The Bearpit

28

Yevgennie Levin was disturbed by the tightened security, some of the men in the guardhouse visibly having guns and clattering helicopters frequently overhead, but was glad it had not interfered with the altered system for Petr’s tuition. Professionally the Russian felt an enormous satisfaction at having apparently succeeded, but there was an equal relief at Petr’s adjustment. Straight As in every subject, without exception, and a completely changed demeanour, too: polite and respectful, both to him and Galina, actually ready to laugh, which had been impossible for them all, for too long. He seemed anxious, as well, to make friends with the FBI and CIA protective personnel whose now increased presence was almost claustrophobic. Only about Natalia did there remain a difficulty and even here there was no longer from the boy the resentful, hostile attitude of the early weeks. He talked of when, not if, she would be able to join them, actually boasting of what he would show her in that part of Connecticut he was getting to know, now that he was going daily into Litchfield to school.

Levin felt Galina slip her arm through his at the door of the house as they watched the car carrying Petr crunch down the drive and go out of sight, between the trees that concealed the largest of the guardhouses.

‘I never thought he’d settle,’ she said.

‘Neither did I,’ confessed Levin.

He felt her pressure, urging him further away from the house and people who might overhear. Having got far enough away from the house to talk it was momentarily impossible because of the overhead stutter from one of the guarding helicopters. The woman grimaced up in its direction, her free hand trying to hold her hair in place, and when she was able to speak said: ‘Why the supposed hunt?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Levin, in further confession.

‘Was it ever discussed?’

‘No.’

‘Natalia was supposed to be allowed to come with us. And she wasn’t. Now this,’ protested Galina. ‘I don’t like things happening that we’re not prepared for. It’s difficult enough as it is.’

‘It can only be to make me seem more important to the Americans,’ said Levin.

‘Was that really necessary?’

‘What else can it be?’ he demanded.

‘I worry about Petr going out alone, to school.’

‘He isn’t alone.’

‘OK, so he’s driven there and back,’ Galina conceded. ‘But there’s no guard when he’s there: we decided that to avoid the curiosity of the other kids.’

‘Darling,’ said Levin patiently. ‘Not fifteen minutes ago we both agreed we never thought Petr would settle down. Now he has. And he’s doing exceptionally well. You telling me you want me to risk it all by insisting he’s tutored back in the house again?’

‘I suppose not,’ she said.

‘Everything is going fine,’ assured Levin.

There was the sound of another helicopter, this time the machine that was to carry him to Washington. Galina tried to protect her hair again and said: ‘Any idea what time you’ll be coming back?’

‘No,’ said Levin.

‘You will come back?’ she said. ‘You won’t be kept in Washington?’

She really was nervous, Levin recognized irritably. Why the hell had Moscow introduced something for which they were unprepared! He said: ‘There’s never any suggestion of my staying over.’

David Proctor ran towards them, bent double under the rotor blades, blown by the downdraft which flattened the grass. How deafening would the sound be on those unseen sensors, wondered Levin.

‘All set?’ shouted the American.

Levin nodded, making towards the machine. Because of his size it was more difficult for Levin to bend than it was for Proctor and by the time he belted himself in he was panting. Levin was no longer worried by helicopter travelling: in fact he rather enjoyed it. He gazed down at the bulging hills of the immediate Connecticut countryside, seeing how much thinner the tree covering was now from how it had been the first time he had made the trip, only the firs and some of the maple retaining any thatch. He switched his headrest button, enabling him to talk to Proctor during flight and said, nodding downwards: ‘Looks cold.’

The FBI supervisor nodded back and said: ‘You ski?’

‘Not any more.’

‘What about Petr?’

‘Yes.’

‘There are some great ski lodges in Connecticut,’ came in Bowden, sitting on his other side. ‘When the snows come we can make a trip.’

‘When will that be?’

‘A month,’ promised Bowden. ‘Maybe six weeks.’

‘Any news about Natalia?’ demanded Levin predictably.

‘Still pressing,’ said Proctor, giving the usual reply.

