Inside Enemy (13 page)

Charles was not so much doubtful as reluctant. The pile of files from which Matthew had produced the leaked report may contain more unanswerable stuff, but he almost didn’t want Peter to
be guilty. That day, for the first time, he had sensed beneath the apparent insouciance of Peter’s act an almost lifelong struggle to keep up the much bigger act of pretending to be normal,
to be like those he lived and worked among, to be one of them. As he became more brittle at the end of the afternoon Charles had sensed something alive and squirming beneath the ice of his act. He
felt for him. But those red-striped files brooked no sentiment.

Friday began with coffee, Peter balancing two biscuits in his saucer and placing his cigarettes and silver lighter on the desk before him.

‘What I’d like to do this morning, Peter,’ said Matthew, ‘is to carry on from where we were yesterday. By which I mean that we should continue to discuss this case
hypothetically, leaving aside your personal position in the matter.’

Peter’s cup was halfway to his lips. ‘Forget my personal position, did you say?’

‘That’s right. Whatever it may be. And give us the benefit of your opinion and advice unrelated to yourself.’

‘In what respect?’

‘Whether, if someone had done what we think, it would be reasonable to suggest to him that there might be circumstances which would excuse him from prosecution.’

‘Leave him with a gun, a bottle of whisky and an empty room, you mean?’

‘Nothing quite so melodramatic. We were thinking more in terms of his having been coerced into spying. Blackmailed through compromise. Whether you think it would be reasonable under such
circumstances for someone to be excused prosecution in return for a full confession.’

‘I – I don’t know whether that would be reasonable.’ He sipped his coffee, lowering his eyes. ‘It’s been done before, hasn’t it, long ago, with Anthony
Blunt? But I’d find it difficult to believe that now, under modern circumstances, it would be permitted. After all, if someone had done’ – he glanced at the stone fireplace
– ‘what you say has been done, he presumably might have caused the imprisonment or deaths of agents within Russia. And I’m not sure that the authorities would be prepared to
overlook such – such actions.’

Matthew nodded. ‘How do you think someone might feel, knowing his actions had such consequences?’

‘I think it would be on his conscience.’ There was a harsher note to Peter’s tone. ‘I think it would get to him.’

‘And there are various ways, I suppose, in which he might justify it to himself?’

The rest of the morning was taken up by another extended discussion of hypothetical justifications for treachery, with Peter again arguing against leniency. They broke early for lunch,
considering over sandwiches upstairs whether they could continue into the weekend. Matthew thought not, for the same reasons that they could not risk a more hostile interrogation. Peter’s
attendance was voluntary, this was not part of a legal process and anything he said, short of a full confession to which he adhered subsequently, would be inadmissible in court. Continuing into the
weekend would also make it more difficult to claim to MI5 that this was merely an exploratory interview with unexpected results.

‘So we’ve only got this afternoon,’ Matthew concluded. ‘I’ll bring you in, Charles, as Mr Nice Guy. Of course, we’re all Mr Nice Guy in this but you must be
Mr Super Nice Guy. Make it appear that you’re looking for excuses for him. He refused the possible lifelines we threw him this morning but if you persist it might provoke him, put him on his
moral high horse, as it were.’

Frank was called away to the ops room, returning ten minutes later. ‘Surveillance report that he’s eaten no lunch and went into St James’s Piccadilly and prayed. Or seemed to
pray. I’m not sure they really know what praying looks like, they’ve never had one do that before, but they had a couple in with him and said he went to the quiet bit and knelt at a pew
with his head bowed and hands clasped for twenty-three minutes. They had to do the same, complained that their knees hurt afterwards. Then he went for a walk in the park. He’s on his way back
now.’

Matthew turned to Charles. ‘Not normally religious, is he?’

‘Not now but he was. He nearly became a Methodist minister before he went to university. Then he was a Christian Socialist, then a banker.’

‘Nothing about a religious vocation on his file.’

‘Probably because he didn’t do it. Files tend to record what we did, not what we didn’t. He told me when we were travelling in the States.’

