Triple (31 page)

Ken Men

He turned his mind to evading the opposition. Had he covered his tracks

well enough? Only Borg could know of his plans. Even if his hotel room were

bugged-even N the phone booth nearest the hotel were bugged-still nobody

else could know of his interest in the Copareffl. He had been extra

careful.

He sipped his coffee, then another customer, on his way out of the caM,

jogged Dickstein's elbow and made him spill coffee all down the front of

his clean shirt.

"Copareffl," said David Rostov excitedly. "Where have I heard of a ship

called the Coparelh?"

Yasif Haman said, "It's familiar to me, too."

"Let me see that computer printout"

7bey were in the back of a listening van parked near the Yacobean Hotel.

The van, which belonged to the KGB, was dark blue, without markings, and

very dirty. Powerful radio equipment occupied most of the space inside, but

there was a small compartment behind the front seats where Rostov and

Hassan could squeeze in. Pyotr Tyrin was at the wheel. Large speakers above

their heads were giving out an undertone of distant conversation and the

occasional clink of crockery. A moment ago there had been an

incomprehensible exchange, with someone apologizing for something and

Dickstein saying it was all right, it had been an accident. Nothing

distinct had been said since then.

Rostov's pleasure at being able to listen to Dickstein's conversation was

marred only by the fact that Hassan was listening too. Hassan had become

self-confident since his triumph in discovering that Dickstein was in

England: now he thought he was a professional spy like everyone else. He

had insisted on being In on every detail of the London operation,

threatening to complain to Cairo if he were excluded. Rostov had considered

calling his bluff, but that would have meant another head-on collision with

Feliks Vorontsov, and Rostov did not want to go over Feliks's head to

Andropov again so soon after,the last time. So he had settled on an

alternative: he would allow Hassan to come along, and caution him against

reporting anything to Cairo.

Hassan, who had been reading the printout, passed it across to Rostov.

While the Russian was looking through the

174

TMPLE

sheet.% the sound from the speakers changed to street noises for a minute

or two, followed by more dialogue.

Where to, guv?

Dickstein7s voice: Lime Street.

Rostov looked up and spoke to Tyrin. 'ThaVII be Uoyd!s, the address he

was given over the phone. I.,efs go them"

Tyrin started the van and moved off, heading east toward the City

districL Rostov returned to the printout

Hassan said pessimistically, "Lloyd's will probably give him awritten

reporLso

Tyrin said, "Me bug is working very well ... so far." He was driving with

one hand and biting the fingernails of the other.

Rostov found what he was looking for. "Here it ist" he mid. 'The

Coparelli. Good, good, goodl" He thumped his knee In enthusiasm.

Hassan said, "Show me."

Rostov hesitated momentarily, realized there was no way he could get out

of it, and smiled at Hassan as he pointed to the last page. "Under

Nom-NucLEAR. Two hundred tons of yellowcake to go from Antwerp to Genoa

aboard the motor vessel Coparelll."

'That's It, then," said Hassan. 'That's Dickstein7s target"

"But if you report this to Cairo, Dickstein will probably switch to a

different target. Hassan-"

HassWs color deepened with anger. "You!ve said all that once," he said

coldly.

"Okay," Rostov said. He thought: Damn it, you have to be a diplomat too.

He said, "Now we know what he's going to steal, and who he's going to

steal it from. I can that some progress."

"We don't know when, where.'or how," Hassan said.

Rostov nodded. "All this business about sister ships must have something

to do with it." He pulled his nose. "But I don!t we how."

Two and sixpence, please, guv.

Keep the change.

"Find somewhere to park, Tyft" said Rostov.

"Mars not so easy around here," Tyrin complained.

"If you can't find a space, just stop. Nobody cares if you get a parking

ticket,- Rostov said impatiently.

175

Ken Folleff

Good morning. My name's Ed Rodgers.

A h, yes. Just a moment, please ...

Your report has just been typed, Mr. Rodgers. And here's the bill.

You're very efficient.

Hassan said, "It is a written report."

Thank you very much.

Goodbye, Mr. Rodgers.

"He's not very chatty, is her, said Tyrin.

Rostov said, "Good agents never are. You might bear that in I'llind.99

4'Yes, sir."

Hassan said, "Damn. Now we won't know the answers to his questions."

"Makes no difference," Rostov told him. "Ifs just occurred to me." He

smiled. "We know the questions. All we have to do is ask the same

questions ourselves and we get the answers he got. Listen, he's on the

street again. Go around the block, Tyrin, let's try to spot him."

The van moved off, but before it had completed a circuit of the block the

street noises faded agam

Can I help you, sir?

"He's gone into a shop," Hassan said.

Rostov looked at Hassan. When he forgot about his pride, the Arab was as

thrilled as a schoolboy ab ut all thi"e van, the bugs, the tailing. Maybe

he would Teep his mouth shut, if only so that he could continue to play

spies with the Russians.

I need a new shirt.

"Oh, nol" said Tyrin.

I can see that, sir. What is it?

Coffee.

It should have been sponged right away, sir. It will be very difficult

to get the stain out now. Did you want a similar shirt?

Yes PWn white nylon, button cuffs, collar size fourteen and a halt.

Here we are. This one is thirty-two and sixpence.

Thafs fine.

Tyrin said, "III bet he charges it to expenses."

Thank you. Would you like to put it on now, perhaps?

Yes, please.

The fitting room is fust through here.

176

TRIPLE

Footsteps, then a brief silence.

