Debut for a Spy (9 page)

I stepped inside, the door closing behind me as Colonel Hammond rose, leaning across a bare desk to take my hand.

“Good morning, David – please sit down.” We both did.

“
Why here, sir?” I asked.

“
The 'neighbors' keep tabs on me when they can pick me up, and I don't want them to have any inkling of your connection with me. I led them a merry chase this morning, and right now they think I'm next door in New Zealand House. I have several places like this which I can get in to and out of through accesses they don't know, and I try to keep it that way. The commissionaire is one of ours, by the way. Now, what's come up?”

“
What can you tell me about Calvin Fletcher, formerly with the American Embassy here in London? About a year ago he was posted to the Middle East, I know he has something to do with oil, and that's the extent of my information. Can you fill me in?”

Hammond pursed his lips, tapped his fingertips together, and was lost in thought. I waited, impatiently.

“Does this request affect your decision, David?”

“
It may, sir, but I can only judge that when I hear it. To be honest with you, I had decided to decline, but I may rescind that decision after this meeting based on some information I have for you, and/or what you are willing to tell me about Cal Fletcher.”

“Very well. You don't leave me much option, do you?” The famous frosty smile was back.

“
I'm sorry, sir, but I find myself in the middle of something not of my own choosing, and I'm hampered by my lack of knowledge. If you want me to work with you, you should understand right now that I have to know what it's all about – not just an unconnected segment. At our meeting the other day you said that my background would allow me to deal with problems in unique ways. Well, one of the things I must do is make decisions based on what I know related to what I encounter. And now, to use a vulgar North American expression, you're going to have to shit or get off the pot… sir.”

The only sound in the ensuing silence was the clash of our eyes. I knew he had given in when he drew a deep breath.

“Do you know what OPEC stands for, David?”

“
No.”

“
Not many people do – yet. Two years ago, most of the countries which produce oil for export set up an organization to regulate pricing on the world market – OPEC – Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries. They are going to set a common price for oil, and if they stick together our days of playing one country against the other for better prices are over.”

“
Where does Cal Fletcher fit in?”

“
Nominally, Cal Fletcher works for the State Department, or so you would be told if you enquired. In truth, he is an Ambassador-at-Large who reports directly to the President of the United States on all matters concerning petroleum – production, purchasing, transportation, marketing, world reserves, exploration and development. You name it – if it's about oil, Cal Fletcher knows about it, and everything and everybody concerned with it.”

“
What's he been up to recently?”

“
Now we come to the nub, or as you might say, 'the crunch.' After the formation of OPEC, the U.S realized that an unfriendly government in power in one of the OPEC countries could have a disastrous effect on the American economy – they are extremely dependant on oil, as you know.

“
Over the past twenty years, Cal Fletcher had built up private contacts in all of these countries – people of immense influence – some in government, some in opposition, some in the private sector – but all of whom respected him as a straight shooter and a man of his word. When Cal wanted something, his private network went into operation, and it happened.

“
This gave the Americans a real advantage in petroleum negotiations, and yet this network remained discreetly in the background. With the threat of OPEC, Cal was quietly visiting and re-establishing his old contacts and setting up new ones, and it would have minimized the effect of OPEC on American petroleum requirements.”

“
Your use of 'would have' suggests that you are aware of the outcome of this story.”

“
Certain elements would stop at nothing to keep the Americans out of preferential negotiations for petroleum.”

I shivered at the implication.

“What happened to Straitsair Flight SA23 yesterday?”

“
A phosphorus bomb in the cargo hold. It was timed to go off approximately forty minutes after departure. The aircraft was virtually incinerated in the air – there was nothing left of it or the 28 passengers and crew when it hit the water, and what was left sank immediately. One of our submarines and a destroyer were on the scene within ten minutes. All they recovered were ashes.”

“
How do you know about the bomb and where it was located in the aircraft?”

“
Because we have the man who did it.”

“
What? Who was it?”

“
A cargo handler for some of the smaller charter lines which fly into Gib. His name is Naheed. One of the ground crew remembered seeing him arrive for work carrying a suitcase, and when the aircraft exploded he was grabbed and his locker searched. No suitcase. Our people were called in, and with a little persuasion he admitted it. Of course he was expendable, and too simple-minded to realize that he would be the prime suspect. All after-the-fact, unfortunately.”

“
What about security? Surely if Cal Fletcher was this important to the U.S. he would have been better protected.”

“
Not the case, I'm afraid. This was Cal Fletcher's style. He moved about without fuss or fanfare, and was almost incognito most of the time. That's why he was so successful. He knew the risks that he ran, but this time his luck didn't hold. Regrettably, it was one of the few trips with his wife. Normally he wouldn't take her, but they were to have a holiday at a friend's estate in Algeria after his talks, and this time he broke his own rule.”

We were quiet for a moment while I digested what I had been told, but it still wasn't enough.

“Who was behind it, colonel?”

“
Our people have made intensive enquiries in Gibraltar since yesterday. We know who Naheed was seen with yesterday morning, and we have been able to establish a pretty definite link to where the order would have originated. There is no doubt in our minds or the CIA's that it was the KGB.”

