The Zhukov Briefing

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

‘Marvellous.’ Tanya leant back in the chair holding the mug of coffee with both hands. ‘I need this.’

Liang Hui finished a sandwich, looked at his watch. ‘It’s ten to six. He’s had seven hours of sleep.’

‘Shouldn’t we wake him? Give him something to eat? He can rest again later. He’s got a bad twenty-four hours ahead. Hasn’t had anything since he came on board.’

‘Don’t suppose we’d have much appetite in his shoes.’

‘No, we wouldn’t.’ She said it with fierce conviction.

‘I’ll see how he’s getting on.’ He switched off the white deckhead light leaving the solitary red light to bathe the laundry in semi-darkness. He picked up the black hood, patted his shoulder-holster, went to the after end of the laundry and unlocked the storeroom door. Once inside he switched on the light, shutting the door behind him.

Krasnov lay under a blanket on the stretcher. As the door clanked to, he stirred uneasily, muttered something, then propped himself up on his elbows.

Liang Hui said, ‘Feeling all right?’

The Russian yawned, rubbed his eyes, ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Don’t know. Just woken up.’

He got to his feet clumsily, stretched and yawned again. He was wearing the blue denim trousers, but had taken off the sweater and plimsolls.

‘Like something to eat? Sandwiches and coffee?’ Krasnov stared at his questioner.

‘No. Only water.’

‘Of course. Put your things on and we’ll get some.’

The Russian pulled on a jersey, leant awkwardly against the bulkhead, standing first on one foot then the other as he put on the plimsolls.

Liang Hui said, ‘Sorry. We’ll have to hood you again.’

‘Not more interrogation?’ The Russian’s eyes and voice combined in an urgent plea.

‘No. That’s finished.’ Liang Hui slipped the hood over the Soviet lieutenant’s head, secured the chain girdle under his chin and locked it. Taking his hand he led the Russian to the fore part of the laundry and settled him in the interrogation chair.

‘We’re not binding your feet or ankles,’ he said. ‘But don’t leave the chair without permission.’

Krasnov drank the water Tanya gave him.

‘Sure you wouldn’t like a sandwich? Some hot coffee?’ she said.

‘No.’ He was abrupt. ‘Water is enough.’

In the dim red gloom she shook her head, looked anxiously at her brother. He nodded and said, ‘We’ve good news for you, Krasnov. We’re putting you ashore tonight.’

‘Where?’ The Russian was at once suspicious.

‘On a Norwegian island, Rebbensoy. Within a hundred miles of Vrakoy. You’ll be landed in a small cove. At daylight you can walk to the nearby fishing village. About three kilometres. Within a short time you’ll be with your comrades. Back in your ship.’

Krasnov’s only response was to intersperse deep breathing with sighs and shakings of the head. ‘I don’t want to be landed on Norwegian soil,’ he said at last.

‘Why?’

‘It’s not safe. Too close to my country. The Norwegians fear the Soviet Union. They will hand me over.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You should.’ Krasnov spoke with sudden vehemence. ‘You and your friends. You made me betray my country’s secrets.’ He faltered and for a moment they thought he might break down, but he recovered his composure. ‘It’s impossible for me to go back. I’m finished.’

Liang Hui looked at him in astonishment. ‘I think you’re dramatizing the situation,’ he said. ‘Think about it calmly. Of course you must go back. Tell them the truth. You were forcibly abducted. Taken against your will to a Chinese ship. Tell them all you know. From your visit to the kafeteria onwards. Explain how you were interrogated. The techniques used and so on. All that will be true.’

‘Yes,’ said Krasnov bitterly. ‘And then?’

‘You do what any normal human being would do. You protect yourself. You are not responsible for what has happened. It is not your wish. Why should you accept guilt? So you tell your people that you gave us nothing of importance. That you knew from our questions that our technology was far behind yours. That it was therefore easy to give us misleading information.’

Krasnov managed a hollow laugh. ‘I know the truth to be different. Your technology may be behind ours in certain respects, but your questions showed you know a great deal. Don’t forget, we know what you’ve got. We, too, have intelligence services.’

Liang Hui ignored these remarks. ‘You tell them,’ he continued, ‘that after the interrogation we landed you on Norwegian soil because it was not necessary or practical to take you back with us.’

From under the hood there came a snort of derision. ‘Rubbish. I’m finished as far as my own people are concerned. If I go back they will want to know everything, down to the last detail. My country knows a great deal about interrogation. They would soon break down an untrue story.’ He shook his head vigorously. ‘They would make me confess what I told you. And then…’ He spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness.

‘What do you want us to do?’ asked Tanya gently.

‘Land me on British soil as a defector. I can claim political asylum.’

‘You can do that in Norway,’ she said.

‘Maybe. And if they grant it the KGB will find me in a few days… a few weeks. It makes no difference. They will find me. It must be Britain if I am to have a chance.’

‘Why especially Britain?’ she said.

