London Match

28

'They're coming through Checkpoint Charlie now.' I recognized the voice that came through the tiny loudspeaker, although I couldn't put a name to it. It was one of the old Berlin Field Unit hands. He was at the checkpoint watching the KGB party coming West for the meeting. Three black Volvos.'

I was using my handset radio to monitor the reports. I heard someone at this end say, 'How many of them?'

Standing alongside me in the VIP suite of the Steigenberger Hotel, Frank said, 'Three Volvos! Jesus Christ! It's a bloody invasion!' Frank had committed himself, but now that it was actually happening he was nervous. I'd told him to have a drink, but he'd refused.

'All of a sudden it's green,' said Frank, still looking out of the window to the street far below us. ' Berlin, I mean. The winters always seem as if they'll never end. Then suddenly the sunshine conies and you notice the chestnut trees, magnolias, flowers everywhere. The grey clouds and the snow and ice are gone, and everywhere is green.' That's all he said, but it was enough. I realized then that Frank loved Berlin as I loved it. All his talk of wanting to get away from here, to retire in England and never think about Berlin again, was nonsense. He loved it here. I suppose it was his imminent retirement that had made him face the truth; packing up his Ellington records, separating his personal possessions from the furniture and things that belonged to the residence, had made him miserable.

'Three drivers plus nine passengers,' said the voice.

'Who is that?' I asked Frank. 'I recognize the voice, I think.'

'Old Percy Danvers,' said Frank. It was a man who'd worked here in my father's time. His mother was German from Silesia, father English: a sergeant in the Irish Guards.

'Still working?'

'He retires next year, just a few months after me. But he's remaining here in the city,' said Frank wistfully. 'I don't know how the office will manage without Percy.'

'Who's getting Berlin when you go?' I asked. I sipped the whisky I needed to face them. Would Fiona really come?

'There was talk of Bret taking over.'

'That won't happen now,' I said.

'I don't care who comes here,' said Frank. 'As long as I get away.'

I looked at him. Now both of us knew it wasn't true. Frank smiled.

Then Bret Rensselaer came back from the phone, and I said, 'Nine of them; they just came through Checkpoint Charlie. They'll be here at any time.' Behind Bret there was a German kid – Peter – who'd been assigned to provide Bret's personal protection. He was a nice kid, but he took it too seriously, and now he wouldn't let Bret out of his sight.

Bret nodded and joined us for a moment at the window before sinking into one of the soft grey suede armchairs. The VIP suite at the Steigenberger runs the whole length of the building, but the entrance to it is inconspicuous, and many of the hotel's residents don't even know it exists. For that reason the suite is used for top-level meetings both commercial and political and by publicity-shunning tycoons, politicians, and film stars. There's a dining room at one end and an elegant office area at the other. In between there's a TV lounge, sitting room, bedrooms, and even a small room where the waiters can open champagne and prepare canapés.

Champagne and canapés were ready for the KGB party, but higher on the list of priorities were the extra locks, the security devices and doors that close off this part of the top floor, and the suite's private elevator that would enable the KGB delegates to arrive and depart without mixing with the other hotel guests.

'What is their weakest point?' said Bret, speaking from behind us as if talking to himself. Bret had recovered some of his confidence by now. He had the American talent for bouncing back; all he'd needed was a hot shower, clean linen, and the sports pages of the Herald Tribune.

I didn't answer, but Frank said, 'Fiona.'

'Fiona?' Did I hear resentment in Bret's voice? Was there a proprietorial tone that came from some affection Bret still had for her? 'Fiona is their weakest point? What do you mean, Frank?'

Frank turned around and went and sat in the armchair opposite Bret. Ever since I'd brought Bret into Frank's house in Grunewald there had been a distance, almost a coldness, between the two men. I couldn't decide to what extent it was a latent hostility and to what extent it was embarrassment, a sign of Frank's concern for the humiliation that Bret was suffering.

Frank said, 'She is a latecomer to their organization. Some of them probably still view her with suspicion; no doubt all of them have some kind of hostility towards her.'

'Is that view based upon received reports?' said Bret.

