been a Russian spy. His arrest had caused Brandt's downfall. Eldon had been part of the
MI5 team of investigators who had been drafted to Bonn at the end of April to enquire into the truth of rumours that there was a British double-agent in league with Guillaume. Nothing except the innocence of Aubrey's officers in Bonn had been proven.
'We were evidently looking in the wrong place, Sir Kenneth. You were not, yourself, subject to investigation.'
'No, I was not.'
'Evidently a crucial omission.'
'It was never more than a foolish rumour.'
'I wonder.'
