Spy in chancery, p.13
Spy in Chancery, page 13
Kahn listened to a long explanation from Gioacchino about the properties of the little machine. Then he took the Italian’s chair and passed on the explanation to Craig, who had understood little of the technicalities.
‘When you bug a room with something very small that can’t easily be found you have to have either a recorder device or a radio relay somewhere within a few hundred yards—sometimes less, sometimes more, according to the strength of the signal you can get out of your transmitter. Now the thing we found, although quite near to your Embassy buildings, is badly blanketed by that high wall and I doubt whether it would receive speech well. But this is the point—it isn’t trying to. It’s geared to receive something else, those separate notes which can be magnified and analysed far more easily. What we don’t know is what emits them. That’s the first point.
‘The second is that the machine isn’t fitted with replaceable tapes or cassettes. But it has a second magnetic head, after the recording head. You saw the terminals?’
‘Yes. Gioacchino used them to copy what was on the tape.’
‘Exactly, and that’s what the man who comes to monitor the device does. He brings with him a portable recorder—one he could stick into his pocket, probably—and all he has to do is to connect it, run the tape back to the place he left it at the previous time, which he can do by noting the number on the footage counter, and then he starts up both recorders and copies the tape on to the recorder he’s brought with him. Are you with me?’
‘Yes. But why not have replaceable tape reels?’
‘I’m not quite sure. But I think there are two reasons; one, he has to operate in the dark—at least we assume he did last night—and unless he’s damned careful when he fiddles with the tape he could do harm. And cassettes are not accurate enough for anything as finely adjusted as this machine. Two, whenever he wants to keep well clear of the site where the thing is hidden he can connect a relay transmitter in the same way as the recorder.’
‘Let me get this straight,’ said Craig slowly. ‘You mean that what is on that tape may have been there for several days, for all we know. Then why didn’t he scrub it after copying it on to his recorder?’
Luigi threw up his hands. ‘That’s what I can’t understand, unless—’
‘Well?’
‘This machine doesn’t look like a production model. It’s been hand-made. I think they’re preserving the tape in case they’re not satisfied with the results and want to make adjustments. This, I’m pretty sure, is a prototype.’
Craig exclaimed. ‘It may not have been working long at all?’
‘That’s very possible. Well, those are my first thoughts. But what we’ve got to do now is to identify these strange sounds and see what produces them.’
‘One question. What’s the point of the coherer?’
‘It switches on the tape-recorder only when a message is coming over the air. As soon as it stops, it switches off. Saves tape, of course.’
‘Could you run through the tape at the same speed that it was recorded, so that we can see how long it takes?’
Luigi glanced at Gioacchino’s notes. ‘He’s done that. Forty-three seconds.’
‘So that’s all the recording it’s done, unless it’s going through the tape a second time. But what the hell does it mean?’ He looked at his watch. ‘Nearly half-past ten. I’m going to ditch the meeting at eleven. This is too damned important. But hadn’t we better replace this thing? If it’s supposed to be recording something that’s going on this morning we mustn’t leave too much of a gap.’
‘You’re prepared to risk it continuing to operate?’ ‘I think we must, or we’ll never get at the truth. At least now, if we put it back, we can monitor it again and perhaps pick up another clue.’
‘Right. And while we’re away Gioacchino can do a job for us.’
The replacement of the little set went without a hitch, and within half an hour they were back in the laboratory, staring at a large piece of white paper on which a graph had been drawn. It consisted of wild zig-zags, connecting points plotted to represent the frequencies of the notes recorded.
‘There it is,’ said Luigi, ‘just as I thought. The spacing’s irregular. The notes are emitted in groups, with gaps between. Peter, how do your cypher telegrams get dispatched?’
‘The ones to London go by teleprinter, and that’s most of the traffic, I suppose, apart from the stuff that goes straight to the cable companies.’
‘Listen, I don’t want to pry into secrets, but are the groups all the same length?’
‘Yes, of course. Five-figure or five-letter groups, according to the code.’
‘So it’s not that—I mean, we’re not looking at something that represents a telegram being sent out over the wire, because the groups would be regular, and these aren’t. There’s a complete mixture in the number of notes in the groups.’
