Death Train

Twelve

‘Where’s Graham?’ Philpott asked, prodding the face of his desk clock with his fountain pen. ‘I bet he’s doing this on purpose.’

Whitlock and Sabrina exchanged glances. The thought had crossed their minds. Whereas they had arrived within minutes of each other at the United Nations building, with time to spare, Graham, ever the nonconformist, was now over fifteen minutes late. Sabrina sat down on one of the black leather couches and cupped her hands over her mouth to hide the smile as she watched Philpott’s glowering face.

‘Insolence isn’t funny, Sabrina,’ Philpott said, without looking at her.

‘I agree with you, sir.’ She removed her hands from her face to reveal a deadpan expression.

‘More coffee, sir?’ Whitlock asked, crossing to the dispenser.

‘No, and stop pacing the floor like an expectant father.’

Whitlock slumped on to the couch beside Sabrina.

A light flashed on the desk intercom. Philpott depressed the switch below the light. ‘Yes?’

‘Mr Graham’s here, sir.’

‘Mike Graham, in person?’ Philpott said sarcastically.

‘Yes, sir,’ came the hesitant reply.

‘Thanks, Sarah.’ He switched off the intercom and used the small transmitter on his desk to activate the door panel.

Graham came in carrying a cardboard box under his arm.

‘Nice of you to drop by, Mike,’ Philpott said tersely and closed the panel again.

‘I’m sorry I’m late, sir, but I’ve been down in the foyer for the past ten minutes trying to clear this through security,’ Graham said, tapping the cardboard box.

‘You’ve got the whole day to go shopping–’

‘It’s not for me, sir, it’s for Sabrina,’ Graham cut in to prevent Philpott from delivering one of his monologues on discipline.

‘For me?’ she said with wide-eyed disbelief. Graham placed the cardboard box on the coffee table between the couches. He removed a folder which had been wedged under one of the flaps and placed it on Philpott’s desk beside the other two documented reports submitted by Whitlock and Sabrina.

‘What is it?’ she asked with a hint of excitement.

‘Open it,’ Graham replied.

‘May I, sir, before we start?’ she asked girlishly.

The telephone rang. Philpott waved absently to the cardboard box as he picked up the receiver.

She opened the lid and peered inside, then recoiled in terror, shifting backwards on the couch until she was pressed against Whitlock.

‘What is it?’ Whitlock asked, trying to peer over her shoulder.

Graham removed the cage from inside the cardboard box and she shrunk back even further against Whitlock.

‘Please, Mike, take it away,’ she pleaded.

‘It’s only a hamster,’ Whitlock said, puzzled.

She turned her face away and put her hands up in front of her. ‘Mike, take it away. Please.’

Graham put the cage back into the cardboard box, then squatted down in front of her. He glanced up at Whitlock. ‘She had a bad experience with rats as a kid which has subsequently left her with a deep-rooted fear of all rodents.’

‘You never mentioned this before,’ Whitlock said to her.

She stared guiltily at her hands.

‘I don’t think she realized just how far this phobia’s actually developed until we spoke about it on the plane coming home. It nearly got her killed in Yugoslavia. She’ll tell you what happened in her own time but I don’t see why we should involve anyone else, including the boss.’ He turned to her. ‘Next time your phobia could be instrumental in getting one of us killed. As I said to you on the plane, it’s all in the mind and you’ll never overcome it by continually dodging it, hoping it’ll go away on its own. Confront it, it’s the only way.

‘Rats are hardly the most domesticated of pets so I settled for a hamster, mainly because we used to have one. Well, Mikey did. Know what he called it? “Quarterback”. We tried to tell him that it wasn’t quite the name for a hamster but he was adamant, so “Quarterback” it stayed. He loved the little guy. Many a night we’d go to tuck him in only to find the hamster out of its cage and rustling against the bedclothes. We went to a restaurant once only to have “Quarterback” pop out of Mikey’s pocket halfway through the meal.’

‘Oh no,’ Whitlock said chuckling.

‘I’ve never paid a check so quickly in my life. All I’m asking, Sabrina, is that you give the little guy a chance. Watch him, understand him, I promise you he’ll help you overcome your fear. Deal?’

‘Deal,’ she said softly.

