The Janus Man

Three

`What did you think of their reactions, Monica?' Tweed asked.

The two of them were alone in his Park Crescent office at the HQ of the SIS. Beyond the net-curtained windows was a view across towards Regent's Park. Tweed stared at the view, not seeing the sunny day as he sat behind his desk.

`The problem is I don't know any of them well enough. They're all newly-appointed, brought in out of the field to replace the men who held their jobs before. That was a clean sweep you made. How did Howard take your pushing out the Old Guard?'

`Not happily, of course. A couple of them were drinking companions at that toffee-nosed club of his. But the PM gave me only two options. Take on Howard's job – or bring in a younger team. She thinks it's time a younger generation took over at sector chief level. And I chose them. The trouble is I made a major error of judgement – to say the least – with one of them. Which one is the draconian question…'

`I'd hoped you would replace Howard himself…'

`I've already told you why not.'

Tweed's tone was abrupt, dismissing a topic he didn't want to discuss any further.

`How are you going to start in Hamburg? You haven't anything to use as a lead as far as I can see..

She broke off as the phone rang. Her expression glowed when she heard who was on the line. She handed the receiver to Tweed.

`It's Bob Newman. Calling from his flat. He's just arrived from Paris…'

`That you, Bob?' Tweed's tone was businesslike. 'Look, we won't talk over the phone. Welcome back. Can you get over to see me? Good. Noon will do fine. Mind how you cross the road. You look right first, now you're back from the continent! See you…'

`He sounded a bit remote,' Monica commented. 'Not his usual buoyant jokey self.'

`The main thing is he's agreed to act as chaperon,' Tweed grimaced. 'I love the idea of having a chaperon…'

`Don't forget the PM's instructions. She said Newman must be next to you wherever you go…'

`Do stop nagging…'

`And you didn't tell me how you're going to start off when you get to Hamburg.'

`Visit the hospital where Fergusson died. Apparently he said a few words which made no sense to the doctor. They might make sense to me. Then a few quiet words with Ziggy Palewska.'

`The Polish refugee who settled in Hamburg? What's Ziggy got to do with anything – apart from the unsavoury way he makes his money?'

`That was why Fergusson went to Hamburg – to see Ziggy. He'd sent me a message saying he had urgent and serious news. Now, before you wheel in Hugh Grey, tell me what you know about him.'

Tweed sat back in his chair, clasped his hands in his lap and behind his horn-rimmed glasses he closed his eyes. Monica was used to this exercise. Her chief was using her as a sounding- board to clarify his own thoughts. She spoke from her phenomenal memory without referring to her card index of staff.

`Hugh Grey. Remarried an attractive brunette called Paula six months ago. Just about the time he was appointed sector chief for Central Europe. Under your reorganization that sector includes West Germany, Holland and Belgium. Penetration zones where he runs underground agents are East Germany, Poland and Czechoslovakia. Speaks fluent German, French and can get by in Italian and Spanish. Headquarters, Frankfurt-on-Main.'

`A bit more about his domestic background, please.'

Tweed was motionless, his eyes still closed, his mind concentrated totally on Hugh Grey.

`Paula Brent – that was her maiden name – is twenty-nine. Which makes her ten years younger than Hugh. She has built up a thriving pottery-making business based in King's Lynn. She makes up the designs herself, has a growing export market.

Especially in the States. Very bright girl, Paula. A stunner to look at. Lives a lot of the time at Hugh's farmhouse out on the Wash in Norfolk. The export deals are made over the phone. Then suddenly she's flying off to LA. Getting back to Hugh, he's madly sociable. Throws dinner parties at the farmhouse when he's home on leave. Enough?'

`For now, yes.' As an afterthought Tweed added, 'I do know Paula. Very independent type. The best sort of new businesswoman. And would you ask Hugh to come and see me now? Stay at your desk while we're talking…'

`Only one more question,' Tweed said to Grey, 'and then we can let you get on. Hamburg is your sector. Fergusson was killed in Hamburg. Is something stirring in your part of the world?'