‘And in the gaps between the groups, too.’
Luigi peered at the graph. ‘You’re right. And there goes my other theory.’
‘What was that?’
‘I wondered whether it could be reflecting the noise of a typewriter, in some way. Then the groups would be words. But it’s no good. Any experienced typist would leave exactly the same gap between the words, because it’s just the time it takes her to touch her space-bar. But look at the pattern here—big gaps between some groups, then little ones, and even the spaces between the notes in one group—look at this one!—vary a bit. Unless you have two-finger typists!’
‘Oh my God! Give me a piece of paper, quick!’ He began to make a list of numbers—3, 2, 5, 4, 4, 8, 4, 5, 6.
‘That’s how it began I think. How many notes are in the first group?’
‘Three. And then 2.5—You’ve got it, Peter! But what is it, for heaven’s sake?’
‘It’s a telegram the Ambassador received from London yesterday afternoon—no, the day before, Tuesday afternoon. I put down the number of letters in each word and included any stop which followed immediately. For example—’ he hesitated; he couldn’t mention S.3, presumably—’ the series 4, 8, 4 stands for “your telegram one. Full stop.”
‘But I thought you said the cypher telegrams are in five-letter groups.’
‘This wasn’t the cypher, Luigi; it was the de-cyphered message which Sir Watkyn typed out, with his own two fingers, on his own portable typewriter.’
Luigi stared at him, baffled. ‘But why does he have to type his own telegrams?’
‘Thank you for that feed line, Luigi,’ said Craig, ruefully. ‘The answer is, for security reasons.’
‘You’re certain it’s a portable—not an electric machine?’
‘A portable. I’ve seen it on a small table in his office.’
‘Can you borrow it, so that r can examine it?’
Craig thought it over. ‘I might, but it’d mean taking Bracken into our confidence and fetching it at night. The only other way is for H.E. to say he needs it at the Residence for some reason, and I don’t like that either—it’d attract too much attention.’ He looked at Kahn. ‘And are you sure you’d find what you want?’
‘I’d find part of it, whatever makes the typewriter emit those noises—electronically, of course. But the transmitter may be somewhere else. The only sure way is to get me into that office, with a lot of apparatus.’
Craig smiled suddenly. ‘I’m told you’ve got the latest stuff, Luigi.’
‘Who told you?’ asked Kahn quietly. His dark eyes looked wary.
‘Jo Ashbee. It’s all right—you were perfectly correct in not telling me you were in touch with him. Well, so am I.’
‘Why? Is he on this case, too?’
‘I’d better explain.’ He did so; the intercepted report, and what had followed.
‘I See. So you want the same team who’ve been following Zakharov to cover this meeting that Adams is going to attend this evening. OK.’
‘Good. Now back to this damned typewriter. If we could both get into the Ambassador’s office—now, for example—could we take what you want to use in our pockets and my briefcase?’
The big man thought it out. ‘Yes. Thank God, we know the frequency. But listen, Peter. We can’t check properly unless we use the typewriter. I’ll have to send someone to immobilize the receiver while we’re testing.’
‘No. There’s no need, I think. I’ve got an idea about that.’
‘And have you also an idea how we’re going to get into Sir Watkyn’s office, with half an hour to spare, without anyone suspecting anything?’ He grinned. ‘I’m not unknown in this city, you know.’
‘Can you change your appearance—dark glasses, for example, as a start?’
‘Better than that. I have a white wig,’ explained Luigi proudly, ‘which I keep in the office for—certain occasions. It is very distinguished.’ He passed his hand, smiling, over his bald head.
‘Splendid! Then I think we can do it. The only snag is going to be His Excellency. I have an idea that he could act a part beautifully, if he wanted to. But will he?’
It was after twelve when Craig went into Janet Ransome’s room.
‘There’s an old friend of H.E.’s sitting in the waiting-room. He’s here for the Interpol Conference and he asked me yesterday if he could call on the Ambassador. He’s the Chief of Police in Bogota, and they used to know each other well when H.E. was posted there. I spoke to Sir Watkyn yesterday and he said it’d be all right about now. But I’d better brief him first—I know old Suarez wants to lobby him. So if he’s free I’ll go in.’