A sudden silence followed and they turned to Philpott, who had finished on the telephone and was browsing through one of their reports. Whitlock cleared his throat.

Philpott looked up and reached for his pipe. ‘I won’t keep you long but seeing you’re all here I thought you’d like to be brought up to date on the case. C.W., you first. The local police have made a number of arrests at the plant after Leitzig’s detailed confession so I think we can safely say that network’s been successfully closed down. The West German Government has promised a full enquiry into security at the plant and I’ve been assured that a number of heads are going to roll before it’s through.’

‘What about my cover story, sir? Being exposed so early on could have had a damaging effect on the rest of the operation.’

‘Granted, but I don’t see any reason to review the backstopping process. It was a million to one chance that she could have caught you out as she did. It’s never happened before and I doubt it’ll ever happen again. It’s imperative that your cover stories are as authentic and credible as possible. I’ll certainly raise the matter with the Secretary-General but as far as I’m concerned I’m happy with things the way they are.’ Philpott tapped the newspaper on his desk.

‘You wrote a good article about the plant but I never knew you were that opposed to nuclear power.’

‘Windscale, Denver, Three Mile Island, Chernobyl. They said it could never happen. How many have to die to prove them wrong?’

‘That’s the last paragraph of your article, isn’t it?’ Philpott asked, glancing at the newspaper.

‘Yes, sir. It sums up my feelings perfectly.’

Philpott consulted his notes. ‘Mike, Sabrina, I received the doctor’s report on the two of you today. It’s as we thought. The amount of radiation you’ve been exposed to was negligible. Your reading was slightly higher, Mike, mainly because you were in the wagon with Milchan for a short time. Even so, it’s absolutely nothing to worry about.’

‘What about Milchan?’ Graham asked.

‘His report came through yesterday. He’s got about six weeks at the most. There’s nothing they can do for him.’ Philpott paused to light his pipe. ‘Anyway, back to the case. I’ve been pressing the KGB to find out all they can on Stefan Werner. A telex finally came through from Moscow this morning. I’ll give you the gist of its contents. Stefan Werner wasn’t his real name.

‘He was born Aleksei Lubanov in Minsk, 1941. He was recruited by the KGB at the age of seventeen to undergo the customary ten-year training programme to prepare an agent for work abroad. He was trained at Gacznya and Prakhovka spy schools and first surfaced as Stefan Werner in Brazil, 1967. He spoke fluent Portuguese so he had no trouble in securing himself a job as a salesman at a freight company in Rio. Within a year he was running the company. He then left Brazil and bought a share in a struggling German shipping line. He bought the company out six months later and it turned out to be the foundation upon which he subsequently built his shipping and freight empire. A brilliant businessman, but a dedicated KGB agent all the same.’

‘What happened about the detonator, sir?’ Sabrina asked.

‘I was coming to that. All six kegs were exactly the same weight and it took our bomb-disposal team four and a half hours under vacuum conditions to find the whole thing was an elaborate hoax. Five of the kegs contained the Plutonium-IV compound. The sixth, supposedly rigged out with the explosive device, actually contained nothing more lethal than sand. It was all the work of Konstatin Benin.’

‘Benin?’ Graham muttered. ‘He was a co-founder of Balashikha, wasn’t he?’

‘Correct. He was also Stefan Werner’s – or Aleksei Lubanov, if you prefer – and Karen Schendel’s handler. We’ve proved that beyond any doubt. Sergei’s on his way to Moscow right now to confront him with the evidence.’

‘What about the plutonium, sir?’ Whitlock asked.

‘It’s already been returned to Mainz. Unfortunately the grain aboard the Napoli had to be destroyed but UNICEF have already sent out a replacement load. It should reach Ethiopia by the end of the week.’

The telephone rang again.

‘Excuse me,’ Philpott said, then lifted the receiver to his ear. He smiled as he listened to the caller on the other end. ‘Well, well, well, now that is interesting. Thanks for calling, Matt, I appreciate it.’ He replaced the receiver. ‘That was the Pentagon. News has just reached them that an industrial laboratory outside Benghazi was razed to the ground by a mysterious fire in the early hours of the morning.’

‘It wouldn’t happen to be the same one the plutonium was bound for, sir?’ Sabrina asked.