'She's a foreigner,' said Frank. 'Putting her in charge over there means that everyone's promotion expectations are lessened. Compare her position with ours. We've all known each other many years. We know what we can expect from each other, both in terms of help and hindrance. She is isolated. She has no long-term allies. She has no experience of what actions or opinions can be expected from her colleagues. She is constantly under the microscope; everyone around her will be trying to find fault with what she does. Everything she says will be examined, syllable for syllable, by people who are not in sympathy with what she's doing.'

'She's a Moscow appointment,' said Bret. Again there was some indefinable note of something that might have been affection or even pride. Bret looked at me, but I looked at my drink.

Frank said, 'All the more reason why the staff in her Berlin office will resent her.'

'So what are you proposing?' Bret asked Frank.

'We must give her the opportunity to negotiate while separated from the rest of her people. We must give her a chance to speak without being overheard.'

'That won't be easy, Frank,' I said. 'You know why they send such big teams. They don't trust anyone to be alone with us.'

'We must find a way,' said Frank. 'Bernard must move the chat onto a domestic plane. There must be something he could talk to her about.'

'Talk about the kids,' said Bret. I could cheerfully have throttled him, but I smiled instead.

'She might have thought all this out for herself,' said Frank, who also knew Fiona well. 'She might get time alone with us by some ruse of her own.'

'And what about us?' said Bret. 'What's our weakest point?' Peter, his bodyguard, watched Bret all the time and tried to follow the conversation.

'That's easy,' said Frank. 'Our weakest point is Werner Volkmann.' Frank's dislike of Werner was based upon the affair Frank had had with Werner's wife, Zena. Guilt breeds resentment; Frank disliked Werner because he'd cuckolded him.

'Werner's name hasn't even been mentioned,' said Bret. 'At least, that's what Bernard told us.'

'I'm sure Bernard told us the truth,' said Frank. 'But they're holding Werner Volkmann, and Werner is Bernard's very closest friend. They know what we want in return.'

'What we are pretending to want in return, Frank,' I said. 'Our real benefit is revealing to London Central that Stinnes is Moscow 's man who's trying to frame Bret and make trouble for everyone else. We have to do that without Moscow realizing what our true purpose is. Making them release Werner is a convenient smokescreen.'

Frank smiled at what he regarded as my rationalization. He thought Werner was my real motive for setting this one up. But Frank was wrong. I wouldn't let either of them discover my real motive. My real motive was my children.

'Bernard!' All of a sudden my wife came walking through the door. 'What a glorious suite. Did you choose it?' A cold smile, just in case anyone thought she was sincere.

She stood there as if expecting the usual kiss, but I hesitated, then extended my hand. She shook it with a mocking grin. 'Hello, Fi,' I said. She was dressed in a grey woollen dress. It was simple but expensive. She was not living like a worker, but like the ones who told the workers what they were allowed to do.

'Hello Frank; hello Bret,' she said. Fiona smiled at them and shook hands. She was in charge of the party and she was determined to show it. This was her first official visit to the West. Looking back afterwards I realized that despite our reassurances, she was wondering if we were going to arrest her. But she carried it off with the same brisk confidence with which she did everything. Her hair was different. She'd let it grow and taken it back into a sort of bun. It was the sort of hair style that Hollywood might provide for a Communist official in the sort of movie where she takes off her glasses, lets her hair down, and becomes a capitalist in the last reel. Ninotchka. But I saw no sign of Fiona shedding the chrysalis of Communism. Indeed, if appearances were any guide, it seemed to suit her.

After everyone had shaken hands with everyone, a waiter – that is to say, one of our people, armed but dressed as a waiter – served drinks. Frank offered champagne. He'd bet me five pounds that they wouldn't accept it. He'd got some Russian white wine in the cooler anticipating that they'd ask for something like that, just to be difficult. But Fiona said champagne would be wonderful, and after that, they all said they'd have champagne. Except me; I had another scotch.

There were not nine of them in the room. Two armed KGB men were in the lobby, another was assigned to help the drivers make sure no one tampered with the cars, and someone was supervising the use of the private elevator. There were three actual negotiators and two clerks. The only one I knew, besides Fiona, was Pavel Moskvin, whose path kept crossing mine. He shed his ankle-length black overcoat and dumped it onto the sofa. He stared at me. I smiled and he looked away.

