Deep Lie (31 page)

He glanced back at the campus beyond the marina and saw a white golf cart carrying two men making its way down the hill toward the docks. It stopped at the marina entrance, and the two men came walking toward the yacht, followed by the young man in foul weather gear who had gone to fetch his boss. Lee took his coffee cup and climbed into the cockpit. The two men stopped on the dock and looked carefully over the boat. One was slender, in his fifties, glasses, sandy hair going gray; the other was in his late forties, taller, with thick, dark hair now half-gray, and rather handsome. Lee thought he looked oddly familiar but dismissed the thought. Whom would he know in Latvia?

The taller man finished his look at the boat, then turned and spoke to Lee in what sounded like Russian. Lee looked blankly back at him. The man tried again, this time in Swedish, Lee thought.

Lee spread his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“My only languages are English and French.”

“Which is your native language?” the man asked.

“English. I’m American.”

“Very well, we’ll speak English,” the man said.

“May we come aboard?”

“Yes, please do. May I offer you a cup of coffee below?”

“Thank you, yes,” the man said.

Lee followed them below.

“My name is Will Lee,” he said. They were standing in the space between the galley and the chart table, looking carefully around the yacht.

“My name is Kramer,” the tall man said.

“This is Mr.

Mintz.”

“The kettle is already hot; this will just take a moment.

Please sit down.”

The two men made themselves comfortable at the saloon table, still thoroughly examining the interior of the boat.

“This is a very handsome yacht, Mr. Lee,” Kramer said.

Lee thought Kramer sounded very British.

“Thank you, I wish it were mine.”

“You are not the owner then?” asked Mintz, speaking for the first time.

“No, I’m delivering it for the owner, a friend of mine from London, from where it was built in Finland to Copenhagen.

My friend will pick it up there and sail it to England.”

“I see,” Kramer said.

“And how did you come to be our guest?”

Lee gave them their coffee, got the chart and showed them how he had first gone off course, and then been dismasted, drifting down onto their coast.

“I’m very grateful for the assistance of your people this morning. I might have ended up on the beach.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Kramer said, looking intently at the chart, making some measurements with his fingers and comparing them to the distance scale on the margin.

“Look. Mr. Kramer.” Lee said.

“I’m very much aware than I’m an uninvited visitor to your country, and I’m very sorry about that. It’s my hope that I can be allowed to get my boat going and leave as soon as possible. If I can borrow a diver’s mask. I can get the line freed from the propeller, and I have enough fuel to motor to Sweden. I hope it won’t be necessary to involve a lot of officialdom in this. I’m aware that the boat could be confiscated, and I would have a very difficult time explaining that to the owner I suspect that my insurance coverage lapsed as soon as I entered your waters, and it is a very expensive boat.”

“Yes. I can see that.” Kramer said.

“Well. I will do what I can to help you. Mr, Lee. but you must understand. the question of your leaving may not be entirely up to me I must ask you some questions, and it is most important that you give me entirely truthful answers.”

“Of course.” Will replied earnestly “I’ll be happy to tell you anything I can.”

“First of all. may I see your passport and any other identification you may have. and your ship’s papers?”

Lee got his passport and wallet from the chart table and handed them over. Mintz produced a notebook and began jotting down details.

“I see you are a southerner.” Kramer said. looking at the passport.

“I am familiar with Georgia, from maps. but where is Delano0” “About eighty miles south of Atlanta, in the west central part of the state, in Meriwether County.”

“And how does a person from a small town in the American South come to have a friend in London?”

“My mother is Irish, and since I was a child I’ve traveled often to England. My friend is the son of a friend of my father.”

“What are the names of both these people?” Mintz asked.

“My friend’s name is Spencer Wilks; he is a barrister in London. His father’s name is Sir Martin Wilks; he is a member of Parliament, the Labor Party. My father flew bombers out of Britain during World War II. Their friendship dates from that time.” In answer to Mintz’s request, Lee gave him the addresses of both men.

“What is your work, Mr. Lee?” Kramer asked.

“I’m a lawyer; I’m in partnership with my father in Delano. The firm is called Lee and Lee.” He produced a business card from the wallet.

“What sort of law do you practice?” Kramer asked.

“A bit of everything. It’s like that in small towns.

Wills, divorces, business law, the odd criminal case.” Lee could not shake the feeling that Kramer was familiar, and his English accent seemed to make him even more so.

Kramer continued to question him, and Mintz continued to make notes. In the hour that followed. Lee gave him what amounted to his life story. Then, as they talked. Lee suddenly thought he knew where he had seen the man, but he dismissed the idea as preposterous. But as the session wore on, he changed his mind. Kate had shown him a photograph of this man. This was Majorov. The man was KGB. Lee was grateful for the chance to recite facts; it kept him from being nervous.

“Well, Mr. Lee,” Majorov said, standing.

“I think that is all we need to know for the moment. I will take your passport and other identification with me and make a couple of phone calls to my superiors. In the meantime, I will have a diver clear your propeller. If you have told me the truth, I think we may be able to help you further. Is there anything you would like to add to what you have said?”

“No,” Lee said, “but I will be happy to answer any other questions you may think of. I can only assure you that I am who I say I am, and not some sort of spy. I know there is a lot of distrust between our countries, but I have told you the truth. I only want to be on my way.”

“We’ll see,” Majorov said, climbing into the cockpit and stepping back onto the dock.

“I must ask you to remain aboard your boat. Will you be comfortable here?

Do you need anything?”

“I will be perfectly comfortable, thank you. I’ve been up for a long time, and I could use some sleep.”

Majorov nodded, then walked away down the dock. It was then that Lee saw two things that made him uneasy.

