“As in my report, sir.”
“Outstanding features?”
“The eyes, they were almost golden.”
Vassily opened another folder and spilled a dozen blurred photographs onto the desk. They were all of young women aged between twenty and thirty.
“Have you seen these before?”
“Yes sir, they come from our files on possible enemy agents or traitors.”
“Have any been identified?”
“No sir.”
“Why not?”
“To my knowledge, none has been seen more than once.”
“Suggesting?”
“Either these women are not involved or the enemy have access to a veritable stable of attractive young women.”
“Have you considered that they may all be of the same woman, only disguised?”
“It occurred to us, yes sir, but was discounted as some are alleged to be nearly one metre eighty, while a couple are only one metre sixty. That is some disguise.”
Vassily smiled and lit another cigarette. The German was intelligent and had a sense of humour, a rare quality, in his experience.
“What is common to all these women?”
“Very little,” the German replied, sorting through the photographs on the desk. “These three were identified at the University, all had local accents and were only identified as they spoke to three professors who disappeared shortly afterwards. These two are believed to be Russian, as a border guard overheard the first one talking and he speaks Russian, while the other one was spoken to by a KGB officer near a chemical plant. Both were in the vicinity of two cases where men literally vanished overnight. One has since been identified in Britain by one of our agents.”
“One of these girls?”
“No sir, one of the defectors.”
“And the others?”
“Very little is known, their photographs were taken as a matter of routine by surveillance officers. It was only after the main target defected in each case were all the photographs collated and examined in more detail. These girls are the only persons we have yet to account for and identify.”
“Could one of them be the girl in your report, the one dressed as a police officer?”
“No sir, none of these are her, except…”
“Yes?”
The German selected one of the photographs, and then covered the lower half of the subject’s face with a piece of card.
“The eyes. This one has the same eyes as I remember.”
“Just the eyes?”
“Yes, the lower half of the face was not as round as this girl, and her hair was shorter and very blonde.”
“Hair can change colour and shape quite quickly, Major.”
“The chin is not as round. The girl I met was narrower in the face with higher cheekbones. I think she was a few years older than this one, but it could have been the uniform or even clever makeup.”
The Russian took all the photographs, placed them in a line and covered all the lower portions of their faces, leaving only the eyes exposed.
“Tell me what you see?”
The German looked at each in turn.
“They are very similar, sir.”
“Not the same?”
“No, not the same.”
“That’s what I thought. Forget the hair colour and shape of faces, just look at the eyes. Do you think they could be related?”
Hans looked at each once again, but then he shook his head.
“The pictures aren’t clear enough, but I think not, sir.”
“Tell me, have you seen other pictures taken by these officers?”
“Yes, I guess I have.”
“So have I, look!”
The KGB officer then dropped a good handful of photographs onto the desk. Each was of a different subject, some male, some female and of all different ethnic groups of differing ages.
“What do they all have in common?”
“They are all in focus and crystal clear, sir.”
“Exactly! So, it begs the questions, how were these girls able to fuzzy each photograph that was taken by an experienced and competent surveillance photographer, and why is it important we don’t get a clear look at each of these girls?”
Hans was stumped, as he had no idea.
“No, I don’t know either, Major, but I really want to find out.”
“So do I, sir.”
Vassily collected up all the pictures and replaced them into their respective folders. It was at this point that Ivan turned and looked at the German. Hans glanced at the young Russian, and found nothing of interest in the man.
“I have one more question for you, Major. Would you know her if you saw her again?”
Hans didn’t hesitate, as he had a picture of the attractive girl etched onto his psyche.
“Yes sir, absolutely.”
Vassily nodded, pursing his lips in thought. Ivan walked over to the desk and said something in Russian to the Colonel.
“Are you sure?”
“Da.”
“Interesting. How much?”
Ivan shrugged. “Not much, just enough to give him an edge. It is why she was unable to erase him memory of her.”
“Not as strong as you, then Ivan?” The Colonel asked, teasing his aide.
“I think not, sir!” said Ivan with his usual absence of a sense of humour.
The Colonel turned to the German, who had watched and listen to the exchange without understanding one word.
“How do you fancy a holiday then, Major?”
“Where sir?” the puzzled German asked, frowning.
“London. I hear it is very charming at this time of year.”
“London?”
“Yes, comrade Major, I’d like you to accompany us to London. We’ve experienced a serious breach of security and it seems a girl with golden eyes may have caused it. It may be that you are the only link we have to try to identify her, and then for whom she works.”
“London?” Hans repeated, “I thought she’s German or Russian?”
“Or American, or French or whatever she wants to be.”
“Are you suggesting she’s all these people?”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Major; I’m simply open to an infinite number of possibilities. We’ve no leads at all, except we suddenly lose an excellent source in the British MOD, and then his controller, one of our own people, simply vanishes. The only link we have is a witness who stated that he saw a girl with blonde hair and strange golden eyes.”
“Golden eyes?”
“Yes, Major, so we go to seek those eyes.”
The KLM flight landed at Heathrow at eight fifteen the following morning. Vassily had deliberately chosen to fly with neither a German nor a Russian airline, selecting to fly from West Berlin to Amsterdam, and from there to London. Hans had never set foot outside the Eastern block in many years, so even the journey through West Berlin to the Airport was an eye-opener for him. Ivan had been abroad once, some months previously with Vassily, but still he found the west an amazing experience. As he had endured such hardships as a youngster, he was unable to fully appreciate how the Westerners had so much while the Russians had so little.
They were not travelling together, so, in order to attempt to keep their real motives from the British, their passports identified Vassily and Ivan as Finnish businessmen and Hans as a West German engineer. The immigration officer examined their passports and stamped the relevant pages, permitting them entry to the UK with the minimum of questions.
“That was easier than I expected,” Hans remarked as they shared a taxi from Heathrow. His experience with persons entering and leaving his own country was very different.
“Don’t underestimate the British. The chances are that our photographs are already in Special Branch hands and they are trying to work out who we are and why we’re here.”
Hans was surprised, as the whole procedure seemed so laid back and casual. He resisted the urge to turn around to see if anyone was following their taxi, as he was astute enough to know that if the British were following, the chances of them showing out would be slim.