She looked doubtful. ‘For heaven’s sake don’t let the Colombian stay long. H.E.’s got a date at a quarter to one.’
‘OK. Thanks.’ He opened the inner door and cautiously put his head in. ‘May I have a word, sir?’
Sir Watkyn looked up from his papers, startled and a little annoyed. Then he beckoned. As soon as Craig had shut the door he said, ‘I assume this is something urgent, Craig?’
‘It is, sir, very.’
‘Sit down then, and make it as quick as you can.’
He was a good listener, and after a horrified gasp, when
Craig told him of the discovery of the receiving set concealed in the temple, his face resumed its usual calm expression, with his eyes fixed on the other man’s face.
‘This charade is the only way you can see of testing your theory, is that it?’ There was the trace of a smile on his pale face.
‘Yes, sir. The only sure way, if we aren’t to lose time. But I’m sorry you will have to play a part in it.’
‘I think I can do what you want, my dear fellow,’ said His Excellency, and picked up his telephone.
‘Mrs Ransome, there’s a Doctor Suarez San Martin waiting to see me. Would you bring him in, please? And see that I’m not disturbed for the next half-hour, will you, please? Yes, yes. I won’t forget the West German luncheon. Thank you, Mrs Ransome.’
When Luigi was brought in Craig looked at his appearance with satisfaction. The curling white hair, the clothes and the horn-rimmed glasses made him almost unrecognizable.
‘My dear Watkyn,’ he cried, putting his arm round the shrinking Ambassador, ‘how delightful to see you again.’
His Excellency shook his hand warmly and led him to a chair. ‘Miguel, amigo, que tal?’ he was saying as Mrs Ramome went out, ‘After all these years!’
Craig opened his dispatch case and took out a small plastic box, a variometer and a dry battery, followed by a leather tool kit. Then he arrayed them on the Ambassador’s desk and went quickly to the door which led directly on to the corridor, which he locked. He returned to the communicating door and took up his stand with one hand on the knob, watching Luigi.
The big man was still chatting to the Ambassador, who had suddenly seen the humour in the situation and after asking affectionately after several notional children passed smoothly into a discussion of Colombian politics, which left Luigi in trouble. But as he moved across and took the cover off the typewriter he found that Sir Watkyn realized that he knew nothing about Colombia and was phrasing his conversation so that all Luigi had to do was to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ in the obvious places.
He turned back to the instruments which he had adjusted to the expected frequency and began to watch the dials and make minor corrections. He signalled to Craig to help him, and gave him an aerial attached to a long lead, which he took round the room as Luigi indicated. But the fingers on the dials did not move.
‘We can stop our pretence, Your Excellency,’ said Luigi. ‘Unless another frequency is being used—and I haven’t time to check completely—our speech is not being monitored. Now would you please type out this on your typewriter, quite slowly, first in small letters and then in capitals. And then again, if I signal.’ The Ambassador nodded, and took the paper Luigi gave him over to the typing table.
‘Peter, take this antenna and move slowly round the typing table while the machine is being used. And stop when I tell you.’ He had put on a pair of headphone, which he had taken from his pocket.
As the typewriter began to chatter Kahn exclaimed and held up his thumb. ‘Now hold the antenna over the machine. Nearer. Corpo di Bacco! That’s it. Finish the sentence, sir, and then stop, please.’
Craig went back to his post by the door leading into Janet Ransome’s room. Sir Watkyn gave Luigi his chair at the typing table. ‘Do you mean that the transmitter itself is in that machine?’
‘Yes, sir, I do.’ He had lowered the desk lamp and was examining the portable with a magnifying glass. Then he turned it over and shone the light into the complex arrangement of rods and bars. Swearing under his breath he picked up the typewriter and took it over to the desk. ‘Please try again, sir. Just once again, slowly.’ He called Craig and made him hold the antenna first over the typing table and then again over the machine on the desk, while the Ambassador was obediently typing out his sentence, first in lower case and then with the shift key depressed. ‘Enough!’ He took the typewriter again to the typing table and adjusted the light.
