The Moscow Sleepers

24

Peggy arrived at the British Embassy in Berlin promptly at nine o’clock. She had flown in the evening before and, anxious to do well on her first mission abroad, she had resisted the temptation to explore Berlin, eaten a modest supper in her room at the hotel and been in bed by ten o’clock.

The Embassy, at the north end of Wilhelmstrasse not far from the Brandenburg Gate, was within walking distance of her hotel. She had never visited Berlin before but she had seen pictures of the city during the Cold War, and it gave her a thrill to know that she was walking in what had once been Communist East Berlin. She had no difficulty in recognising the Embassy building – it was huge, forbidding and, to her eye, rather prison-like with its rows of recessed windows. It was blocked off at the street entrance by concrete bollards. In the reception area a policeman stood guard, armed with a Heckler & Koch automatic.

She was relieved to find Sally Mortimer already waiting in the foyer. Her warm welcome immediately dispersed the chilly feeling of the place. ‘I thought I’d drive us to the BfV,’ she said amiably. ‘My car’s garaged just down the road. It will take a while to get there but that gives us plenty of time to discuss tactics in the car.’

Peggy was soon admiring the deftness with which Sally manoeuvred her car through the crowded streets of Berlin. As they threaded their way confidently through the morning traffic, Sally said, ‘I’d better tell you about this man we’re going to see. His name is Lamme, Abel Lamme, and he’s pretty senior in the Service. I’ve had dealings with him before and he’s what my mother would call an S-H-I-T.’

‘Oh God,’ said Peggy, her thoughts of a pleasant morning disappearing. ‘What’s his problem?’

‘We are, I’m afraid. He’s supposed to be very clever and good at his job but he can’t deal with women at work – all his colleagues say so. He actually refers to his secretary as “the girl”, even though she’s about sixty. I wonder she doesn’t slap his face, but she’s too polite and well brought up.’ Sally shifted gear smoothly as she glided around a taxi dropping off a fare. She went on, ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re here. Maybe we can pull his leg a bit. Don’t worry,’ she said as Peggy started to demur, ‘I know we want to persuade him to do something for us; he’s simply far too pleased with himself to notice we’re winding him up.’

‘Are all the men in the BfV like that?’ Peggy asked, curious. ‘Are they all sexist?’

‘No. Not really. On the whole it’s not too bad,’ Sally replied. ‘No worse than the average. And don’t get me wrong, I like it here – the city’s wonderful, and the work is fascinating. No complaints there.’

She paused, and Peggy waited. Finally Sally asked, ‘Are you married?’

Peggy shook her head.

‘Boyfriend?’

Peggy said, ‘No.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘I had a long-term partner, but he did something stupid and embarrassed me. We were living together, but he moved out about four months ago.’

‘I’m sorry. Though if he let you down then perhaps it’s for the best.’

‘Definitely,’ said Peggy. ‘How about you?’

Sally gave a small groan. ‘That’s the bad side of this posting. There simply aren’t any available men. The ones at the Embassy are either married or, to be frank, only interested in getting me into bed. The German men are friendly enough but hard to meet, and they’re all so formal.’ She said in a thick German accent, ‘Vould Fräulein Mortimer care to accompany Herr Stuger to the opera this Saturday?’

Peggy laughed. ‘Perhaps they think that’s the right way to treat a foreign diplomat.’

‘I know,’ said Sally, ‘but sometimes it’s positively painful.’

‘How about back home?’ asked Peggy. ‘Is there anyone there?’

‘Not really. I was very keen on someone in the Service. We went out a bit. He’s older than me and he has a bit of a reputation. He’s never married; been on a lot of postings at the sharp end and I think he finds it difficult to commit to anyone. On the surface he’s the kind of man everyone warns you off. But he’s actually very kind and completely charming. He could make me laugh more in five minutes than anyone else could in a month.’

‘So what’s happened to him?’

‘Well, just when things were getting quite serious, I got posted here. He came out for a couple of weekends – then the silly bugger went and got himself sent on some secret undercover job. Now I don’t know where he is.’

A lorry pulled out and Sally braked hard. ‘Idiot,’ she said sharply, her eyes on the road. A good thing too, thought Peggy, since otherwise Sally might have seen the surprised expression on her face; she had just realised that the man Sally was talking about could only be Bruno Mackay.

From Sally’s account, Peggy had pictured Abel Lamme as an old-fashioned caricature of a male chauvinist – middle-aged, a bit overweight, moustache perhaps, tweed suit, possibly a cardigan. So she was surprised to find him not much more than forty, and smartly dressed in a faux-Armani suit with an open-necked shirt. He was tall, over six feet, with dark brown hair and a handsome face. He might have been an articulate footballer or a TV presenter, thought Peggy. He stood up to greet them, shaking hands and half bowing with elaborate courtesy.

‘Good morning, ladies,’ he said in only slightly accented English. ‘What an honour it is to have two such beautiful young persons call on me. Please sit down and tell me how I can be of service.’

‘No, no,’ replied Sally, with equally exaggerated courtesy. ‘The honour is all ours. We must apologise for disturbing you but as my colleague from London, Fräulein Peggy Kinsolving, will explain, it is a matter of some importance to both our countries.’

She turned to Peggy who was having difficulty not laughing during this exchange. She took control of herself and set about describing the complicated situation they had uncovered in Hamburg.

‘Dieter Nimitz is an official with the European Commission in Brussels, where he works on immigration issues. His wife, Irma, is the Head of a school in Hamburg that specialises in educating immigrants. The fact that they both work with immigrants may be pure coincidence, of course.’