‘The British have a tradition of granting political asylum. It is one of their remarkable qualities. They will understand my problem. There are none so fiery as the converted.’

Liang Hui said, ‘What do you mean by that, Krasnov?’

‘Britain is like an alcoholic or a criminal reformed. Now that her empire has collapsed the attitude of her people has changed. Especially that of the younger ones. There is a new spirit of socialism abroad. The British are trying to salve their social conscience. They do this by making propaganda for the underprivileged, particularly the coloured races. Yet no country exploited these people more than Britain. Now she wishes to make amends. To be seen by the world to have reformed. So she attacks those who behave as she did. This includes my country. We, too, are building an empire. But in a different way and with different objectives. We wish to see equality and social justice for all.’

Krasnov took a long breath, and Tanya patted his shoulder for no other reason than that she was sorry for him. He was to her like a child in trouble. But he didn’t like the gesture and shook her hand away. ‘As a defector from the Soviet Union I will be welcome in Britain. They will make propaganda from the defection of a Soviet naval officer. So I’ve no option now. It must be Britain.’

Liang Hui scratched at invisible cobwebs on his forehead. ‘Your views are very muddled, Lieutenant, not well informed,’ he said, ‘In China we regard the Soviet Union as an imperialist power. That is why she makes détente with the other super-imperialist power, the USA. As for Britain.’ Lian Hui shrugged his shoulders, ‘she is nothing — a satellite of the United States. America’s most important off-shore nuclear platform. Europe is nothing, too fragmented. NATO is growing weaker not stronger. The French started that. The balance of power will shift slowly but surely to the East.’ Liang Hui’s tone changed suddenly. He became impatient. ‘But I have no time for these discussions. It is not part of my duties to become involved in such things.’

Krasnov’s manner changed too. He became less challenging as if he felt he’d possibly gone too far. ‘So what are you going to do?’ he said quietly.

Liang Hui gave the hooded man a long hard look. ‘Tell my superiors that you don’t want to be landed on Norwegian soil. That you believe Britain is the only safe country for you. But I warn you. There’ll be difficulties. Certain arrangements have already been made. It may be too late to change them.’ His eyes narrowed and his tone conveyed that he hadn’t much liked Krasnov’s attempt to change carefully-laid plans. ‘And remember. For all your speech making, you’re in no position to lay down terms.’

Krasnov was silent then, weighing what had been said. ‘Tell them,’ he said at last, ‘that if I am landed on Norwegian soil I’m afraid the Press there may get the whole story from me.’

‘What story?’

‘The true story.’

Liang Hui stood up, pushed his chair back. ‘If that’s a threat forget it. It won’t impress my people. What you tell the Western press is immaterial to them.’

Krasnov thought about that, hesitated, then blurted out what was in his mind. ‘Tell them I know this is a British warship. HMS Aries. I think that may help.’

‘I’m afraid there’s been rather a serious snag with Daisy Chain, sir.’ Briggs handed the signal to the Commodore (Intelligence) as if it were a very hot plate. ‘Just in from Aries.’

The commodore took it, gathering his eyebrows in a bushy frown and regarding his assistant with a mixture of suspicion and disapproval. He began to read:

Immediate: In some way unknown to us our passenger has learnt that this is a British warship and knows her name. Stop. He insists on being landed on British soil, treated as a defector and given political asylum. Stop. He threatens that if landed in Norway he will give his story to the Norwegian press. Stop. Request immediate instructions. McGhee.

The commodore looked at Briggs as if he’d like to wring his neck. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said. ‘Some flaming idiot’s boobed.’

‘It’s incredible, sir.’ Briggs executed a series of anxious shifts from one foot to the other, like a child with a full bladder.

‘Incredible be damned. It’s happened, man.’ The commodore leant forward in his chair, head bowed in hands, elbows on desk.

‘I mean, sir. If only…’

‘If only you would keep quiet, Briggs, I might be able to think.’

‘Sorry, sir.’

The commodore resumed his grief-like posture which the lieutenant-commander knew from experience denoted intense concentration. He’ll come up with something, reflected Briggs, any moment now. Sure enough it was not long before the little man rose to his feet and began a fast quarterdeck pacing of the office. Briggs meanwhile tussled unsuccessfully with the problem. How on earth could one guess what had happened? he reflected. How could such a carefully planned operation have gone astray? His imagination boggled and he gave up. For want of something better to do he went over his last round of golf. Finding that equally distasteful he looked out of the window and thought no more.

The commodore stopped pacing, gave his assistant’s back a baleful look. ‘I suppose you recall that on the strength of your undertakings I gave VCNS the assurance that neither British nor Norwegian interests would be put at risk by Daisy Chain.’

Briggs turned away from the window. ‘Yes, sir. I’m most awfully sorry.’