‘It’s in the machine somewhere—it must be. I’d thought it might be hidden in one of the legs of the table, but it’s not. Let me think. Oh!’ He seized the magnifying glass and began to go over the roller inch by inch. With a low cry of triumph he stood up.
‘That’s where it is, inside the roller, transmitter and battery, and I’ll bet the frame is the antenna. Look here, sir.’ He handed the Ambassador the glass. ‘Look between where I’ve got my fingers. Now see what happens when I press hard on one side.’
Halfway along the roller Sir Watkyn saw a thin line forming. ‘You mean it screws apart?’
‘Yes. That’s the transmitter, all right. But how do they modulate the frequency according to which key is struck?’ He turned the machine over again and screwed a jeweller’s glass into his eye. Then he bent down and examined the ribbon-shift bar that ran across underneath all the key bars. He took the glass out of his eye and said quietly, ‘I see how it’s done, but it’s still the most remarkable piece of electronics I’ve ever seen.’
The telephone rang. The Ambassador picked up the receiver. ‘Yes, Mrs Ransome. Oh, the car’s waiting?’ Luigi raised his thumb. ‘Thank you, Dr Suarez is just leaving.’
Craig was rapidly stowing instruments away in his briefcase and pockets. Luigi picked up the rest.
‘Have you had this machine cleaned or serviced recently, sir?’
‘Good heavens, no. It’s a new machine. I only bought it—’ He broke off, suddenly realizing the significance of what he had just said. ‘Thank God, Craig. Yes, I only bought it a few months ago, but what’s more important, it’s only been in this office a week.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Until then it was used for—orchids.’ He smiled at the baffled look on Luigi’s face. ‘For notes I was making at home for a book I am writing on the orchis family. But what I want to know is this. So far as you can see, Mr Kahn, the only microphone in this room is in that machine?’
‘Yes, Mr Ambassador, so far as I can tell.’
‘And it doesn’t record speech—only what I type. But whenever I do type, the Russians know very soon afterwards just what I have written?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Craig, wondering what was going on behind that smooth, distinguished face. There seemed to be the light of battle in the dark eyes, and he felt slightly uneasy.
‘Good. Just so that I get it straight. Mr Kahn, I’ll take another opportunity of expressing my deep gratitude for your help.’ He took him by the arm and began to lead him towards the door. Then he stopped suddenly and whispered, with a portentous wink, ‘We mustn’t forget to play our parts. Craig, I’ll see you at half-past three, at the usual place.’ Then, raising his voice, ‘It’s been a great pleasure, Miguel. Don’t forget to give my respects to Lucha and your charming daughter.’ As he opened the door he put his arm affectionately round Luigi’s broad shoulders, ‘Y a todos, muy fuertes abrazos!’
He almost put Luigi off his stroke, but he recovered and spoke the only words of Spanish he knew, ‘Muchas gracias, amigo. Adios!’
Craig spoke to Janet, who was waiting to show the big man out. ‘Don’t bother, I’ll show Dr Suarez to his car.’ He led him out and downstairs to the main entrance. The black Mercedes they had hastily hired for the occasion was at the bottom of the steps, with the chauffeur standing by the open door. There was nobody else near.
Craig said quickly, ‘We owe you a lot, Luigi, but I’ve got to think this out. I’ll ring you later. I’m leaving the seven-thirty meeting to you, as we arranged.’
‘OK, Peter. Ciao!’ The great car drove smoothly down the curving drive. Its place at the steps was taken by the Ambassador’s Rolls, and the driver had barely opened the door when Sir Watkyn appeared on the steps, smiling, with a casual wave of his hand for Craig and looking like a man who hadn’t got a care on his mind.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THURSDAY AFTERNOON
Craig had a lot of thinking to do. He took a bus back to the Piazza Venezia, walked through the Corso and the Via Tritone to his hotel and had a snack lunch. Then he lay down on his bed and tried to work out his plans. It was nearly three o’clock when the telephone rang.
