Matarese circle, p.34
Matarese Circle, page 34
“Control yourselfl” Vasili shouted. “An accident would send us both to the black rooms of Lubyankal” “But Vyborgl” repeated the astonished traitor. “KGBVyborg? Do you know what you’re saying?” “Precisely,” replied Taleniekov. `l7wo, informers from the same source, neither aware of the other. It’s the most accurate way to verify information. But if one does learn about the other… well, he has the best of both worlds, wouldn’t you say? In your case, the advantages would be incalculable.” “Who is he!?” “Later, my friend, later. You cooperate fully with every. thing I ask and you’ll have his name when I leave.” “Agreed,” said Maletkin, his composure returning.
Taleniekov leaned back in the seat as they progressed down the traffic-laden Sadovaya into the crowded streets of the old housing district, the dom vashen. The patina of clean pavements and sandblasted buildings concealed the mounting tensions rampant within the area. Two and three families living in a single flat, four and five people sleeping in a room; it would all explode one day.
Vasili glanced at the traitor beside him; he despised the man. Maletkin thought he was going to be given an advantage undreamed of only minutes before: the name of a high-ranking KGB intelligence officer from his own station, a traitor like himself, who could be manipulated unmercifully.
He would do almost anything to get that name. It would be given to him-in three words, no other identification necessary. And, of course, it would be false. Pietre Maletkin would not be shot by the Americans crossing the ice to Vainikala, but instead in a barracks courtyard in Vyborg. So much for the politics of the insignificant man, thought Vasili, as he recognized the building he was looking for down the street.
“Stop at the next comer, comrade,” he said. “Wait for me. If the person I want to see isn’t there, I’ll be right back. If he’s home, I’ll be an hour or so.” Maletkin pulled to the right behind a cluster of bicycles chained to a post on the curb. “Do remember,” Taleniekov continued, “that you have two alternatives. You can race away to KGB headquarters-it’s on the Ligovsky Prospeckt, incidentally-and turn me in; that will lead to a chain of revelations which will result in your execution. Or you can wait for me, do as I ask you to do, and you will have bought yourself the identity of someone who can bring you present and future rewards. YouT have your hook in a very important man.” “Then I don’t really have a choice, do IT’ said Maletkin. “IT be here.” The traitor grinned; he perspired on his chin and his teeth were yeHow.
Taleniekov approached the stone steps of the building; it was a four-story structure with twenty to thirty flats, many crowded, but not hers. Lodzia Kronescha had her own apartment; that decision had been made by the KGB five years ago.
With the exception of a brief weekend conference fourteen months ago in Moscow, he had not seen her since Riga. During the conference they had spent one night together-the first night-but had decided not to meet subsequently, for professional reasons. The “brilliant Taleniekov” bad been showing signs of strain, his oddly intemperate behavior annoying too many people-and too many people had been talking about it, whispering about it.
Him. It was best they sever all associations outside the conference rooms.
For in spite of total clearance, she was still being watched. He was not the sort of man she should be seen with; he had told her that, insisted upon it.
Five years ago Lodzia Kronescha had been in trouble; some said it was serious enough to remove her from her post in Leningrad. Others disagreed, claiming her lapses of judgment were due to a temporary siege of depression brought on by family problems. Besides, she was extremely effective in her work; whom would they get to replace her during those times of crisis?
Lodzia was a ranking mathematician, a doctoral graduate from Moscow University, and trained in the Lenin Institute. She was among the most knowledgeable computer programmers in the field.
So she was kept on and given the proper warnings regarding her responsibility to the state-which had made laer education possible. She was relegated to Night Operations, Computer Division, KGB-Leningrad, Ligovsky Prospeckt. That was five years ago; she would remain there for at least another two.
Lodzia’s “crimes” might have been dismissed as professional errors-a series of minor mathematical variations -had it not been for a disturbing occurrence thirteen hundred miles away in Vienna. Her brother had been a senior air defense officer and he had committed suicide, the reasons for the act unexplained. Nevertheless, the air defense plans for the entire southwest German border had been altered. And Lodzia Kronescha, had been called in for questioning.
