Triple (28 page)

Kon Folleff

distic, or insubordinate-so long as he knew about it He could make

allowances for faults: but he could not allow for unknown factors. He

would be unsure of his hold over Dickstein until he had figured out the

cause of the change. That was all. He had Do objection in principle to one

of his agents acquiring a sunny disposition.

He came within sight of the Embassy. He would put Dickmein under

surveillance, he decided. It would take two cars and three teams of man

working in eight-hour shifts. The Head of London Station would complain.

I'lie. hell with him.

The need to know why Dickstein7s disposition had changed was only one

reason Borg had decided not to pull him out The other reason was more

important Dickstein had half a plan; another man might not be able to

complete it Dickstein had a mind for this sort of thing. Once Dickstein

had figured it all out, then somebody else could take over. Borg had de-

cided to take him off the assignment at the first opportunity. Dickstein

would be furious: he would consider he had been shafted.

The hell with him, too.

Major-Pyotr Alekseivitch Tyrin did not actually like Rostov. He did not

like any of his superiors: in his view, you had to be a rat to get

promoted above the rank of major in the KGB. SO, he had a sort of

awestruck affection for his clever, helpful boss. Tyrin had considerable

skills, particularly with electronics, but he could not manipulate

people. He was a major only because he was on Rostov's incredibly

successful team.

Abba Allon. High Street exit. Fifty-two, or nine? Where are you,

fifty-two?

Fifty-two. We're close. Well take him. What does he look like?

Plastic raincoat, green hat, mustache.

As a friend Rostov was not much; but he was a lot worse as an enemy. This

Colonel Petrov in London had discovered that. He had tried to mess around

with Rostov and had been surprised by a middle-of-the-night phone call

from the head of the KGB, Yuri Andropov himself. The people in the Lon.

don Embassy said Petrov,had looked like a ghost when he hung up. Since

then Rostov could have anything he wanted: if he sneezed five agents

rushed out to buy handkerchiefs. -

- Ise

71UPLE

Okay, this Is Ruth Davisson, and she's going north ... Nineteen, we can

take her-

Relax, nineteen. False alarm. les a secretary who looks like her.

Rostov had commandeered all Petrov's best pavement artists and most of

his cars. -The area around the Israeli Ernba3sy in London was crawling

with agent&--someone had said, "There are more Reds here than in the

Kremlin Clinid'!--but it was hard to spot them. They were in cars, vans,

minicabs, trucks and one vehicle that looked remarkably like an unmarked

Metropolitan Police bus. There were more on foot, some in public

buildings and others walking the streets and the footpaths of the park.

There was even one inside the Embassy, asking in dreadfully broken

English what he had to do to emigrate to Israel.

The Embassy was ideally suited for this kind of exercise. It was in a

little diplomatic ghetto on the edge, of Kensington Gardens. So many of

the lovely old houses -belonged to foreign legations that it was known

as Embassy Row. Indeed, the Soviet Embassy was close by in Kensington

Palace Gardens. The little group of streets formed a private estate, and

you, had to tell a policeman your business before you could get in.

Nineteen, this time It is Ruth Davisson . . . nineteen, do you hear me?

Nineteen here, yes.

Are you still on the north side?

Yes. And we know what she looks like.

None of the agents was actually in sight of the Israeli Embassy. Only one

member of the team could see the doorRostov, who was a half mile away,

on the twentieth floor of a hotel, watching thr-ough a powerful Zeiss

telescope mounted on a tripod. Several high buildings in the West End of

London had clear views across the park of Embassy Row. Indeed, certain

suites in certain hotels fetched inordinately high prices because of

rumors that from them you could see into Princess Margaret's backyard at

the neighboring palace, which gave its name to Palace Green and

Kensington Palace Gardens.

Rostov was in one of those suites, and he had a radio

transmitter as well as the telescope. Each of his sidewalk

squads had a walkie4alkie. Petrov spoke to his men in fast

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Ken Fo1W

Russian, using confusing codewords, and the wavelength on which he

transmitted and on which the men replied was changed every five minutes

according to a computer program built into all the sets. The system was

working very well, Tyrin thought-he had invented it-except that somewhere

in the cycle everyone was subjected to five minutes of BBC Radio One.

Eight, move up to the north side.

Understood.

If the Israelis had been in Belgravia, the home of the more senior

embassies, Rostov's job would have been more difficult. There were almost

no shops, caf6s or public offices in Belgravia-nowhere for agents to make

themselves unobtrusive; and because the whole district was quiet, wealthy

and stuffed with ambassadors it was easy for the police to keep an eye

open for suspicious activities. Any of the standard surveillance

ploys-telephone repair van, road crew with striped tentwould have drawn

a crowd of bobbies in minutes. BY contrad the am around the little oasis

of Embassy Row was Kensington, a major shopping area with several

colleges and four museums.