Levin went familiarly from the Langley helicopter pad towards the debriefing building, mentally parading what he had to disclose today. It was difficult for him to be absolutely sure but he believed himself to be precisely on the schedule devised by the KGB. At the entrance to his debriefing room Levin glanced back to the main CIA complex. There’d never been an indentity – a protection against his revealing it under hostile, drugged interrogation – but somewhere in there was a man who was going to cause a volcanic upheaval within America’s overseas intelligence agency.

‘It’s names we want, Yevgennie,’ opened Myers at once. ‘What you’re telling us is invaluable but we need better direction.’ The checks were continuing through the personnel on both the Caribbean and Latin American desks and extending on into the analysis sections but so far there had not been the slightest breakthrough.

‘I know,’ said the Russian. Don’t hurry, he thought; let it come bit by bit, as it would from a deeply searched memory.

‘Let’s go back to those mess hall meetings with Shelenkov,’ suggested Norris patiently. ‘What time of year was it?’

‘Summer. June I think. Then the Fall. September, maybe October,’ said Levin.

‘Hot then, the first time?’

‘Very,’ agreed the Russian. ‘Humid, too.’

‘Always a bitch,’ coaxed Norris. ‘Guess you felt like a drink when he suggested it?’

‘I hadn’t thought about it,’ said Levin. ‘When he did it seemed a good idea.’

‘He drank Scotch?’

A comparing question, Levin recognized: they were still testing him. He said: ‘Yes.’

‘A lot?’

‘Difficult to remember.’ Frighteningly, Levin saw the trick when it was almost too late and added: ‘He must have done, mustn’t he?’

‘Why’s that, Yevgennie?’ came in Crookshank. There was no antagonism yet.

‘I told you before, he used to boast when he got drunk.’

‘So you did,’ said the lawyer. ‘So how many do you remember his having?’

‘I can’t be positive, about an actual number. Five or six perhaps.’

‘Five or six Scotches!’ echoed Crookshank. ‘The guy must have been on a bender?’

‘He drank like a Russian.’

‘How’s that?’ asked Myers.

‘Quickly. It’s custom to drain a glass, when there’s a toast.’

‘There were toasts?’

‘The second time.’

‘To what?’

Levin feigned the difficulty. He said: ‘Shelenkov was given to being melodramatic’

‘Want to spell that out for us?’ said Norris.

‘He toasted the progress of communism…’ Levin paused for effect, and said: ‘I found it embarrassing. He was very loud: I thought it all unnecessary.’

‘Where, exactly, to the progress of communism?’ isolated Crookshank.

The man might be the least convinced but he was the one who picked up the carefully dangled carrots, decided Levin. He said: ‘That was how Latin America came into the conversation.’

Both Myers and Norris came perceptibly forward in their seats. Myers said: ‘Let’s get this into sequence, Yevgennie. What did he begin talking about first, Latin America or the Caribbean?’

Levin appeared to give the question consideration. Then he said: ‘I think Latin America… yes, it was definitely Latin America.’

‘Think you could remember the exact words?’ suggested Norris.

Levin laughed, guessing at another disguised pit. ‘How could I possibly remember the exact words after all this time!’

‘Paraphrase it then,’ shrugged Norris.

‘He lifted up his glass – showing off, like I said – and toasted the progress of communism. He said Latin American. Then Nicaragua…’

‘Nicaragua!’ Myers spoke lightly ahead of Norris but it was the suspicious Crookshank who pounced with the question.

‘We asked you specifically about countries last time!’ he challenged. ‘You said you couldn’t remember!’

‘You asked me to try to remember,’ corrected Levin. ‘I’ve done so, as best I can. I recall Shelenkov making that toast and mentioning Nicaragua. He was laughing, like I told you, about the people you trusted. He said there was no danger to the Sandinista regime while the main opposition was the Nicaraguan Democratic Force. And then there was a name.’

‘What name!’ demanded the lawyer.

Levin shook his head, in supposed apology. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘I’ve tried to recall it precisely, but I can’t. I’m not sure which it was.’

‘Give it to us!’ said Myers.

‘It was either Hernandez or Fernandez,’ offered Levin. ‘They both seem to be among the commonest names in the region, so I don’t think it means anything… I’m sorry.’