“
And where did the order originate?”

“
Here in London.”

“
Nalishkin?”

“
Yes.”

“
Is there any doubt?”

“
None whatsoever.”

“
What's going to be done about it?”

“
Nothing.”

“
Nothing? Why?”

“
We can't prove it. And unless we catch the bastard with blood on his hands it's a waste of time trying.”

“
Isn't all this pointless, sir? Won't someone pick up the torch from Cal Fletcher and carry on from where he left off? Why murder him, and his wife, and all those innocent people? I don't understand. What has it accomplished?”

“
It may very well have accomplished exactly what they want. Fletcher took twenty years to establish this rapport, and the lynchpin for this network was his own personal integrity. None of them, Fletcher included, trusted the politicians, and no one knew the names of the people in the various countries. He wanted to protect them, he gave them his word, and that was enough.

“
There is supposed to be a list hidden somewhere, to be accessed in case of dire emergency, but as of this morning no one in the State Department or 'the cousins' has come up with it, and they don't know where to look. Even if the list were found it's doubtful that anyone but Cal Fletcher could approach these people. It was his integrity and his charisma which did it.

“
What worries us most is that the Soviets are looking for the list, too, and if they should get their hands on it I wouldn't give much chance to individuals in OPEC countries who are part of a secret network in league with the United States. Life is pretty cheap in most of those countries, and death even cheaper.”

Silence returned while I pondered. I had received more than I had bargained for. A fierce hatred clutched my heart when I thought of Nalishkin, but I had to control myself, bide my time, and be careful. Hammond interrupted the flow of my thoughts.

“David, I understand your concern for Katherine Fletcher, and I am truly sorry for what has happened. I made a decision to tell you everything – I've held nothing back – but don't let your actions make me regret that decision.”

“
What can I tell Kate?”

“
If I were you – nothing at all. The official story will be that there was probably a leak in the fuel line, and that this caused an explosion which destroyed the aircraft. The public will be shocked and titillated, and then they will forget about it in a few days. And those of us who know the truth will carry on doing what we have to do.”

There was a brief hesitation before he continued.

“What I have to tell you now may very well prejudice you against us completely. Yesterday after you left here you were involved in an unfortunate incident at Charing Cross. It concerned a certain Daphne Boggs. Among the lady's unsavory activities is one which she kept well hidden. Daphne had been recruited by the Soviets, and she had been used by them for various tasks, some of them quite indelicate.”

“
Are you suggesting that it was all because of my meeting with you, colonel?”

“
Exactly. She tagged you leaving the building, and probably followed you to pick your pocket and tell the Soviets who you were and about your proximity to me. She failed, of course.”

“
Perhaps she had an accomplice, sir.”

“
No, she was alone yesterday, and she was dead even before she could have described you to anyone.”

“
How do you know this, colonel?”

“
We had a watcher on her who saw the whole thing. He was the vicar who spoke to the police. When I was informed we pulled some strings and your name was withheld. The press co-operated and played it down.”

“
I wondered about that.”

“
I'm being totally frank with you, David. Now it's your turn. What have you got for me?”

It was indeed my turn to shit or get off the pot.

“Are you aware of an aircraft called the P1127 which is under development by Hawker Siddeley?”

“
Of course. What have you heard and from whom?”

“
I know about its VTOL capability, that the technology of vectored thrust is top secret, and I guess that the Soviets would love to get their hands on it. Who told me is unimportant, because it was no more than what is available in the aircraft magazines.”

“
Go on.”

“
Yesterday afternoon I was in the Soviet Embassy, just outside Nalishkin's door while he was on the phone. He spoke in Russian, but a few things sounded familiar and I wrote them down.”

I pulled my engagement book out, turning up the page.

“Chess moves,” I explained.

“
I beg your pardon?”

“
Chess moves. When I was attending university we listened to radio broadcasts of chess matches between the Americans and the Soviets. Very often we could hear the Russian commentator in the background giving the moves in Russian, and we became familiar with some of the letters and numbers. Nalishkin used some of them yesterday: pay, adeen, adeen, dva, siem – In English: P, one, one, two, seven. He was talking about that aircraft, the P1127.”

Hammond was writing while I spoke.

“Do you remember anything else – anything at all?”

“
A little before that I caught a word that sounded like 'drama', and I presumed he must have been talking about the theatre.”

Hammond's brow furrowed.
“I'm going to pronounce a word in Russian. Is this what you heard? Uh-eh-ra-drama. Uh-eh-ra-drama.”

“
Yes, I'm pretty sure that's it. What does it mean?”

“
It's Russian for aerodrome or airfield.” He wrote for a moment more, then threw down his pencil.

“
This is exactly what I meant, David. You've already given us invaluable information. We know they're interested in this aircraft, but now it looks as if there's a push on to get it. We'll have to tighten security, especially around Dunsfold.”

He regarded me quizzically before continuing.

“A while ago you quoted one of those vulgar Americanisms at me, and now I am about to do the same to you in return: 'You pays your money and you takes your choice' – Isn't that it? In other words, my dear fellow, are you with us or not?”