When they reconvened after lunch Matthew opened the top red-striped file again, unhurriedly selecting three or four papers from the bottom half and placing them on the desk before him. They were
covered in dense type. Frank made a note. The clock on the stone mantelpiece struck the quarter.

‘Before we continue,’ Matthew said, looking at the papers rather than Peter, ‘I want to introduce a personal note, in parenthesis, as it were. Your homosexuality.’ He
pronounced the word carefully, syllable by syllable, looked up and placed his elbows on the table, his hands palm to palm. ‘We haven’t mentioned it before and I’m not going to
dwell on it, unless you choose to deny it – which I hope you won’t?’

Peter stared.

‘Good. I mention it now only so that we’re all clear that it’s in the open. You are of course aware that lying about it in your positive vetting interviews, declaring that you
weren’t, means that your PV certificate can be withdrawn which in turn would mean that you could no longer be employed by the Service?’

‘I was always aware of the possible consequences of my actions.’ Peter’s tone was as deliberate as Matthew’s.

‘Charles has a question arising from this.’

Charles couldn’t read Peter’s eyes – was he imagining the slight widening, was it a hint of playfulness, or appeal, or was it preparedness, acceptance of whatever was to come?
‘Peter, I want to return to the hypothetical, to consider whether there are circumstances in which someone might feel he has no choice but to spy for the Russian intelligence service. If, for
example, he were put under pressure through imprisonment or torture or the vulnerability of family members or—’

‘Blackmail as a result of compromise?’

‘Yes.’

‘Of course there are such circumstances. We all know that.’ Peter reached for his cigarettes.

‘And if he genuinely felt that he had no choice—’

‘But he would have a choice. Whatever he felt about it, he would have a choice and would be making one.’

‘Can you imagine a situation where any member of this service could be in a position where he had no option but to cooperate?’

‘No.’

‘You can’t? You really can’t?’

‘No.’ Peter lit his cigarette and sat back, exhaling vigorously before continuing in the harsher tone he had used before. ‘I shall tell you – the truth. I do not however
want to benefit from any suggestions that I had no choice about what I did and that it should go unpunished. It is true that I have cooperated with the RIS. But you should know that it was not the
RIS who approached me, but I who approached them.’

Matthew picked up his pen. ‘Thank you, Peter,’ he said quietly. ‘When was this?’

Peter spoke for the rest of the afternoon, a trickle that became a torrent of relief and justification. He insisted that he had not been blackmailed into spying for the Russians, that the
process of what he called his self-recruitment had been brewing for years, that it had been a principled and considered decision arising from the loss of his Christian faith – ‘I could
no longer accept that it was founded on reality’ – and his growing appreciation of the Russian soul. They had always been a profound and religious people and although their great
experiment with communism had gone wrong they had at least struggled to achieve a more just and equal society, one that espoused the values of the Christian Gospels minus the superstition. Their
nationalism and their aggressive self-interest were understandable in view of Napoleon’s and Hitler’s invasions and American and Western hostility. The corruption of their current
polity was the contagious effect of American materialist culture. The Americans were the world’s villains.

‘Disliking Americans is fine if that’s how you feel,’ said Matthew. ‘But why spy for the Russians against your own country?’

‘More tea?’ asked Frank.

Peter nodded to Frank. ‘I was a foot soldier in this war. I knew the Cold War was technically over but there’s still a war, a permanent struggle for values, justice and equality. I
came to the conclusion that right was on the other side. The logical thing if I wanted to do good, therefore, was to change sides, not to run away from the war.’

‘Whom did you approach?’ asked Charles.

‘Grigory Orlov, second secretary in the Russian mission to the UN. We had him down as a straight diplomat, MFA rather than RIS. As did the Americans. I had legitimate cover reasons for
dealing with him and I figured he’d be under less scrutiny than any of the identified or suspect intelligence officers.’

‘How did you convince him you were genuine?’

Peter paused while Frank handed him his tea. ‘I gave them some names, names of one or two cases I knew about. So that they could check them out and see I was genuine.’ He spoke into
his tea.

Matthew held up his pen. ‘Peter.’ Peter looked up. ‘Which names?’

‘I’m not sure I can remember now. Firefly, Bookend, one or two cases like that, fairly old ones.’

