The Bearpit

32

With desperate hopefulness the CIA attempted a damage assessment by expanding the Crisis Committee, not at executive level but administratively. Everything upon which John Willick had ever worked or been associated with was computer located, withdrawn from records and subjected to the most intensive scrutiny. And then independently double checked, to confirm or challenge that first analysis of likely or unlikely harm. The three original members remained in permanent session and in permanent occupation of the ground-floor room in which they had interviewed Yevgennie Levin, whose debriefings were temporarily suspended on account of the assessment priority. Because of the urgency, the reports were delivered individually, immediately they were released after the second clearance, and with each arrival the despondency of the three men worsened.

‘You know what I think?’ demanded Myers, not wanting an answer. ‘I don’t think we’re ever going to be able fully to estimate how much injury the bastard’s caused.’

‘A lot,’ said Norris in agreement. ‘Incalculable.’

‘He was employed for fifteen years,’ reminded Crook-shank. ‘We’re going to have to assume he let the Soviets have everything, throughout those fifteen years.’

‘We might as well shut up shop and put the Boy Scouts in charge of external intelligence,’ said the security chief bitterly. He guessed he was being retained because he had been involved in the inquiry from the start, but expected to be retired when the committee made their eventual report to the Director. And then what the fuck was he expected to do, become a nightman at some all-night store? After watching Willick’s Moscow press conference he’d physically thrown up in the toilet, sick to his stomach.

‘We’ve got to set ourselves guidelines,’ argued Norris, refusing absolute dejection. ‘We know from the bank records and from what we found in Rosslyn that Willick was hopelessly in debt. And from the interview with the wife that those debts became practically impossible after their divorce, because of the alimony he had to pay.’

‘So?’ demanded Crookshank.

‘So, from those bank records we know he had a credit balance until late 1984,’ reminded Norris. ‘That’s when, according to the wife, he began gambling on the stock market to make up for losses at the track. And when, because of their money problems, the arguments began and got so bad she decided to leave him. Which increased his money problems after they got divorced.’

‘And Aleksandr Shelenkov arrived here in Washington in July, 1985!’ remembered Myers in belated awareness.

‘Why couldn’t Willick have had a control before Shelenkov?’ demanded Crookshank. ‘He certainly had one afterwards because Shelenkov was moved before Willick’s shift to Records. And we know from what happened in Spain and France and West Germany that he’s been identifying agents left, right and centre.’

‘We don’t,’ agreed Norris. ‘But the financial difficulties fit the pattern.’

‘I think it’s too speculative,’ said the lawyer.

‘Maybe it’s a question for Levin,’ said Norris.

‘There’s a barrel of questions for Yevgennie Levin,’ said Myers.

‘I think the agent identification is the most serious aspect,’ said Norris. ‘As of this morning we’ve had to recall a total of thirty-eight men from overseas postings.’

‘And we still don’t know how many more he’s fingered,’ said Myers. ‘Christ, I’d like to get my hands on the fucker! I’d kill him. I really mean I’d kill him.’

‘I think there is something equally serious,’ ruminated Crookshank, customarily consulting his notepad against the reports stacked up alongside each of them. ‘Maybe more so.’

‘Like what?’ asked Norris.

‘Levin told us of some conversation with Shelenkov involving Soviet space installations. And Kapalet in Paris said the same thing,’ reminded the lawyer. ‘And we know from backtracking on Willick’s work thus far that when he was in Analysis that was his speciality.’

‘So it fits,’ said Norris.

‘Sure it fits,’ agreed the lawyer. ‘It fits and it means a lot of things. That Shelenkov wasn’t boasting when he said he had us by the balls, because Moscow will know precisely how many of their sites and silos we’ve located by satellite and precisely how we’ve designated then. And that they can move them and make everything we know – every Star War assessment – not worth a bucket of spit. And that both Levin and Kapalet are guaranteed, one hundred per cent reliable informants.’

‘What else?’ prompted Myers.

‘We’ve heard a lot, too, from both of them about Latin America and the Caribbean,’ said Crookshank, in further reminder.

‘Oh Christ!’ said Myers, realizing. ‘Oh Jesus H. Christ!’

‘Nowhere, in any file so far considered or double checked, has there been anything connecting Willick with Latin America or the Caribbean,’ acknowledged Norris, understanding too.

Myers pulled forward the tattered, over-handled Associated Press transcipt of Willick’s press conference. ‘I know, within the Agency, there are others who feel as I do. That I am not, nor will be, the last to try to expose the Agency for the evil that it is,’ he quoted.

‘He as good as told us, in his reply to the later question,’ came in Norris, taking up his own copy. ‘When he was asked what he meant by that he said he did not feel able to expand further; that it spoke for itself.’

‘It does, doesn’t it?’ said Crookshank. ‘Unless, in something we haven’t yet seen, there’s an assignment connecting Willick to Latin America or to the Caribbean then we know that Willick wasn’t the only KGB source, within the Agency. That there’s someone else still buried deep somewhere here at Langley.’

‘I don’t want to think about it,’ said Myers, who genuinely didn’t.

‘We’ve got to think about it,’ said the lawyer. ‘We’ve got to think about it being a practical possibility and not imagine it’s over, by Willick’s defection.’

‘Thank God for Kapalet and Levin,’ said Myers.

‘They’re the best chance we’ve got,’ agreed Norris.

There was nothing in the KGB file that had been made available to him – the file he anyway instinctively felt to be incomplete – connecting the defector Yevgennie Levin with the American paraded at the Moscow press conference, but Yuri wondered if there had been any association. Not that it would have helped him to find Levin. Very little seemed to be helping him to locate the man. His central graph connecting the exchanging letters had started out so promising – too promising, upon reflection – but all he had now were incomprehensible phrases and expressions, followed by a growing number of frustrated question marks. There was an additional one, after the reference to a widow’s walk which had appeared in the latest communication from Petr to his sister and which Yuri had ringed and joined to captain’s walk, the phrase which had appeared in Levin’s first letter. And an additional unknown, also from Petr’s letter. When he’d read the word Yuri had felt a spurt of excitement. Looking up ‘ledge’ in two separate and unabridged dictionaries, he’d been unable to find in either it being used to describe granite, which seemed to be the commonest rock along the entire eastern seaboard. According to the geological gazetteer, which he’d also consulted, the island of Manhattan was just one solid block of it.

If Kazin’s move against him were to be made through an accusation of professional incompetence it could not be long coming, Yuri guessed. He wished that, in those bank-vaulted dossiers, there were something he could regard as a defence, instead of just more sheets of paper with more question marks upon them.

Although he’d studied the letters and his charts until his eyes ached – until, he feared, he was so familiar with it all that he risked missing something of significance even if it were there – Yuri again poured over them in the 53rd Street apartment, with an hour before Caroline was due to arrive home. This time he started out from the very beginning, querying his own notes, and almost at once stopped, aware of a possible oversight. He’d assessed so much from the punctuality and until now not realized how differently it could be used! Maybe he was guilty of professional incompetence!

‘Eight days,’ said Caroline, later, after they’d eaten the meal she’d prepared in her own apartment.

‘What’s eight days?’ he said.

‘How long since you’ve had an assignment. And how long I’ve been able to have you to myself. I think it’s great.’

‘It won’t last,’ predicted Yuri.

It didn’t.