There was a much younger man with their party, a blond man of about twenty-five, wearing the kind of suit that KGB men wore if they couldn't get out of Moscow. He must have been on the teaching machines, for his German and English were perfect and accentless and he even made little jokes. But he was very much in Fiona's pocket and he watched her all the time in case she wanted something done. Alongside him was the third negotiator; a white-haired man who did nothing but frown.

'I hope you agree that tune is the vital factor,' said Bret. It was his show; Frank had agreed to that right from the start. Bret had most to lose. If the meeting was going to become a fiasco, then Bret would have only himself to blame. And no doubt Frank would toss him to the wolves in a desperate attempt to save himself. Where would Frank's explanation leave me? I wondered.

'Yes,' said Fiona. 'May we take notes?'

Bret said, 'So we thought we'd break the meeting up into one-to-one discussions. The prime discussion will be about your man Stinnes. We can discuss procedure at the same time, in the hope that we'll reach agreement. Are you the senior officer?'

'Yes,' said Fiona. She drank some champagne. She knew what was coming, of course, but she kept very serious.

'Our senior negotiator is Mr Samson,' said Bret.

There was a long silence. Pavel Moskvin didn't like it. He'd not touched his champagne, which was going flat on the dining table. He showed his hostility by folding his arms and scowling. 'What do you think, Colonel Moskvin?' Fiona asked. Colonel Moskvin, was it… look out, Major Stinnes, I thought.

'Better we all stay together,' said Moskvin. 'No tricks.'

'Very well,' said Bret. He motioned for them to sit at the circular dining table. The waiter topped up the glasses. The blond youth put his chair behind Fiona so that he could sit with his notepad on his knee.

'What is it you want?' said Moskvin, as if trying to take over from Fiona, who sat back and said nothing. His folded arms strained his jacket across the back and showed where he had a pistol stowed under his armpit.

'We have your man Stinnes,' said Bret. 'It was a good try but it failed. So far we've held the press at bay, but there's a limit to how long we can do that.' The blond youth translated for Moskvin. Moskvin nodded.

'Is that why you brought him to Berlin?' said Fiona.

'Partly. But the Germans have newspapers too. Once the story breaks, we'll have no alternative but to hand him over to the DPP and then it's out of our hands.'

'DPP?' said Moskvin. 'What is this?' Obviously he could understand enough English to follow most of what was said.

'The Director of Public Prosecutions,' said Bret. The British state prosecutor. It's another department. We have no control over it.'

'And in return?' said Fiona.

'You've arrested Werner Volkmann,' I said.

'Have we?' said Fiona. It was very Russian.

'I haven't come here to waste time,' I said.

My remark seemed to anger her. 'No,' she said with a quiet voice that throbbed with hatred and resentment. 'You have come here to discuss the fate of Erich Stinnes, a good and loyal comrade who was shamelessly kidnapped by your terrorists, despite his diplomatic status. And who, according to our sources, has been systematically starved and tortured in an attempt to make him betray his country.' Fiona had quickly mastered the syntax of the Party.

It was quite a speech and I was tempted to reply sarcastically, but I didn't. I looked at Frank. We both knew now that I was right, and I could see the relief in Frank's face. If the official KGB line was going to be that Erich Stinnes had been kidnapped, starved, and tortured, Stinnes would be reinstated in his KGB rank and position. Even the most thick-skulled men in London would then have to accept the fact that Stinnes had been planted to make trouble. 'Let's not make this meeting a forum for political bickering,' I said. 'Werner Volkmann for Major Stinnes; straight swap.'

'Where is Comrade Stinnes?' said Fiona.

'Here in Berlin. Where's Werner?'

'Checkpoint Charlie,' said Fiona. It was strange how after all these years the Communists still used the US Army name for it.

'Fit and well?'

'Do you want to send someone over to see him?' she asked.

'We have someone at Checkpoint Charlie. Shall we agree to do that while we go on talking?' I asked. She looked at Moskvin. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.

'Very well. And Comrade Stinnes?' said Fiona. I looked at Bret. The exchange was Bret's worry.