Peggy paused. Lamme was leaning forward in his chair, listening with his hands pressed together in a steeple against his dimpled chin. He said in a neutral voice, ‘Go on.’

Peggy continued: ‘Recently Dieter confided in a colleague at the Commission that he was concerned about his wife. He said she had been in contact with educational institutions in the US and UK about sending some of her students to study there.’

She paused, but Lamme was now looking up at the ceiling. She went on, ‘We have reason to believe, through information from a third country, that she may be placing particularly talented immigrant children in these institutions for training in advanced cyber espionage.’

‘And who is Frau Nimitz doing this for?’

‘Our best information at this stage is that it may have a Russian connection. That’s why we are here – we’d like your help finding out.’

Lamme lowered his head and stared at Peggy. ‘Let me see if I understand this correctly. A German citizen, a Herr Nimitz, with a home in Hamburg, works on immigration policy at the European Commission. Poor fellow, I’d say – his job can’t be much fun these days. His wife is a schoolteacher who teaches immigrant children in Germany, some of whom may go abroad to take courses in computer science at other institutions. Herr Nimitz, for whatever reason, is unhappy about this, and has complained to a colleague. As a result, the British intelligence service sends two officers – highly experienced, no doubt, and both extremely attractive,’ – and he bowed his head as if in obeisance to their beauty – ‘to ask for help from the BfV in… what exactly? Stopping Irma Nimitz from sending students to study abroad?’ He shook his head dismissively. ‘I don’t think it’s the BfV that’s required in this case; I’d say it was a marriage counsellor.’

‘That’s not all Nimitz told us.’ Peggy was growing angry now. ‘Apparently, when he was back at home for the weekend, he was meant to go into the city. But instead he returned home unexpectedly early, only to discover that a man had been visiting his wife. He said this was unprecedented.’

Lamme shrugged, with a condescending smile. ‘So perhaps his wife has a “special” man friend, one so captivated by her charms that he was not willing to wait for her husband to return to Brussels before visiting her. Indiscreet? Of course. “Unprecedented” – I doubt it. This just confirms my view that a marriage counsellor would be more useful in this situation than the BfV. My dear Fräulein Kinsolving, my colleagues in counter-terrorism have many urgent investigations on hand. They would laugh at me if I asked for resources to investigate such a matter.’

‘If I may finish,’ went on Peggy coldly, ‘there is one more piece of information that you might find carries some weight. A third country with whom we are working on this case has good reason to believe that the Russians are involved.’

‘Hmm,’ snorted Lamme. ‘If your third country is the USA, as I suspect it is, you will soon learn what everyone knows, that they see Russians under every bed.’

Peggy could see from the corner of her eye that Sally Mortimer was getting red in the face and looked about to explode. Peggy, on the other hand, was feeling an icy anger. She didn’t mind disagreement, or even open opposition, but she could not stand being sneered at, especially by an arrogant man not much older than she was herself.

She said firmly, ‘What we’re asking from you is very specific and very limited.’

Lamme widened his eyes as if to say, ‘Is that so?’ He looked amused.

‘We cannot of course conduct any surveillance of our own here,’ continued Peggy.

‘Certainly not,’ said Lamme sharply, the smirk leaving his face.

‘But you can, and we’d like you to. We would like the Nimitz house watched while the husband is in Brussels during the week. Their house is in Blankensee, by the Elbe just outside the city—’

‘I know where Blankensee is,’ snapped Lamme. ‘But tell me, who issued this request? Forgive me, but I am assuming it did not initiate only with you.’

Sally burst into life, like a kettle boiling over. ‘Geoffrey Fane,’ she snapped.

The other two had almost forgotten she was there, so wrapped up in their own contest, and they turned to look at her. Lamme seemed startled. It was obvious he knew who Fane was.

‘And if I say no? What then? Perhaps you should telephone Mr Fane and let me explain the reasons.’

‘He’s on holiday—’

‘Ah, I see, Mr Fane is unavailable. How convenient.’

‘Not at all,’ said Sally. ‘I have his mobile number and instructions to ring him if there is in any problem. I think he’ll be surprised to hear from you, since he seemed confident our request would be granted with no difficulty. But be my guest.’ And she took out a notebook, apparently ready to read out a telephone number.

Before she could do so, Lamme put up a hand. ‘Hold on,’ he said, and he seemed to be thinking hard. ‘If we were to agree to help, for how long would you expect the surveillance to continue? Our resources are very stretched.’

Peggy said, ‘Today is Friday. Dieter should be coming home tonight, and usually leaves on the very early flight on Monday morning. So it would be from then until his return next Friday – in the first instance, that is. Then, depending on what happens, we could review it. We are looking to find out who it is who visits Irma Nimitz.’

‘A working week? That is quite a long time.’

Peggy said nothing and was glad that Sally stayed quiet as well. The silence seemed to make Lamme uneasy. He shifted a bit in his chair, then seemed about to stand up, sat still instead, and finally slapped one knee with his hand.

‘Very well, a week it will be,’ he declared, as though the time frame was his own devising. ‘Though I trust that, if we ask some day in the future, your Mr Fane will return the favour.’

‘Of course,’ said Peggy, before Sally Mortimer could reply. They both knew full well that Geoffrey Fane had no direct control over surveillance in the UK, which was in MI5’s bailiwick, but Peggy was happy to let Lamme think he’d achieved a draw if that meant the Nimitz house would be under surveillance. Mission accomplished.