“It would be instant death if I were caught with a spy camera. They would shoot me on the spot, and you would be short one spy. I think I have a better idea, but it’s more complicated.”
“Tell me then.”
“What I want you to have is all documents we receive from Moscow. These come to us by microfilm.”
“Microfilm. Of course. Go ahead.”
“I intercept the diplomatic pouch the microfilm comes in. The pouch comes to my desk every day. I can bring the microfilm outside of the office over my lunch hour. No one would know because it’s in my possession over lunch anyway.”
“And we could acquire a microfilm reader, take a brush-by, run and copy it, and get it back to you before the end of the lunch hour. I like that. It will work.”
Bolling was elated. He relayed a request to MI5. He needed a portable microfilm copier. Did they have any such thing? They replied he need only stop by Technical Services and check one out.
18
Leaving his flat to run his five kilometers, Nikolai would check the Vauxhall Cresta parked in front of his building. If it faced in, it was a signal to check under the fender. If it faced out, no message. The rest was up to him. On July 10, he saw the Cresta facing in for the first time in weeks. When he returned from his run, he bent down to tie his shoe and felt beneath the fender. A note tied with a rubber band around a stone. He palmed it and ran upstairs to his flat.
He opened the note and read. It was from Wilford Staley, an investigator with MI5. Nikolai had never heard of the man. But the note puzzled him: Staley had been approached by a KGB officer Makov. Makov had been working with MI5 for almost six months. He had complained that he was the victim of blackmail. Nikolai was told to meet Staley for lunch at a particular restaurant in South London on Tuesday next at one o’clock.
Nikolai kept the luncheon date, arriving precisely at one, to find a man wearing an outrageous pink necktie sitting near the rear in a booth. Wordless, Nikolai sat down across from him.
When the man didn’t speak, Nikolai asked, “Well?”
Staley spoke softly while looking beyond Nikolai, over his shoulder. “Makov came to me a month ago. Blackmail. He was selling documents to our people—a KGB clerk overheard the transaction when the KGB bugged the British agents’ car. The person who overheard was a young woman. She wanted two-hundred pounds in return for remaining silent. She played the tape for him, where he was selling secrets to MI5 agents. She said she had another copy of the tape, not to bother ripping it away. She was smug and she had him. He asked for MI5’s help. We said certainly we would intervene.
“But a strange thing happened. The girl disappeared. Poof, gone like smoke.”
“What does this mean for me?” asked Nikolai, confused.
“Anya Donchev was the blackmailer’s name. Mean anything to you?”
“No, should it?”
Staley leaned closer. “She was found next to your wife in the snow. That was the second victim.”
Nikolai grew dizzy. He shut his eyes, a sweat breaking out across his forehead. For several moments he couldn’t think, as unreal as the words sounded. “Tell me that again.”
“Anya Donchev was working with your wife the night Makov sold his first documents to MI5.”
“All right, all right. Let me think.”
“Certainly.”
Staley sat back in the booth and stirred his coffee.
“This Anya and Yulia worked together? They were listeners. They heard the KGB microphones. They heard the sale of the documents. Then what? Are you saying they both blackmailed Makov?”
“That isn’t what I said at all. I said Anya Donchev blackmailed him.”
“Wait. How do you know about Anya and Yulia working together?”
“Please, Mr. Semenov. We have people, too. You don’t really want to know.”
“Let’s be clear about what we’re saying then. Are we saying Makov murdered my wife? And this Anya?’
“You said that. Not me.”
“Why are you telling me these things? Why aren’t you protecting Makov?”
For the first time, Staley smiled. “Because your friends at MI5 are bigger than his friends at MI5.”
“Did MI5 help?”
He spread his hands. “We did not engage.”
“Sorry, I need to think. I know Sergei Makov. Lieutenant Sergei Makov. He’s one of us.”
“Sure.”
“What can I—? What if I—?”
“Kill him? Sorry, we can’t have that. He’s too valuable. Just like you.”
“Then why are you telling me? Surely you don’t think I’m going to be able to live with it? Have you lost your minds?”
“No. You can kill him, certainly. Just not now. We need his sources too much. Sergei Makov is off-limits to you, Nikolai.”
“How long?”
“Until we tell you. I will tell you when we’re done. Then you can do whatever you feel you need to do. Until then, no.”
“Why are you telling me now?”
“Because you and Major Moltoi are looking for a man from the last UD party.”
“What? You cannot know that!”
“What, you thought only the KGB attended your little party? Come now, Nikolai, give us an inch of credit.”
“Stunned.”
“We don’t want you poking around that party. You might uncover a partygoer we don’t want put under a microscope by you or the KGB. Leave it alone. Now you know the truth. Leave the UD party-list alone.”
“What else aren’t you telling me? There’s more. I see it in your eyes.”
Staley looked down at the table. Then he lifted his gaze and looked directly at Nikolai. “This next, you didn’t hear from me.”
“I swear it.”
“Makov was acting at the orders of KGB.”
“KGB ordered Makov to murder my wife? And Anya?”
“Keep it down. Makov went to the KGB rezident and told him he was selling disinformation to the British. He said two listeners were blackmailing him over that. The KGB would not have one of its officers blackmailed, so they green-lighted him. Makov did the rest. All right. I’m finished here.”
Staley slid sideways out of the booth and stood.
“You can buy my coffee,” he said and walked right up the front and out the door.
Nikolai sat stunned. The KGB had ordered Yulia’s murder. He closed his eyes but only saw red as he tried to think who, above Makov, would issue such an order. The rezident, Staley had said. Anatoly Anchev. The waitress stopped by. He ordered coffee and lemon meringue pie. Thirty minutes later, he paid for his pie and both coffees. He understood clearly. But was Yulia really in on some blackmail, or had her name just been used by Anya? Whichever, he planned to strike back. Makov and Anchev. This could not be allowed to stand.
He changed buses three times to get back to the office. KGB missed spotting him as he dry-cleaned.
Sergei Makov. He had killed Yulia. Anatoly Anchev had given the green light to kill a KGB officer’s wife.
It would come full circle. Until then, the spying would double, triple, everything would go to the British.
Everything.