`I thought we'd get to that.' Grey smiled his moon-like smile. He sat upright in his chair and radiated self-confidence. 'If I knew why Fergusson was sent there – as you pointed out, it is my territory – I might be able to help…'

`Just answer the question.'

`Everything has quietened down since Gorbachev took over – I get the impression the word has gone out. No incidents…'

`You wouldn't call the killing of Fergusson an incident?' Tweed enquired.

'It surprised me very much.' Grey paused to adjust his display handkerchief in his breast pocket. 'I was going to say my impression is Gorbachev wants all quiet on the western front while he consolidates his position at home. He's the development we've been waiting for – the new generation taking over.'

`Which fits in with the gospel according to Gorbachev. New times are arriving. For your information, Mikhail Gorbachev is Stalin in a Savile Row suit. That will be all.'

Monica waited until Grey had left the room, the smile wiped off his face. She turned down the corners of her mouth.

`Saucy bugger. You squashed him beautifully. He's after your job, you know…'

`I know.' Tweed was frowning. 'That's a negative comment on Grey. Give me a positive one.'

`Funny man. Acts like a playboy. But in the field he rides his agents harder than any other sector chief. No mistakes is his motto. No second chance.'

`Which is why I gave him the job. Now, Erich Lindemann. We can just squeeze him in before Bob Newman is due. Resume, if you please.'

`Erich Lindemann. Headquarters, Copenhagen. Penetration zone, Northern Russia. Born bachelor. Speaks German, Swedish and Danish. The very opposite to Grey. I've been to his flat in Chelsea. Neat as a pin. His study walls are lined with God knows how many books. Venerated by his men – he's so careful of their lives. The most reliable of the lot, I'd say. That's it.'

The interview with Lindemann was brief. The chief of the Scandinavian sector arrived wearing a sports jacket with leather patches on the elbows, sports slacks and a casual shirt. He nodded to Monica without speaking and sat in the waiting chair, resting his arms on the chair arms.

`How are things in Scandinavia?' Tweed asked amiably. `Too quiet. The Kremlin is cooking something unpleasant to serve up to us. I've known this sinister quiet before.' `The quiet before the storm?'

`I would say so, yes. May I make a suggestion?' Lindemann asked.

`I'm listening.'

If you don't like the atmosphere in Hamburg, catch the first flight to Copenhagen. I'll be waiting there for you.'

`Would you care to elaborate on that, Erich?'

`I don't think so.'

`Then I'll bear it in mind. Thank you.'

Something curious about Lindemann's personality, Tweed said to himself as the door closed. Without saying much he projected such an aura of force and power he still seemed to be in the room. He had no time to pursue the train of thought. The phone rang and Monica told him Newman was waiting downstairs. The time was exactly noon.

`After what you've told me I don't like it one little bit,' Newman said emphatically. 'This trip to Hamburg smells like a trap. And you could be the main target – not Fergusson…'

`I know,' Tweed agreed.

`Then why the hell walk into it? Send someone else – a couple of men with back-up. They travel on separate flights and meet up. The Hauptbahnhof would be a good place…'

`Because I think you're right. It's me they want.'

`You need a holiday. You're not thinking straight. I haven't the experience you need…'

`You did pretty well on your own inside Estonia – which was inside the Soviet Union. We're only going to West Germany. And I have the worst problem I've ever faced.'

`You have that in spades. One of your top deputies is working for Lysenko – because it will be General Lysenko of the GRU who is behind this manoeuvre. Unless they've sent him on holiday to Siberia…'

`My information is Lysenko is controlling all anti-West European operations from Leipzig. He's one of the very few of the Old Guard Gorbachev has promoted. The rumour is they've established a close personal rapport…'

`There you are,' Newman said, lighting up a cigarette. 'And Lysenko's one ambition after what you did to him last year will be to discredit you – at the least. And now you tell me he has an ally inside this very building. He may well try and kill you…'

`I don't think he'd go that far. The news is Gorbachev wants a period of quiet – while he packs the Politburo with his own supporters. Killing me would create a storm.'

In that assumption Tweed could not have been more wrong.