'We have him here in the hotel,' said Bret. 'But you must nominate one of your number to see him. One. I can't let you all go.' Good old Bret. I didn't know he had it in him, but he'd pipped that one on the wing.

'I will go,' said Fiona. Moskvin was not pleased, but there was little he could do about it. If he objected, she'd send him and then she'd still have a chance of speaking to me in private.

Erich Stinnes was in a suite along the corridor. Frank's men had virtually abducted him from Berwick House waving authorizations and a chit signed by Bret in his capacity as chairman of the committee, a position which technically he still held. But I took us to an empty suite next door to the one where Stinnes was being held.

'What's the game?' said Fiona. She looked around the empty rooms; she even rummaged through the roses looking for a microphone. Fiona was very unsophisticated when it came to surveillance electronics. 'What is it?' She seemed anxious.

'Relax,' I said. 'I'm not going to demand my conjugal rights.'

'I came to see Stinnes,' she said.

'You came because you wanted a chance to talk in private.'

'But I still want to see him,' she said.

'He's down the corridor waiting for us.'

'Is he well?'

'What do you care if he's well?'

'Erich Stinnes is a fine man, Bernard. I'll do what I can to prevent his dying in prison.' Stinnes feigning illness was a part of their plan. That became obvious now.

'Don't worry,' I said. 'We both know that Erich Stinnes is as fit as a fiddle. He'll go home and get his chestful of medals.'

'He's a good man,' she said, as if convincing me of it was important to her. She didn't deny that he was fit. His sickness was all part of the scenario – Fiona's touch no doubt; a way to give Stinnes an easier time.

'We haven't got time to waste talking about Stinnes,' I said.

'No, you've come to talk about your precious Werner,' she said. Even now that she'd left me, there was still an edge of resentment in her voice. Did all wives fear and resent the friendships that had come before marriage?

'Wrong again,' I said. 'We have to talk about the children.'

'There's nothing to talk about. I want them for a holiday. It's not much to ask. Did Tessa speak to you?'

'She did. But I don't want you to take the children.'

'They're mine as much as yours. Do you think I'm not human? Do you think I don't love them as much as you do?'

'How can I believe you love them the way I love them when you've left us?'

'Sometimes there are allegiances and aspirations that go beyond family.'

'Is that one of the things you're going to explain to little Billy when you take him round the Moscow electric stations and show him the underground railway?'

'They're my children,' she said.

'Can't you see the danger of taking them with you? Can't you see the way in which they'll become hostages to your good behaviour? Isn't it obvious that once they're there you'll never again be allowed to come West all together? They'll always keep the children there to be sure you do your duty as a good Communist and return East as every good Soviet citizen must.'

'What of their life now? You're always working. Nanny spends her life watching TV. They're shunted from your mother to my father and back again. Soon you'll take up with some other woman and they'll have a stepmother. What sort of fife is that? With me they could have a proper home and a stable family life.'

'With a stepfather?'

'There is no other man, Bernard,' she said very softly. There will be no other man. That is why I need the children so much. You can have other children, dozens of them if you wish. For a man it's easy – he can have children until he's eighty – but I'll soon be past the suitable age for motherhood. Don't deny me the children.' Like all women she was tyrannized by her biology.

'Don't take them to a country which they won't be able to leave. Fiona! Look at me, Fiona. I'm saying it for your sake, for the children's sake, and for my sake too.'

'I have to see them. I have to.' Nervously she went to the window, looked out, and then came back to me.

'See them in Holland or Sweden or on some other neutral ground. I implore you not to take them to the East.'

'Is this another one of your tricks?' she said harshly.

'You know I'm right, Fi.'

She wrung her hands and twisted the rings on her fingers. Her marriage band was there still and so was the diamond I'd bought with the money from my old Ferrari. 'How are they?' It was a different voice.

'Billy's got a new magic trick and Sally is learning to write with her right hand.'

'How sweet they are. I got their letters and the drawings. Thank you.'

'It was Tessa's idea.'

'Tess has grown up suddenly.'

'Yes, she has.'

'Is she still having those stupid love affairs?'

'Yes, but George is reading the riot act to her. I think she's beginning to wonder if it's worth it.'