Tyrin himself was in a pub in Kensington Church Street. The resident KGB

men had told him that the pub was frequented by detectives from "Special

Branch!-the rather coy name for Scotland Yard's political police. The

four youngish men in rather sharp suits drinking whiskey at the bar were

probably detectives. They did not know Tyrin, and would not have been

much interested in him if they had. Indeed, if Tyrin were to approach

them and say, "By the way, the KGB is tailing every Israeli legal in

London at the moment," they would probably say "What, again?" and order

another round of drinks.

in any event Tyrin knew he was not a man to attract second glances. He

was small and rather rotund, with a big nose and a drinkees veined face.

He wore a gray raincoat over a green sweater. The rain had removed the

last memory of a crease from his charcoal flannel trousers. He sat in a

comer with a glass of English beer and a small bag of potato chips. no

radio in his shirt pocket was connected by a fine, fleshcolored wire to

the plug-it looked like a hearing aid-in his left car. His left side was

to the wall. He could talk to Rostov by pretending to fumble in the

inside pocket of his raincoat 160

TFdPLE

turning his face away from the room and muttering into the perforated

metal disc on the top edge of the radio.

He was watching the detectives drink whiskey and thinking that the

Special Branch must have better expense accounts than its Russian

equivalent: he was allowed one pint of beer per hour, the potato crisps

he had to buy himself. At- one time agents in England had even been

obliged to buy beer in half pints, until the accounts department had been

told that in many pubs a man who drank halves was as peculiar as a

Russian who took his vodka in sips instead of gulps.

Thirteen, pick up a green Volvo, two men, High Street.

Understood,

And one on foot . . . I think that's Yigael Meier Twenty?

Tyrin was "Twenty." He turned his face into his shoulder and said, "Yes.

Describe him."

Tall, gray hair, umbrella, belted coat. High Street gate.

Tyrin said, "rm on my way." He drained his glass and left the pub.

It was raining. Tyrin took a collapsible umbrella from his raincoat

pocket and opened it. The wet sidewalks were crowded with shoppers. At

the traffic lights he spotted the green Volvo and, three cars behind it,

'Mirteen!l in an Austin.

Another car. Five, this one's yours. Blue Volkswagen beetle.

Understood.

Tyrin reached Palace Gate, looked up Palace Avenue, saw a man fitting the

description heading toward him, and walked on without pausing. When he

had calculated that the an had had time to reach the street he stood at

the curb, as if about to cross, and looked up and down. The mark emerged

from Palace Avenue and turned west, away from Tyrin.

Tyrin followed.

Along High Street tailing was made easier by the crowds. Then they turned

south into a maze of side streets, and Tyrin became a bit nervous; but

the Israeli did not seem to be watching for a shadow. He simply butted

ahead through the rain, a tall, bent-figure under an umbrella, walking

fast, intent on his destination.

He did not go far. He turned into a small modern hotel just off the

Cromwell Road. Tyrin walked past the entrance

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Ken FOII*ff

and, glancing through the glass door, saw the mark step Into a phone booth

In the lobby. A little farther along the road Tyrin passed the green

Volvo, and concluded that the Israeli and his colleagues in the green

Volvo were staking out the hotel.

He crossed the road and came back on the opposite side, just In case the

mark were to come out again immediately. He looked for the blue

Volkswagen beetle and did not see it, but he was quite sure it would be

close by.

He spoke into his shirt pockeL "M is Twenty Meier and the green Volvo

have staked out the Jacobean HoteL"

Confirwd, Twenty. Five and Thirteen ham the Israeli cars covered. Where

is Meier?

,in the lobby." Tyrin looked up and down and saw the Austin which was

following the green Volvo.

Stay with him.

"Understood." Tyrin now had a difficult decision to make. If he went

straight into the hotel Meier might spot lum, but if he took the time to

find the back entrance Meier might go away in the meanwhile.

He decided tD chance the back entrance, on the grounds that he was

supported by two cars which could cover for a few minutes if the worst

happened. Beside the hotel there was a narrow alley for delivery vans.

Tyrin walked along it and came to an unlocked fire exit In the blank side

wall of the building. He went in and found himself in a concrete stair-

well, obviously built to be used only as a fire escape. As he climbed the

stairs he collapsed his umbrella, put it in his raincoat pocket and took

off the raincoat He folded it and left it In a little bundle on the first

half landing, w1we he could quickly pick it up N he needed to make a fast

exlL He went to the second floor and took the elevator down to the lobby.

When he emerged in his sweater and trousers he looked like a guest at the

hotel.

The Israeli was still in the phone bootlL

Tyrin went up to the glass door at the front of the lobby, looked out,

chocked his w&hratch and returned to the waiting area to sit down as if

he were ineeting someone. It did not seem to be his lucky day. The

object: of the whole exercise was to find Nat Dickstein. He was known to

be in Englax4 and it was hoped that he would have a meeting with 162