Matthew noted them. ‘Restless?’

‘Yes, I think so, Restless was one of them. I think you’re right. I’m not sure he’s still going, is he?’

‘He’s dead. They shot him. Wife and family imprisoned.’

Peter stared. ‘They told me they wouldn’t do that.’

‘Of course. They always say that. Then they do it. And the other names?’

Peter shook his head. ‘Come on, you can’t expect me to remember them all. It was a while ago now and I didn’t exactly do any homework for this.’

‘Tell us what you can remember.’

He named agent cases and technical operations, agreeing some that were suggested to him, denying others. They all three noted them, though they’d be on tape anyway. Most meant nothing to
Charles. Asked which documents he’d photographed and handed over, Peter shrugged. ‘Anything, anything I could, whatever I thought might be of interest.’

‘The whole caboodle, then,’ said Matthew.

‘Yes, the whole caboodle,’ he asked defiantly of Matthew. ‘Am I permitted to go to the loo?’

‘You know where it is. You might ask in the secretaries’ room if there’s any chance of another pot of tea.’

‘Was that wise?’ asked Frank when the door closed. ‘Might he not scarper?’

‘He might, he could at any time and there’s nothing we can do about it. He could simply deny everything he’s said and we wouldn’t be allowed to produce it as evidence,
tape or no tape. What we have to do is keep him sweet and get him to make a formal statement to the police. We’ve got to set that up with Five. There’s more to come, he’s keeping
something back, something personal. We want him to walk and talk, walk and talk. Walking is conducive to confidences. You can help, Charles.’

‘Take him for a walk?’

‘As far as necessary. And talk, talk in pubs, by firesides, on footpaths, everywhere. Your mother still lives near Henley? Take him down for the weekend, as your friend, if your
mother’s up to it. Be very nice, don’t argue with him, just seek to understand. Get him to open up about his personal life on rambles through those beechwoods. I don’t believe
that this ideological self-recruitment, this love of Mother Russia, this I-did-it-all-myself is the whole story. That is, I do believe he believes it – now – but there’s something
else. There always is. We need to know everything. Meanwhile, we’ll set up Five and the police at this end and I’ll ring and tell you when to bring him in.’

‘But what if he decides to make a bolt for it, as Frank says? The RIS will have agreed an exfiltration plan with him, won’t they? We’ll look pretty silly if he just disappears.
It’ll be us getting Gordievsky out of Moscow in reverse. Can’t he just be held?’

‘We’ve no usable evidence. We need his written confession and he won’t confess if he feels coerced. We have to hold his hand. That means you, Charles. You were his friend. You
must become so again. Hold his hand all weekend.’

L
ooking back on that weekend was like recalling an old film in parts. They ate and drank and walked and talked, as Matthew had ordered.
Charles’s mother was pleased and flustered to hear her son was coming down for the weekend with a friend she’d never heard of. She got food from the freezer despite Charles’s
insistence that they would eat before they arrived – ‘In case you couldn’t find anywhere open, dear.’

In fact, they had a curry after picking up Peter’s travelling bag from his flat, allowing the Friday evening rush out of London to ease. It was during that meal that Peter first indicated
the nature of his relationship with Grigory Orlov, the Russian second secretary in New York.

It began with Charles asking how he came to make his offer of service, the initial approach when the volunteer offers up his future, possibly his life, with no guarantee of security. ‘We
always see it the other way round,’ said Charles. ‘We’re the hunters looking for offers. Or provoking them. We’d be pretty good on the mechanics of how to offer ourselves
but psychologically we wouldn’t—’

‘Psychologically, it’s like declaring yourself to someone you’re trying to recruit, confessing what you really are when you’re asking him to spy for you. It’s the
moment of truth. Only it matters more. The other difference is trust. You only do it when you feel you can trust him.’

Peter spoke and ate rapidly, having had only prayer for lunch. Charles put that episode aside for later. ‘How did you know you could trust Orlov?’

‘Firstly, he’s a loyal Russian patriot. They are very patriotic, you know, it’s one of the most striking things about all the Russian officials I’ve met. Most evident in
the Second World War, of course. Admirable.’