Taleniekov had been present, intrigued by the quiet, academic woman brought in under the KGB lamps. He bad been fascinated by her slow, thoughtful responses that were as convincing as they were lacking in panic. She had readily admitted that she adored her brother and was distressed to the point of a breakdown over his death and the manner of it. No, she had known of nothing irregular about his life; yes, he had been a devoted member of the party; no, she had not kept his correspondence-it had never occurred to her to do so.
Taleniekov had kept silent, knowing what he knew by instinct and a thousand encounters with concealed truth. She had been lying. From the beginning.
But her lies were not rooted in treason, or even for her own survival. It was something else. When the daily KGB surveillance was called off, he had flown frequently to Leningrad from nearby Riga to institute his own.
Vasili’s trailing of Lodzia had revealed what he then knew he would find.
Extremely artful contacts in the parks of the Petrodvorets with an American agent out of Helsinki. The meetings were not sought, they had been forced upon her.
He had followed her to her flat one evening and had confronted her with his evidence. Instinct had told him to hold back official action. There was far less than treason in her activities.
“What I have done is insignificant!” she had cried, tears of exhaustion filling her eyes. “It is nothing compared to what they want! But they have proof of my doing something, they will not do what they threaten to dol” The American had shown her photographs, dozens of them, mostly of her brother, but also of other high-rankIng Soviet officials in the Vienna sectors. They depicted the grossest obscenities, extremes of sexual behaviormale with female, and male with male—all taken while the subjects were drunk, all showing a Vienna of excessive debauchery in which responsible Soviet figures were willingly corrupted by any who cared to corrupt them.
The threat was simple: these photographs would be spread across the world. Her brother-as well as those superior to him in rank and stature-would be held up to universal ridicule. As would the Soviet Union.
“What did you hope to gain by doing what you didT’ he had asked.
“Wear them outl” she had replied. “They will keep me on a string, never knowing what I will do, can do… have done. Every now and then they get word of computer errors. They are minor, but it is enough. They will not carry out their threats.” “Mere is a better way,” he had suggested. “I think you should leave it to me. There’s a man in Washington who spent his fire in Southeast Asia, a general named Blackburn. Anthony Blackburn.” Vasili had returned to Riga and sent out word through his network in London. Washington got the information within hours: whatever exploitation American intelligence cared to make out of Vienna would be matched by equally devastating exposure-and photographs-of one of the most respected men in the American military establishment.
No one from Helsinki ever bothered Lodzia Kronescha again. And she and Taleniekov became lovers.
As Vasili climbed the dark staircase to the second floor, memories came back to him. Theirs had been an affair of mutual need, without any feverish emotional attachment. They had been two insular people, dedicated to their professions almost to the exclusion of everything else; they had both required the release of mind and body. Neither had demanded more than that release from the other, and when he had been transferred to Sevastopol, their goodbyes were the painless parting of good friends who liked each other a great deal but who felt no dependency, grateful in fact for its absence~ He wondered what she would say when she saw him, what she would feel… what he would feel.
He looked at his watch: ten minutes to one. If her schedule had not been altered, she would have been relieved from duty at eight in the morning, arrived home by nine, read the papers for a half-hour and fallen asleep.
Then a thought struck him. Suppose she had a lover? If so, he would not put her in danger; he would leave quickly before any identification was made.
But he hoped it was not the case; he needed Lodzia. The man he had to reach in Leningrad could not be approached directly; she could help him-if she would.
He knocked on her door. Within seconds he heard the footsteps beyond, the sound of leather heels against hard wood. Oddly, she had not been in bed.
The door opened halfway and Lodzia Kronescha stood there fully clothed -strangely clothed-in a bright-colored cotton dress, a summer dress, her light-brown hair falling over her shoulders, her sharp aquiline face set in a rigid expression, her hazel-green eyes staring at him-staring at him-as if his sudden appearance after so long were not so much unexpected as it was an intrusion.
“How nice of you to drop by, old friend,” she said without a trace of an inflection.