At the head of the dock stood a soldier armed with some sort of machine gun. This was no college campus. The other sight that caught his eye was of a man on the beach beside the marina stepping out of a dinghy. Lee went below, got his binoculars, and trained them through the galley port onto the figure of the man. He was all too familiar.

Lee put the binoculars back into their box and sat down heavily at the chart table. It had been worrying when he had recognized Majorov from the photograph Kate had shown him. But he was absolutely baffled to see the American he had met in Stockholm, Carl Swenson of New York, sailing a dinghy in this place. If Majorov was KGB.

Swenson had to be a spy. Just what sort of place had he fetched up in? He glanced at the drawing of the Royal Palace in Stockholm, which he had tacked up over the chart table. Now, though he had seen it constantly, he noticed something new about it. He took it down and stuck it among the charts in the chart table. Then he stretched out on the saloon settee and tucked a pillow under his head. In the short time he had been in this place, he had seen far too much. He didn’t want to see any more. APPICELLA had seen from his window Majorov d riving toward the marina in his golf cart. This might be his moment, he thought. He left the guest cottage and walked quickly up the hill toward headquarters.

He was a familiar sight around Malibu by now, and no one questioned his movements as long as he stayed away from prohibited areas. In the headquarters building, he walked past the switchboard operator who sat in the reception room onto which opened both Majorov’s office and the conference room Appicella had been using.

“Good morning, ny dear,” he smiled at the switchboard operator.

“Is Majorov in?”

“Not at the moment, Mr. Appicella,” the girl said, returning his smile.

“He’s down at the Marina.”

“Yes? He’s going for a sail on a day like today? Not very inviting, is it?”

“No, apparently a foreign yacht has turned up here, and he’s gone to speak with the captain. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”

“No matter,” Appicella replied.

“I have some testing to do on modern operation. Will you please connect the conference room extension to an outside line?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Appicella,” the girl said, “but I must have express instructions from Majorov before connecting any outside calls.”

“Of course,” he said, his pulse hammering.

“I don’t want to make any calls, I just want to test modern trans221 mission. You can listen in on the line. if you like.” He gave her his most dazzling smile.

“Not a word will be spoken. I promise.”

“Oh. all right.” she replied, “if I can listen in.”

Appicella went into the conference room, leaving the door open, so as not to look suspicious. From his briefcase. he took the diskette containing his file transmission program and loaded it into the computer. He picked up the desk-type telephone next to him. disconnected the instrument. and with a coupling device, connected it directly to the computer. Then he brought up a menu for the file transmission program and typed in 0101. for overseas dialing to America, 212 for New York. and the local number for the New York area access line to The Source. a computer time-sharing information utility, located in Silver Spring, Maryland.

He left the file transmission program and opened a new file on the same diskette. When he had a prompt, he typed.

MY DEAR.

1 AM HERE ON THE SHORES OF THE BALTIC, IN A

MOST LUXURIOUS FACILITY. SURROUNDED BY A

GREAT MANY HANDSOME. ATHLETIC, YOUNG

MEN AND WOMEN. I KEEP SAYING I HAVE TO

GET BACK TO ROME, BUT MY HOST KEEPS INSISTING I

STAY. AND I AM UNABLE TO RESIST HIS

INVITATION. THERE IS SAILING HERE, AND SWIMMING.

AND GOOD SUNSHINE, AND MY HOST IS

HIS USUAL, HOSPITABLE SELF, THOUGH HE IS

VERY BUSY INDEED THESE DAYS. I DO SO WISH

YOU COULD MEET HIM AND SEE THIS WONDERFUL

PLACE! THERE IS SO MUCH MORE I WOULD

LIKE TO TELL YOU, BUT THAT WILL HAVE TO

WAIT UNTIL WE CAN SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN. I

WISH I KNEW WHEN THAT WILL BE. FORGIVE

THE BREVITY OF THIS NOTE, BUT IT IS THE BEST

1 CAN DO AT THE MOMENT.

EMIL10

Appicella closed the file. and invoked the transmission program again.

“Okay,” he called out to the girl through the open door, “give me the line.”

“You’ve got it,” she called back, then left her switchboard to come and stand in the doorway.

“What is it you are testing?”

“Just the modern transmission capabilities of the new computer.” He typed, RUN SOURCE.

“Listen.” he said to the girl, “you can hear it testing itself.” From a speaker inside the computer, there was, first, a dial tone, then the sound of a number being dialed, then a tone, then silence.

This meant the computer had reached The Source and was now giving the host computer an account number and password. On the screen before him appeared the words:

WELCOME TO THE SOURCE.

Appicella quickly held down his control key and typed P. A system prompt appeared. He typed:

NEW FILE

NAME OF NEW FILE? the computer asked.

KATE

The screen went blank. He hit the escape key on the computer, then typed:

SEND KATE

There was a brief clicking noise from the disk drive as the file was transmitted, via an American communications satellite, from the computer at Malibu to the computer in Maryland, then Appicella typed control P again, and was returned to the system prompt. He typed:

OFF

SIGNING OFF, the host computer sent back, TIME CONNECTED, :25 SECONDS, then the screen went blank again.

Into his own computer. Appicella typed:

ERASE KATE

1 FILE ERASED, the computer replied.

It was done, and there was no trace of it. He would have liked to transmit the summary of the invasion plan in the files, but he had no way of knowing what sorts of electronic intercepts the Soviet had. If they were any good at all, they already knew that an overseas phone call had been placed from Malibu, but that probably happened all the time. If they were really good, they would be able to decipher the message. He hoped it would seem innocuous enough not to excite interest.