London Match. Len Deighton

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СКАЧАТЬ what it was like in the Warschauer Strasse office. It wasn’t our office. It is supposed to be an office belonging to Aeroflot, but there are always police and security guards on the door, and our passes were carefully scrutinized no matter how often we visited there. I don’t know who else uses the building, but the economic intelligence staff met there regularly, as I said.’

      ‘And you were included in “economic intelligence staff”?’

      ‘Certainly not. They were all KGB and security people. My superior was only invited to attend when there was something directly affecting our department. Other bank officials and Ministry people came according to what was to be discussed.’

      ‘Why didn’t the briefing take place at the KGB offices?’ I asked. Silas was sitting upright on his metal chair, his eyes closed as if he were dozing off to sleep.

      ‘The Warschauer Strasse office was – perhaps I should say is – used at arm’s length by the KGB. When some Party official or some exalted visitor has enough influence to be permitted to visit the KGB installation in Berlin, they are invariably taken to Warschauer Strasse rather than to Karlshorst.’

      ‘It’s used as a front?’ said Silas opening his eyes and blinking as if suddenly coming awake from a deep slumber.

      ‘They wouldn’t want visitors tramping through the offices where the real work was being done. And Warschauer Strasse has a kitchen and dining room where such dignitaries can be entertained. Also there is a small lecture hall where they can see slide shows and demonstration films and so on. We liked going over there. Even the coffee and sandwiches served were far better than anything available elsewhere.’

      ‘You said you could tell the source from the quality and the style. Could you enlarge on that?’ I asked.

      ‘Some communications would begin an item with a phrase such as “I hear that the Bank of England” or whatever. Others would say, “Last week the Treasury issued a confidential statement.” Others might put it, “Fears of an imminent drop in American interest rates are likely to bring …”. These different styles are virtually sufficient for identification, but correlated with the proved quality of certain sources, we were soon able to recognize the agents. We spoke of them as people and joked about the nonsense that certain of them sometimes passed on to us.’

      ‘So you must have recognized the first-class material that my wife was providing.’

      Von Munte looked at me and then at Silas. Silas said, ‘Is this official, Bernard?’ There was a note of warning in his voice.

      ‘Not yet,’ I said.

      ‘We’re sailing a bit close to the wind for chitchat,’ Silas said. The choice of casual words, and the softness of his voice, did nothing to hide the authority behind what he said; on the contrary, it was the manner in which certain classes of Englishmen give orders to their subordinates. I said nothing and von Munte watched Silas carefully. Then Silas drew on his cigar reflectively and, having taken his time, said, ‘Tell him whatever you know, Walter.’

      ‘As I told you, I only saw the economic material. I can’t guess what proportion of any one agent’s submissions that might be.’ He looked at me. ‘Take the material from the man we called “Grock”. It was rubbish, as I said. But for all I know, Grock might have been sending wonderful stuff about underwater weaponry or secret NATO conferences.’

      ‘Looking back at it, can you now guess what my wife was sending?’

      ‘It’s only a guess,’ said von Munte, ‘but there was one tray of material that was always well written and organized in a manner one might call academic.’

      ‘Good stuff?’

      ‘Very reliable but inclined towards caution. Nothing very alarming or exciting; mostly confirmations of trends that we could guess at. Useful, of course, but from our point of view not wonderful.’ He looked up at the sky through the glass roof of the conservatory. ‘Eisenguss,’ he said suddenly and laughed. ‘Nicht Eisenfuss; Eisenguss. Not iron foot but cast iron or pig iron; Gusseisen. Yes, that was the name of the source. I remember at the time I thought he must be some sort of government official.’

      ‘It means poured iron,’ said Silas, who spoke a perfect and pedantic German and couldn’t tolerate my Berlin accent.

      ‘I know the word,’ I said irritably. ‘The audiotypist was careless, that’s all. None of them are really fluent.’ It was a feeble excuse and quite untrue. I’d done it myself. I should have listened more carefully when I was with the Miller woman or picked up my mistranslation when typing from the tape recording.

      ‘So now we have a name to connect Fiona with the material she gave them,’ said Silas. ‘Is that what you wanted?’

      I looked at von Munte. ‘Just the one code word for Fiona’s tray?’

      ‘It all came under the one identification,’ said von Munte. ‘Why would they split it up? It wouldn’t make sense, would it?’

      ‘No,’ I said. I finished my drink and stood up. ‘It wouldn’t make sense.’

      Upstairs I could hear the children growing noisy. There was a limit to the amount of time that TV kept them entertained. ‘I’ll go and take charge of my children,’ I said. ‘I know they tire Mrs Porter.’

      ‘Are you staying for supper?’ said Silas.

      ‘Thanks, but it’s a long journey, Silas. And the children will be late to bed as it is.’

      ‘There’s plenty of room for you all.’

      ‘You’re very kind, but it would mean leaving at crack of dawn to get the children to school and me to the office.’

      He nodded and turned back to von Munte. But I knew there was more to it than simple hospitality. Silas was determined to have a word with me in private. And on my way downstairs, after I’d told the children that we’d be leaving soon after tea, he emerged from his study and, with one hand on my shoulder, drew me inside.

      He closed the study door with great care. Then, in a sudden change of mood that was typical of him, he said, ‘Do you mind telling me what the bloody hell this is all about?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Don’t what me, Bernard. You understand English. What the hell are you cross-questioning von Munte about?’

      ‘The arrested woman …’

      ‘Mrs Miller,’ he interrupted me, to show how well informed he was.

      ‘Yes, Mrs Carol Elvira Johnson, née Miller, father’s name Müller, born London 1930, occupation schoolteacher. That’s the one.’

      ‘That was quite uncalled for,’ said Silas, offended at my reply. ‘Well, what about her?’

      ‘Her testimony doesn’t fit what I know of KGB procedures and I wanted to hear about von Munte’s experience.’

      ‘About using multiple code names? Did the Miller woman say they used multiple code names?’

      ‘She handled two lots of exceptionally high-grade intelligence material. There were two code names, but the Department is happy to believe СКАЧАТЬ