'What's the trick?'

'What trick?'

'Billy's.'

'Oh! You cut a piece of rope into two halves and then make it whole again.'

'Is it convincing?'

'Nanny still can't work it out.'

'It's in the family, I suppose.'

'I suppose so,' I said, although I wasn't sure what sort of trickery she was referring to, or whether she meant my sort of trickery or her own.

'Will they arrest me if I come to England on my old passport?' she asked.

'I'll find out,' I promised. 'But why not see the children in Holland?'

'You'd better not become an accessary, Bernard.'

'We are conspiring together right now,' I said. 'Which of our masters would tolerate it?'

'Neither,' she said. It was a concession, a minuscule concession, but the first one she'd made.

'I miss you, Fi,' I said.

'Oh, Bernard,' she said. Tears welled up in her eyes. I was about to take her into my arms but she stepped back from me. 'No,³ she said. 'No.'

'I'll do what I can,' I said. I don't know exactly what I meant and she didn't ask; it was no more than an abstract noise that intended comfort and she accepted it as such.

'They won't let Werner go,' she said. She looked around the room, anxious about being recorded.

'I thought it was agreed.'

'Pavel Moskvin has the power of decision. He's in charge of these negotiations, I'm not.'

'Werner did nothing of any importance.'

'I know what he was doing. The Miller woman's been under permanent surveillance since last week. We were waiting for Werner to make contact.'

'The Stinnes operation is all washed up. It's finished, discredited, done for. What Werner said to the Miller woman is of no importance.'

'Keep calm. I know. But I'm under orders.'

'No Werner, no Stinnes,' I said.

She said nothing, but her face was white and tense and she was breathing in that way she did when stress got too much for her.

I said, 'Moskvin killed the little MacKenzie kid in the safe house in Bosham.'

She shrugged.

'What did he have to do that for?' I persisted. 'MacKenzie couldn't swat a fly without reciting the Miranda warnings.'

She looked at me and gave a deep sigh. 'You'll have to take him out, Bernard.'

'What?' I said.

Petulantly and with a gabbled haste that was not typical of her she said, 'You'll have to take him out – Moskvin.'

For a moment I was speechless. Was this my wife speaking? 'How? Where?'

'It's the only way. I've got Werner down to the bus park at Checkpoint Charlie. I told Moskvin that you might want to see him waving to be sure he was fit and well. That was before you got Moskvin's agreement to your sending your man over there.'

'How will you explain it?' I said.

'Rid me of that man and I won't have to explain anything.'

I still wasn't sure. 'Kill him, you mean?'

She was nervous and excited. Her answer was shrill. 'People get killed. It wouldn't be the first time that someone was killed at the Wall, would it?'

'No, but I can't start shooting at a delegation like yours. They're likely to bring up the tanks. I don't want to be the man who starts World War Three. I'm serious, Fi.'

'You must do it personally, Bernard. You mustn't order anyone else to do it. I don't want anyone else to know it was discussed by us.'

'Okay.' I heard myself agreeing to it.

'Promise?' I hesitated. 'It's Werner; your friend,' she said. 'I'm doing everything I can. More than I should.' Because it suited her, I thought. She wasn't doing it for Werner, or even for me. And what was she doing anyway? I was going to be the one putting my neck on the block. And now she wanted to deprive me of the chance of explaining it to my masters.

'I promise,' I said desperately. 'Put him and Stinnes in the last car and let me ride with them. But the children stay with me. That's a condition, Fi.'

'Be careful, Bernard. He's a brute.'

I looked at her. She was very beautiful, more beautiful than I ever remembered. Her eyes were soft and the faint smell of her perfume brought memories. 'Stay here, Fi,' I said. 'Stay here in the West. We could fix everything.'

She shook her head. 'Goodbye for the last time,' she said. 'Don't worry, I'll send Werner back. And I won't take the children from you for the time being.'

'Stay.'

She leaned forward and kissed me in a decorous way that would not smudge her lipstick; I suppose they'd all be looking at her for such signs. 'You don't understand. But one day you will.'

'I don't think so,' I said.

'Let's go and see Comrade Stinnes,' she said. And now her voice was hard and resolute once more.