‘The very same.’

‘Did we have a unit in Benghazi at the time?’ Graham asked.

‘We haven’t had a unit in Libya for the past five months. The only foreign vessel in the area at the time was a Russian submarine. It would seem Sergei’s hint to the Kremlin paid off after all. That’s the cherry on the top as far as I’m concerned.’ Philpott pulled a foolscap pad towards him. ‘Unlike you three I do have work to do.’

‘Does that mean we can go, sir?’ Graham asked, glancing at his wristwatch.

‘For someone who arrived fifteen minutes late you’re certainly in a hurry to get away. What’s the rush?’

‘There’s a game on at the Yankee Stadium, it starts in an hour’s time.’

‘Who’re they playing?’ Whitlock asked.

‘Boston Red Sox.’

‘Ouch,’ Whitlock said, wincing. ‘The Yankees are going to need all the support they can get against that kind of opposition.’

‘I didn’t know you followed baseball?’ Graham said, surprised.

‘I don’t really but one thing I’ve learnt since settling here is that baseball and football are an integral part of daily New York life. I’ll have my fingers crossed for them this afternoon.’

Graham patted Whitlock’s arm then turned to Philpott. ‘Goodbye, sir.’

‘Bye, Mike, and well done. Well done all of you.’ Philpott picked up the transmitter and activated the door panel.

‘How long are you in New York for?’ Sabrina asked Graham as she walked with him to the door.

‘I’ll probably be leaving tomorrow.’

‘What were you planning on doing tonight?’

‘Probably take in a movie,’ he muttered.

‘Fancy some company?’

He stared at the carpet and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

‘It was just a thought,’ she said, breaking the lingering silence. ‘And Mike, thanks for the little guy–’

‘Yeah,’ he said, then walked to the outer office door.

The receptionist activated it for him.

He paused to glance back at Sabrina. ‘I hope you like Westerns.’

He was gone before she could answer.

‘Come on, I’ll buy you a tuna on rye at the “Healthworks” around the corner,’ Whitlock said behind her. ‘If you can spare the time, that is?’

‘Meaning?’ she said hesitantly, taking the cardboard box from him.

‘I thought you might want to spend the rest of the afternoon getting ready for your date,’ he teased gently.

‘That jibe will cost you a side salad and an orange juice on top of the tuna on rye,’ she said, affecting a supercilious tone.

They said goodbye to Philpott then walked in silence down the corridor.

‘So, any idea for your hamster’s name?’ he asked as they entered the lift.

‘Quarterback,’ she replied as the door closed. ‘What else?’

Benin had first met Kolchinsky twenty-two years before when he had been assigned to head the Surveillance Unit at the Lubianka, the KGB headquarters in the heart of Moscow.

Kolchinsky had been his deputy. Their initial wariness of each other quickly developed into antipathy and one of the main reasons for Benin’s transfer to the Gaczyna spy school was because of their inability to work together. Both of them were intensely ambitious but their ideologies were vastly different. Benin was a Stalinist, an extremist, whereas Kolchinsky was a moderate, always searching for reforms to curb the often dictatorial powers of the KGB hierarchy. Kolchinsky’s liberal views gained him few friends and it was known that his banishment to the West as a military attaché had been mainly for his own protection. Neither of them had changed their ideologies in twenty-two years–

Benin consulted his wristwatch. He had kept Kolchinsky waiting for twenty minutes in the outer office. It had been a last defiant gesture of his authority. He picked up the receiver and dialled a single number.

‘Send in Comrade Kolchinsky.’ The secretary led Kolchinsky into Benin’s office, then withdrew, closing the door behind him.

‘I can see by your stomach that the West agrees with you,’ Benin said icily, then gestured to the foam collar around Kolchinsky’s neck. ‘Something serious?’

‘I’d be more worried about my own neck if I were you,’ Kolchinsky retorted and sat down.

‘I take it you’re here to read me my last rites?’

Kolchinsky ignored the sarcasm and opened his attaché case. He withdrew a folder, then the detonator, and tossed them on to the table in front of Benin. ‘The detonator was still in Werner’s hand when the body was recovered.’