She was telling him something. There was someone inside with her. Someone waiting for him.
“It’s good to see you again, old friend,” said Taleniekov, nodding in acknowledgment, studying the crack between the door and the frame. He could see the cloth of a jacket, the brown fabric of a pair of trousers. There was only one man, she was telling him that, too. He pulled out his Graz-Burya, holding up his left hand, three fingers extended, gesturing to his left. On the third nod of his head, she was to drive to her right; her eyes told him she understood. “It’s been many months,” he continued casually. “I was in the district, so I thought I would…” He gave the third nod; she lunged to her right. Vasili crashed his shoulder into the door-into the left panel, so the arc would be clean, the impact total-Ahen battered it again, crushing the figure behind it into the wall.
He plunged inside, pivoting to the right, his shoulder smashing the door again. He ripped a gun out of the
man’s hand peeling the body away from the wall, hammering his knee into the exposed neck, propelling his would-be assailant off his feet into a nearby armchair where he collapsed on the floor.
“You understood,” cried Lodzia, crouching against the wall. “I was so worried that you wouldn’t!” Taleniekov shut the door. “It’s not yet one o’clock,” he said, reaching for her hand. “I thought you’d be asIeep.” “I was hoping you’d realize that.” “Also it’s freezing outside, hardly the season for a summer dress.” “I knew you’d notice that. Most men don’t, but you would.” He held her shoulders, speaking rapidly. “I’ve brought you terrible trouble. I’m sorry. I’ll leave immediately. Tear your clothes, say you tried to stop me. I’ll break into a flat upstairs and-” “Vasili, listen to mel That man’s not one of us. He’s not KGB.” Taleniekov turned toward the man on the floor. He was regaining consciousness slowly, trying to rise and orient himself at the same time.
“Are you sure?” “Very. To begin with he’s an Englishman, his Russian shouts with it. When he mentioned your name I pretended to be shocked, angry that our people would think me capable of harboring a fugitive…. I said I wanted to telephone my superior. He refused to let me. He said ‘We have all we want from you.’ Those were his exact words.” Vasili looked at her. “Would you have called your superior?” “I’m not sure,” replied Lodzia, her hazel-green eyes steady on his. “I suppose it would have depended on what he said. It’s very difficult for me to believe you’re what they say you are.” “I’m not On the other hand, you must protect yourself.” “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.” “Thank you… old friend.” Taleniekov turned back to the man on the floor and started toward him.
He saw it. He was too latel Vasili lunged, diving at the figure by the chair, his hands ripping at the man’s mouth, pulling it apart, his knee hammering the stomach, jamming it up into the rib cage, hying to induce vomit.
The acrid odor of almonds. Potassium cyanide. A massive dose. Oblivion in seconds, death in minutes.
The cold blue English eyes beneath him were wide and clear with satisfaction. The Matarese had escaped.
‘We have to go over it again,” insisted Taleniekov, looking up from the naked corpse. They had stripped the body; Lodzia was sitting in a chair checking the articles of clothing meticulously for the second time.
“Everything he said.” “I’ve left out nothing. He wasn’t that talkative.” “You’re a mathematician; we must fill in the missing numbers. The sums are clear.” ,,sumsr, “Yes, sums,” repeated Vasili, turning the corpse over. “He wanted me, but was willing to kill himself if the trap failed. That warrants two conclusions: first, he could not risk being taken alive because of what he knew. And second, he expected no assistance. If I thought otherwise, you and I would not be here now.” “But why did he think you would come here to begin withr’ “Not would,” corrected Taleniekov. “Might. I’m sure it’s in a file somewhere in Moscow that you and I saw a lot of each other. And the men who want me have access to those files, I know that. But they’ll cover only the people here in Leningrad they think I might contact. They won’t bother with the sector leaders or the Ligovsky staff. If any of them got wind of me they’d send out alarms heard in Siberia; those who want me would step in then. No, theyll only concern themselves with people they can’t trust to turn me in. You’re one of them.” “Are there others? Here in Leningrad?” “Three or four, perhaps. A Jew at the university, a good friend I’d drink and argue with all night; he’ll be watched. Another at the Zhdanov, a political theorist who teaches Marx but is more at home with Adam Smith. One or two others, I suppose. I never really worried about whom I was seen with.” “You didn’t have to,” “I know. My post had its advantages; there were a dozen explanations for any single thing I did, any person I saw.” He paused. “How extensive is their coverageT’.‘I don’t understand.” “There’s one man I do want to reach. They’d have to go back a great many years to find him, but they may have.” Vasili paused again, his finger on the base of the spine of the naked body beneath him. He looked up at the strong yet curiously gentle face of the woman he had known so well.