‘Sorry! I should damn well think so. Now listen to me, Briggs. I am at this moment extremely angry and you happen to be in the line of fire. Why? Because the queen bee planner of Operation Daisy Chain was none other than Lieutenant-Commander William Beresford Briggs. I should think you’ll be fired, and that I may say would give me a great deal of pleasure if I weren’t involved too. Someone, and I suspect it may be you, has done something extremely stupid. As a result your Chinese fantasy has become a monumental cock-up. And I am left carrying the baby.’ The commodore paused for breath, took a few more paces. ‘I really don’t know,’ he said desperately. ‘I just don’t know what we’re going to do with this bloody Russian.’

‘Couldn’t we have the sod shot, sir?’ Briggs appeared to be dazzled by the brilliant simplicity of his proposal. The commodore, however, greeted it with a chilling stare. ‘You’re either mad, Briggs, or trying to be funny. I dislike both.’

‘Sorry, sir. I can’t imagine…’

‘I’m sure you can’t. So please have the good sense to keep quiet.’ The commodore got back to the pacing business, head forward, hands clasped behind his back. He stopped beneath the gilt-framed portrait of Nelson which hung over the blanked-off fireplace at the far end of the room. ‘Wonder what you’d have done, old chap?’ he thought with affection. Belatedly, he recalled that Nelson was only forty-six at Trafalgar, whereas he was already fifty-three. The ‘old chap’ seemed somehow inappropriate.

At that moment — afterwards he put it down to inspiration borrowed from the great man’s portrait — he saw a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. ‘I tell you what, Briggs.’ He stared thoughtfully at the unhappy lieutenant-commander. ‘This bloody Russian wants to be treated as a defector. Well, he shall be treated as one to the letter. Our ship found him alone — repeat alone — on a life-raft north of Vrakoy, well clear — repeat well clear — of Norwegian territorial waters. We picked him up. As soon as he realized it was a British ship he said he was a defector and claimed asylum. In accordance with British policy our captain took him into custody, told him he’d be vetted on arrival in Britain, whereafter the decision about asylum would be taken at the political level. Got it? Until then he is to be kept incommunicado.’

‘Oh, first rate, sir. Absolutely marvellous.’

‘It may not be marvellous, Briggs, but that’s going to be the story and all concerned are going to stick to it.’

Briggs now showed some signs of anxiety. ‘A problem occurs to me, sir. Once he’s here — if our Press gets hold of him — and they will sooner or later — they may blow the whole story.’

The commodore’s chin shot out aggressively. ‘Those bloody Fleet Street butchers can say what they damn well like. It’ll be his word against ours. We’ve got witnesses, he hasn’t. And if necessary we’ll slap a D notice on the story.’

‘Well done, sir. I’m sure this is the answer.’

‘Forget the congratulations, Briggs, and get busy. Draft a signal — we’ll have to get Northwood’s approval for this one — an immediate — C-in-C Fleet to Aries, ordering her to detach, to reverse course and make for the Shetlands at twenty knots. To a position twenty-five miles due west of Muckle Flugga. What’s her fuel state by the way?’

‘She replenished from Fleetwave at midnight, sir.’

‘Good. Now a signal for McGhee in these general terms — Our passenger is to be told that his request is granted. He’ll be treated as a defector, landed on British soil. He is not, repeat not, to be told where or when, and while on board he is to remain in strict isolation but for the Liang Huis who will stay with him. Got that?’

Briggs, who’d been scribbling on the signal clipboard in his own peculiar shorthand, said, ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Aries and McGhee to be informed,’ continued the commodore, ‘that precise details of time and place of landing will be passed to them in due course.’

‘Aye, aye, sir. I’ll draft those right away.’ The lieutenant-commander made for the door.

‘One moment, Briggs.’ The commodore held up his hand with the peremptory authority of a point policeman. ‘I shall have to see VCNS about this. Put him in the picture. Not a job I relish. But before that there are certain things I have to do. In the meantime please understand that there never was an Operation Daisy Chain… what’s more I don’t want to hear those words again. Is that quite clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Briggs made once more for the door, looking back as he went with the expression of a mouse wondering whether the cat was about to have another go.

The moment he was alone the commodore picked up a phone, dialled an MOD internal number.

‘Freddie,’ said the commodore. ‘Ratters here.’

‘Oh. Hullo, Ratters. What’s the trouble? One of your lot on the sink again?’

‘Listen, Freddie. This is damned serious. I want you to go to Oslo to see Lund.’

‘When?’

‘Now. In the fastest thing your lot’s got. Get back here before we. open up shop tomorrow morning.’

‘D’you realize the time? I’m late as it is. Supposed to be meeting Jane at the club. You’re making a disaster area of my private life, Ratters.’

‘I thought you’d already done that. But seriously, Freddie, you must see Lund tonight. It’s absolutely vital.’

‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to. What’s the problem?’

‘Something’s gone badly wrong. Come down and I’ll tell you about it.’

‘I see. The first part sounds normal. Not so happy about the second. I’m on my way.’