The Trinity Six

Chapter 55

‘Any chance of explaining to me what’s going on?’

Holly was trailing Gaddis as they walked up the stairs to her apartment. Two steps below the third-floor landing he suddenly pulled her towards him and moved his head against hers so that he could whisper into her ear without risk of being overheard.

‘Listen to me,’ he said. She was trying to wrestle free of him but he held her body tight against his own. ‘Don’t say anything. Don’t talk when we get into the flat. Go across the room, draw all the curtains like it’s a normal evening and switch on the radio. Put it on as loudly as possible without pissing off your neighbours. The disk I found in your basement is a recording of Sergei Platov attempting to defect to the West in 1988. It was filmed by Bob Wilkinson. Bob is dead. He was assassinated in Vienna. Your apartment may be under observation by MI6 and the Russian FSB. I am so sorry. Do not say anything when I let go of you.’

She pushed away from him, her eyes flooded by tears. ‘Bob?’ she mouthed and he suddenly saw an older woman’s face in Holly’s, the face of her mother, the face of Katya Levette. He pressed a finger against his mouth, shaking his head, imploring her not to speak. He looked across the landing at the door of her flat. He nodded to her, encouraging her to take out her keys and to open the door. Holly did so and crossed the room, switching on the radio as Gaddis had asked and drawing the curtains. Gaddis double-locked the door behind them, went to the television and saw the DVD player on the ground. There was a newspaper discarded on the sofa. He took a pen out of his jacket pocket and wrote on a corner of the front page: Do you have any blank DVDs?

Holly’s head was tilted to one side, as if evaluating Gaddis anew. He realized, sooner or later, that they would have to speak, so he whispered to her, not knowing who was listening or what, if anything, they could hear.

‘The disks you use to make your showreels,’ he said. ‘I need to make copies of this disk.’

She nodded. ‘Sure. I have loads.’

Her eyes were heavy and he said: ‘Don’t worry,’ reaching out and holding her hand. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’

‘I’m not worried,’ Holly said, and pulled her arm away.

Gaddis took the disk out of the plastic folder and inserted it into the DVD. Within a few seconds, he saw what he had dreamed of seeing. Sitting on a wooden chair in a well-lit German suburban living room was the young Sergei Platov. It was unmistakably the same man: Gaddis had seen dozens of photographs of the Russian president in his youth while researching Tsars. Platov was wearing a white shirt, a striped tie and his full lips glowed under the unforgiving glare of a bright overhead light. His carefully combed hair was parted on the left-hand side and he appeared calm and relaxed. There was a small glass of water in front of him. Gaddis heard a voice on the tape.

‘So, let’s start talking. Could you identify yourself, please?’

It was Wilkinson. The accent was unmistakable. As if to confirm this, Holly, who was looking over Gaddis’s shoulder at the screen, said: ‘That’s Bob’s voice’ and put her hand on the nape of Gaddis’s neck.

Platov began speaking in Russian. ‘My name is Sergei Spiridonovich Platov. I am a major in the Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti. I live at Radeberger Strasse with my wife and daughter. I am one of eight KGB officers based in Dresden under the control of Colonel Anatoly Lubkov. I work on political intelligence and counter-intelligence.’

‘What is your official cover?’ Wilkinson asked. He had not appeared on camera and Gaddis suspected that he would not do so. Platov took a sip of water.

‘I am Deputy Director of the Society of German-Soviet Friendship. My work entails forging links between the KGB and the East German Stasi.’

‘Could you confirm the name of this Operation?’

‘LOOCH,’ Platov replied, without hesitation.

Gaddis briefly looked away from the screen as he tried to recall the details of the plan. ‘Looch’ meant ‘beam of light’ in Russian. The operation had entailed the KGB building a network of informers in East Germany who would continue to provide information to Moscow Centre in the event of the Communist regime collapsing. MI6 had learned about LOOCH in 1986; Wilkinson was clearly evaluating Platov’s willingness to give up state secrets.

The interview continued for what Gaddis estimated was at least another two hours: he forwarded the disk several times and saw no change either in the set-up of the camera or in Platov’s preternaturally calm demeanour. But there was no time to watch it. He ejected the disk and turned to Holly.

‘Can you burn this on to your laptop, make copies of the film?’

‘Rip, not burn,’ she said and smiled. He saw that she had already retrieved the laptop from her bedroom and booted it up.

‘I’d need three DVDs, minimum.’

She shrugged, as if this was the easiest thing in the world, and Gaddis felt a surge of gratitude towards her. ‘Might take an hour to do that many copies,’ she whispered. ‘Depends how long the film is.’

They worked out that the Platov interview lasted just under two hours. It took almost exactly as long as Holly had predicted to rip the three copies on to blank DVDs. They spent the intervening period talking in the bathroom about what had happened in Berlin and Vienna. Gaddis had switched on the taps and put the radio on the floor to give the impression that Holly was having a bath. He told her about the threat to Min. He also revealed everything about Edward Crane. Throughout, she reacted as a true friend: her only thought, seemingly, was for Gaddis’s safety and wellbeing.

‘I need you to do something for me,’ he said, as the last of the disks was finishing.

‘So what else is new?’

‘The woman who lives downstairs in flat five-’

‘Mrs Connelly.’

‘How well do you know her?’

‘Quite well. I shop for her every now and again. Why?’

‘I want you to go down there and to stay with her until I come back. It’s not safe for you to go outside any more and it’s not safe for you to stay here when I’m gone.’

He saw fear flicker in her eyes again, the same look that she had given him when he had told her about Wilkinson.

‘Tell her you have a power cut. Fuse box. Ask if you can sit with her until your boyfriend gets back at nine. Thank her for the flowers, too.’

‘What flowers?’

‘It’s a long story. I pretended to be delivering a bunch of flowers so that I could get into your building. She buzzed me inside. Give me your mobile as well.’

‘Why?’

‘Just give it to me.’

She passed it to him from the back pocket of her jeans. Gaddis was thinking of Tanya, of microphones and triangulation signals, as he pulled off the casing and removed the battery.

‘Better this way,’ he said.

The last of the three disks was complete. He retrieved it from the laptop and gave it to Holly. The other two, as well as Wilkinson’s original, were in the inside pocket of his coat.

‘Why have you given me this?’

‘Hide it in Mrs Connelly’s flat. Hide it somewhere that nobody would think to look. And tell nobody that you’ve been to see her. If something happens to me, but only if something happens to me, get the disk to the BBC, to ITN, to Sky. Get it out on YouTube. Do you understand?’

‘I understand.’ She reached out and touched his face. ‘I’m worried about you.’

‘Don’t be. I’m sorry I dragged you into this.’

‘You didn’t,’ she said. ‘Bob should never have sent Mum the disk without telling her what was on it.’

Gaddis hesitated. ‘Perhaps.’

‘Where are you going now?’

He took two envelopes, a biro and a book of stamps from her desk. ‘I need these. I have to talk to Tanya. I need her to get a message to Brennan and the FSB. But please don’t worry. You’re safe now. Just make sure you go to Mrs Connelly. If she’s not there, try any of your neighbours, even if you’ve never spoken to them. But don’t leave the building unless you have to. I’ll come back here as soon as it’s done.’