“What were the words again? ‘We have all we want from you.”’ “Yes. At which point he grabbed the telephone away from my hand.” “He was convinced you were going to call headquarters?” “I was convincing. Had he told me to go ahead, I might have changed tactics, I don’t know. Remember, I knew he was English. I didn’t think he would let me call. But he did not deny being KGB.” “And later, when you put on the dress. He didn’t object?” “On the contrary. It convinced him you were actually coming here, that I was cooperating.” “What were his words, then? Ile precise words. You said he smiled and said something about women being all alike; you didn’t recall what else.” “It was trivial.” “Nothing is. Try to remember. Something about ‘whiling away the hours,’ thafs what you mentioned.” “Yes. The language was ours but the phrase was very English, I remember that. He said he’d ‘while away the hours pleasantly’… more so than the others. That there were… ‘no such sights on the Quay.’ I told you, he insisted I change clothes in front of him.” “The ‘Quay.’ The Hermitage, Malachite Hall. There’s a woman there,” said Taleniekov, frowning. “They were thorough. One more missing number.” “My lover was unfaithfulr’ “Frequently, but not with her. She was an unreconstructed Tzarist put in charge of the architectural tours and perfectly delightful. She’s also closer to seventy than sixty, although neither seems so far away to me now. I took her to tea quite often.” ‘I’hat’s touching.” “I enjoyed her company. She was a fine instructor in things I knew little about Why would anyone have put her on a list in a filer’ “Speaking for Leningrad,” said Lodzia, amused, “if we saw our competition from Piga meeting with such a person, we’d insert it.” “It’s probably as stupid as that. What else did he say?” “Nothing memorable. While I was in my underwear, he made a foolish remark to the effect that mathematicians had the advantage over academics and librarians. We studied figures….” Taleniekov got to his feet. “Tbat’s i14” he said. ‘qhe missing number.
lbey’ve found him.” “What are you talking aboutr’ “Our Englishman either couldn’t resist the bad pun, or he was probing.
The Quay—the Hermitage Museum. The academics—my drinking companions at the Zhdanov. The reference to a librarian-the SaltykovShchedrin Library.
The man I want to reach is there.” “Who is he?” Vasili hesitated. “An old man who years ago befriended a young university student and opened his eyes to things he knew nothing about.” “Who is he? Who is he?” “I was a very confused young mW’ Taleniekov said. “How was it possible for over three-quarters of the world to reject the teachings of the revolution? I could not accept the fact that so many millions were unenlightened. But that’s what the textbooks said, what our professors told us. But why? I had to understand how our enemies thought the way they did.” “And this man was able to tell you?” “He showed me. He let me find out for myself. I was sufficiently fluent in English and French then, reasonably so in Spanish. He opened the doors, literally opened the steel doors, of the forbidden books-thousands of volumes Moscow disapproved of-and let me free with them. I spent weeks, months poring over them, hying to understand. It was there that the… ‘great Taleniekov’… learned the most valuable lesson of all: how to see things as the enemy sees them, how to be able to think like him. That is the keystone of every success rve ever liad. My old friend made it possible.” “And you must reach him now?” “Yes. He’s lived all his life here. Hes seen it all happen and he’s survived. If anyone can help me, he can.” “What are you looking for? I think I have a right to know.” “Of course you do, but it’s a name you must forget. At least, never mention it. I need information about a family named Voroshin.” A family? From Leningrad?- “Yes.