Would you like a bag tor the old one, sir?

Perhaps you'd throw It away for nze.

That button cost two thousand rublesl" Tyrin said.

Certainly, x1r.

'Mat's it," Hassan said. "We won't get any more nm"

'Two thousand rublest" Tyrin said again.

Rostov said, "I think we got our money's worth."

"Where are we heading?" Tyrin asked.

"Back to the Embassy," Rostov told him- "I want to stretch my legs. I

caWt feel the left one at all. Damn, but weve done a good morning's

work."

As Tyrin drove west, Hassan said thoughtfully, 'Ve need to find out where

the Coparelli is right now."

IpMe squirrels can do that," Rostov said.

s6squirreiarg

"Desk workers in Moscow Center. They sit on their behinds all day, never

doing anything more risky than crossing Granovsky Street in the rush

hour, and get paid more than agents in the field." Rostov decided to use

the opportunity to further Hassan's education. "Remember, an agent should

never spend time . acquiring information that is public knowledge.

Anything in books, reports and files can be found by the squirrels. Since

a squirrel is cheaper to run than an agent-not because of salaries but

because of support work-the Committee always prefers a squirrel to do a

given job of work if he can. Always use the squirrels. Nobody win think

yoWre being lazy."

Hassan smiled nonchalantly, an echo of his old, languid self. "Dickstein

doeset work that way."

"Me Israelis have a completely different approach. Beside% I suspect

Dickstein isn!t a team man."

"How long will the squirrels take to get us the Coparelws locationr'

"Maybe a day. ru put in the inquiry as soon as we get to the Embassy."

Tyrm spoke over his shoulder. "Can you put through a fast requisition at

the same time?"

"What do you need?"

"Six more shirt buttons."

64six?*0

"If theyre like the last lot, five wOn!t work."

177

Ken Folleff

Hassan laughed. "Is this Communist efficiency?"

"There's nothing wrong with Communist efficiency," Ros. tov told him.

"It's Russian efficiency we suffer from."

The van entered Embassy Row and was waved on by the duty policeman.

Hassan asked, "What do we do when we've located the Cpparelli?"

"Obviously," said Rostov, "we put a man aboard."

176

Nine

The don had bad a bad day.

It had started at breakfast with the news that some of his People had

been busted in the night. The police had stopped and searched a truck

containing two thousand five hundred pairs of fur-Uned bedroom slippers

and five kilos of adulterated heroin. The load, on its way from Canada

to New York City, had been hit at Albany. The smack was confiscated and

the driver and co-driver jailed.

7he stuff did not belong to the don. However, the team that did the run

paid dues to him, and In return expected Protection. 7bey would want him

to get the men out of jail and get the heroin back. It was close to

impossible. He might have been able to do it if the bust had Involved

only the state police; but if only the state police had been involved,

the bust would not have happened.

And that was just the start. His eldest son had wired from Harvard for

more money, having gambled away the whole of his next semester's

allowance weeks before classes started. He bad spent the morning finding

out why his chain of restaurants was losing money, and the afternoon

explaining to his mistress why he could not take her to Europe this year.

Finally his doctor told him he had gonorrhea, i n*

He looked In the dressing-room mirror, adjusting his bow tie, and said

to himself, "What a shitty day."

It had turned out that the New York City police had been behind the bust:

they had passed the tip to the state police in order to avoid trouble

with the city Mafia. The city police could have Ignored the tip, of

course: the fact that they did not was a sign that the tip had originated

with someone important, perhaps the Drug Enforcement Agency of the

Treasury Department. The don had assigned lawyers to the 179

Ken Folleff

jailed drivers, sent people to visit their families and opened

negotiations to buy back the heroin from the police.

He put on his Jacket. He liked to change for dinner; he alWays had. He

did not know what to do about his son Johnny. Why wasn't he home for the

summer? College boys were supposed to come home for the summer. The don

had thought of sending somebody to see Johnny; but then the boy would

think his father was only worried about the money. It looked like he

would have to go himself.

Ile phone rang, and the don picked it up. "Yes."

"Gate here, sir. I got an Englishman asking for you, won't give his

name."

"So send him away," said the don, still thinking about Johnny.

"He said to tell you hes a friend from Oxford University."

"I don't know anybody ... wait a minute. What's he look Me?"

"Little guy with glasses, looks like a bum."

"'No kiddingl" The don's face broke into a smile. "Bring him in-and put

out the red carpetl-

It had been a year for seeing old friends and observing how they had

changed; but Al Cortones appearance was the most startling yet The

increase in weight which had just begun when he returned from Frankfurt

seemed to have continued steadily through the years, and now he weighed

at least two hundred and fifty pounds. There was a look of sensuality

about his puffy face that bad been only hinted at in 1947 and totally

absent during the war. And he was completely balcL Dickstein thought this

was unusual among Italians.

Dickstein could remember, as clearly as if it were yesterday, the

"occasion when he had put Cortone under an obligation. In those days he

had been learning about the psychology of a cornered animal. When there

is no longer any possibility of running away, you realize how fiercely

you can fight. Landed in a strange country, separated from his unit,

advancing across unknown terrain with his rifle in his hand, Dickstein

had drawn on reserves of patience, cunning and ruthlessness he did not

know he had. He had lain for half an hour in that thicket, watching the

abandoned tank which he knew-without understanding how-was the bait in

a trap. He had spotted the one sniper and was looking for another

ISO