Benin picked it up. ‘I had to make him believe it was for real. I had to make them all believe it was for real. After all, reality is far more convincing than acting.’

Kolchinsky removed a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

‘I don’t allow smoking in my office.’

‘The Politburo doesn’t allow treason in their country,’ Kolchinsky replied, then lit the cigarette.

‘There is one piece of the jigsaw still missing. Your motive.’

‘Is this where I’m supposed to break down and confess?’

‘There’s more than enough incriminating evidence against you in here,’ Kolchinsky replied, tapping the folder. ‘Anyway, the KGB will have their own methods of extracting a full confession out of you. I don’t think I need to remind you of those methods, you initiated many of them yourself.’

Benin thought for a moment before speaking. ‘First the Government used this glasnost policy as a means of appeasing the West. Now they’re tampering with our strategic nuclear defences. My plan was merely an attempt to stop them. Once the plutonium reached Libya safely I intended to leak a story to several of the West’s leading newspapers that while our beloved leader was signing disarmament treaties Russia was already starting to build a new cache of nuclear weapons to replace those to be officially scrapped, using plutonium siphoned off from a Western nuclear plant and being constructed in a country allied to ours. He could have argued all he wanted but all the documented proof would have been there in black and white for the world to see. His credibility would have been shattered. Even if some Western leaders were inclined to believe his sincerity there would have been more than enough sceptics to ensure that any more arms reduction talks would be set back by several years at the very least.’

‘And by then a new Premier would have been in power, one vetted by you and your extremist cronies. Then you could have set about replacing all those weapons that had been signed away to make Russia the most powerful nuclear force in the world again.’

‘I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done. I did it for Russia. I did it because I love my country. We’re socialist, with our own identity and our own style of government. Do you really think I’m the sole opponent to the introduction of these new reforms? The dissenters are spread throughout the Politburo and irrespective of what happens to me they’ll pick up the fallen standard and continue the struggle. I wouldn’t expect you to understand though, you settled for Western complacency years ago.’

‘You’re right, I don’t understand. I don’t understand fanatics like you who talk with such pride about the purity of Russian socialism. Stalin was a socialist and how many millions died in labour camps during his regime? Andropov, Shelepin, Semichastny: how much innocent blood was spilt during their terms as KGB directors? How can you justify a system where the very people it’s supposed to help can’t even speak out against its excesses for fear of being beaten up by thugs employed by this department? At least glasnost is breaking down those barriers so that people will finally have a voice. A voice of freedom.

‘I’ll never forget the afternoon I was at London’s Hyde Park Corner and an elderly Russian Jew was invited on to the platform to speak. It turned out he’d only arrived in England the previous day and he cried all the way through the speech because he couldn’t believe he was actually being allowed to voice his thoughts in public without fear of persecution. I felt ashamed of being Russian that day. If the West’s taught me one thing it’s that socialism can work in a democracy, unlike the socialism you advocate in this country. No, Konstantin, don’t preach to me about the values of your kind of socialism.’

Kolchinsky snapped the attaché case shut and stood up. ‘I’ll leave the folder. You’ll find your telephone’s been disconnected and there are two armed guards outside the door with orders to stop you should you attempt to leave before your official arrest.

‘By the way, I believe you drew a blank when you tried to find out who masterminded the attempt on your life. Well, I made a few enquiries of my own before I left New York. It seems the order for your assassination came from within the Politburo itself. You’ve been a thorn in their side for a long time now so what better way to get rid of you than by letting the resistance movement do the dirty work for them? That’s why the missile launcher got into the country so easily. Not that the resistance movement suspected anything, they thought it was all down to their own ingenuity. This is the best bit, though: Hendrique was the unwitting middleman using Werner Freight to bring the missile launcher into the country. It’s a small world, isn’t it?’

Benin stared at the door after Kolchinsky had left. He knew the case would never reach a court of law. There would be an official cover-up as quickly, and quietly, as possible. He also knew the choices facing him. Either die in detention, after hours, perhaps even days, of unrelenting torture, or take his own life before they arrived to arrest him.

He swivelled his chair around to face the window overlooking the breathtaking grandeur of the snow-covered Bittsevsky forest-park then reached behind him and removed his Tokarev pistol from the top drawer of his desk.