The identity was, in fact, Ramon Hernandez and he was deputy operational commander of the CIA-backed Democratic Force and regarded by the Agency as their leading asset in the attempted overthrow of the Sandinistas. All of which Moscow knew from their support and infiltration of the Managua government and none of which had come from any encounter with Shelenkov, whose sole responsibility had been running the CIA spy John Willick.

Already on the pads in front of them Myers and Norris had a ring around the name Hernandez. On his sheet Myers wrote ‘We’ve got a trace’ with several exclamation marks and thrust it sideways, to Norris.

‘Great, Yevgennie. You’re doing great,’ encouraged Myers. ‘What else?’

‘Shelenkov said Nicaragua was going to be a communist success and then he said he thought there would be some success in the Caribbean, like there had been with Cuba…’

‘Another country you’ve specifically remembered!’ cut in Crookshank.

‘Having remembered one, I remembered the other, because of what was said,’ replied Levin.

‘I don’t follow that,’ complained Norris.

‘A lot of it was history,’ said Levin. Despite the hours and weeks of rehearsal and training, he was beginning to ache again, from the strain of necessarily presenting everything piecemeal and convoluted and jumbled.

‘Take us through it,’ said the soothing Myers. ‘Your pace, your way. Just so that we get some idea of the picture.’

‘It was confused; I still don’t fully understand the significance. Even if it’s significant at all,’ set out Levin.

‘He talked about the missiles that we put on Cuba and how President Kennedy was able to face Castro down and get them removed. Said American strength was not in the U-2 overflight photographs that you obtained, here at the Agency. It was in having as an asset in Russia Oleg Penkovsky, who was able to confirm that at that stage of development our rockets had ineffective guidance systems… that there was no real danger and that Krushchev had to back off…’

‘You’ve lost me,’ interrupted Crookshank. ‘I haven’t a clue where we’re supposed to be going here.’

‘I said I did not know if it had any significance,’ apologized Levin once more.

‘Don’t stop,’ urged Norris. ‘Let’s hear it all, no matter how confusing it seems.’

‘He said it would never happen again. That we were aware exactly how much you knew about our main rocket centre at Semipalatinsk…’ Levin was conscious of the reaction from the three men, unknowingly coordinating the supposed information passed on weeks before by Sergei Kapalet, in Paris. ‘… And not just in Semipalatinsk… at our other installations, too…’

‘I’ve got to stop you here, because it’s important,’ broke in Norris. ‘What, exactly, did you think Shelenkov was telling you at that moment? Was he telling you that we were being fed disinformation, from assets we think we’ve got within the Soviet Union? That we were getting it all wrong?’

Almost there, thought Levin. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘That was something else Shelenkov laughed about. I can’t remember the precise words, of course. But he said something like “And it’s all coming from the Company themselves” and then added that you were never going to know it.’

‘But now we do,’ said Myers distantly. ‘And we’re going to screw the motherfucker into the ground.’

John Willick felt better than he had in weeks; months. More months than he could remember; wanted to remember. The last $2,000 had got Eleanor and her fleshstripping piranha lawyer off his back at least for a while, he’d picked three out of five winners at Aqueduct during the weekend trip to New York, and today the metals were showing two points above what he’d bought in at. He intended to gamble up to a four-point increase and sell. Maybe just take the profit and sit back a while, not be in a hurry to get back into something too quickly. Money in the bank. It was wonderful to be free of pressure. He’d always known it would get better, one day. Just taken longer than he’d expected, that’s all. Christ, he felt good.

Willick joined the line and filed behind the guide on to the viewing gallery of the Library of Congress, looking down at the readers at their circular reading benches and listening to the hushed commentary of the number of books stored in the honeycomb vaults of Capitol Hill. He thought the woman said twenty-four million, but he wasn’t sure. At her suggestion they all gazed up at the intricate mosaic ceiling and Willick did so in genuine admiration, able at last to think of something outside his own personal problems. Didn’t have any personal problems, not any more.

‘It’s magnificent, isn’t it?’ said Oleg, arriving beside him.

‘Wonderful,’ agreed Willick.

‘Ever been to Rome?’

‘No.’

‘There are some roofs and mosaics there that remind me of this.’

Willick filed after the Russian from the gallery, down the steps to the ground floor and across the zodiac-signed marble floor to the exit. The wind howled up the hill, biting into them, and both men huddled down into topcoats. Oleg went into the direction of Independence Avenue and the CIA man caught up, falling into step.

‘Moscow were very pleased with that last batch,’ praised Oleg.

‘I’m glad.’

‘What else have you got?’

‘Files on a lot of the senior analysts. Twenty-four.’

‘But not all?’

‘I warned you my Records Section wouldn’t have everything, for Christ’s sake!’

‘We’re not complaining,’ placated the Russian. ‘That’s very good. But you’ll try to get more, won’t you?’

‘Yes,’ sighed Willick.

‘The biographies are complete of those you have got? Particularly their specialities?’

‘Yes,’ assured the American.

‘That’s good, John. Very good.’

Willick passed over the envelope to the other man and said: ‘Don’t I get something in return?’

‘Money,’ agreed the Russian, handing over a smaller envelope. ‘And advice.’

‘Advice?’

‘We want you to be careful, John. Very careful.’

‘Why?’ demanded Willick, feeling the beginning of that familiar stomach churn.

‘Nothing unusual happening up there at Langley?’

‘No,’ said Willick doubtfully.

‘You sure?’

‘Unusual like what?’

‘We listen to a lot of radio traffic at the embassy,’ said Oleg, which was true although not the source of this conversation, which was specifically timed instructions from Moscow. ‘The way we read it there’s a pretty intensive investigation under way.’

‘Investigation?’

‘One intercept talked of Agency penetration.’

‘Oh dear God!’ said Willick. Why couldn’t the feeling of relief, of well-being, have lasted longer! It wasn’t fair; why wasn’t anything ever fair!

‘Don’t panic,’ said the Russian. ‘Panic and you’ll give yourself away. There’s no reason to think it’s directed at you.’

‘It’s got to be, hasn’t it?’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘It is!’ insisted Willick, already convinced.

‘Remember something,’ urged Oleg. ‘Whatever happens, we won’t abandon you.’

‘What’s that mean?’

‘That we’re your friends. And that we’ll go on being your friends.’

Kapalet was irritated that the floor show at the Crazy Horse was unchanged, wishing they’d chosen a different meeting place. He turned away from the transvestite and the rope trick and said: ‘It looks as if Shelenkov knows things about Latin America.’

‘Like what?’

‘No specifics, like names.’

‘What then?’

‘Says you guys don’t stand a chance in Nicaragua. That you didn’t, even before Irangate.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’

Wilson Drew jabbed impatiently at the drink coaster on the bar with his cocktail stick.

‘Who’s he talking about when he says there’s a foul-up in Nicaragua?’

‘The Agency. It’s always the Agency.’

‘Shit!’

‘I wish there were more.’

‘I must have a name!’

‘You know there’s no way I can get that.’

‘Something… anything!’

‘That’s why I asked for this meeting,’ disclosed the Russian, grinning.

The huge American looked savagely sideways at him and said: ‘Don’t jerk me about, Sergei! This ain’t no fucking game we’re playing here!’ If it hadn’t been so necessary to keep the guy sugar sweet he’d have stuffed that ass-sweaty piece of rope from the cabaret act down the Russian’s stupid throat.

‘It seems he was being moved,’ announced Kapalet.

‘Who?’

‘Shelenkov’s source.’

‘Where from?’

‘I don’t know.’

To where?’

‘I don’t know that, either,’ said the Russian. ‘Shelenkov simply said, two nights ago, that his man was being shifted, within the Agency.’

There was another trace, maybe the best way, Drew realized. He said: ‘When was it happening?’

There wasn’t a positive date,’ said Kapalet. ‘He said the move almost coincided with his transfer.’

‘When did Shelenkov arrive here in Paris?’

‘June thirtieth.’

‘We’ve got him!’ said Drew triumphantly. ‘All we’ve got to do is sift all the Agency movements, a month before and a month after June thirtieth.’

‘One more thing,’ said the Russian. ‘Shelenkov said where the man was going could be as useful as where he had been.’

‘Where he was going was as useful as where he had been?’

‘That’s what he said.’

‘Sorry I ran off at the mouth there just now, Sergei. I was out of order.’

‘No offence,’ said Kapalet. ‘Be good to get this thing resolved, won’t it?’

‘You wouldn’t believe how good,’ said the American.