‘You must respond, though,’ said Berenkov.
‘I have,’ said Kalenin. ‘I didn’t want to do it, but I finally decided to awaken a sleeper.’
‘It was justified,’ said Berenkov at once. ‘You had to find out. What does the man say?’
Kalenin looked at his watch. ‘His initial report is due in the Washington diplomatic bag by tomorrow morning. I gather he’s got some photographs of people involved with protecting the collection, but not very much more.’
‘Not an easy assignment,’ sympathised Berenkov. He knew that his friend would have left instructions to be contacted and would return to the Kremlin as soon as the information arrived.
‘No,’ agreed the general. ‘What would you have done?’
Berenkov did not reply immediately. Then he said, ‘Probably disclosed myself in the hope of whoever it was responding and identifying himself. But to whom could our man disclose himself?’
‘That’s the trouble,’ agreed Kalenin. ‘There isn’t anybody.’
‘What about the robbery?’
‘I’ve put some other people in to watch that,’ said Kalenin dismissively. ‘There appears no reason at the moment to think anything is likely to happen.’
‘Could be a difficult one,’ said Berenkov.
‘Yes,’ said Kalenin. ‘That’s what worries me.’
17
Had the training of the Russian called Williamson commenced when he was an adult – or even in his early teens – he might have quickly despaired at the difficulty of what he had been asked to do. But by beginning his instruction from such an early age, the Russians had been able to mould his mental resilience as well as his intellect, so that while he might recognise the difficulty of an assignment, the thought of regarding it as impossible would never have occurred to him.
The lead would have to come from the exhibition, Williamson decided, and from the people connected with it in positions of authority.
To acquaint himself thoroughly with the layout and design of any area of operation had been one of his earliest lessons, so he had located the staff laundry even before obtaining photographs of everyone involved in the security.
He was helped not only by the size of the Breakers, but also by the number of staff employed to guarantee the guests’ comfort. Little more than an hour’s observation convinced him that such was the volume of people using the laundry that one uniform would not be missed. He only needed a waiter’s jacket anyway, and by mid-morning of the day after his arrival had succeeded in stealing one and carrying it unobserved to his room.
He ordered a cold lunch from room service, intently studying the waiter who served it to ensure that he would make no mistake with his disguise. He waited five minutes after the waiter’s departure and even then discreetly checked the corridor before emerging, cloth over his arm and jacket an almost perfect fit, the tray balanced without difficulty on his crooked arm. Because Charlie’s suite was the nearer to his room, he went there first. He rang the bell twice and then shouted ‘Room service’ through the closed door before apparently fumbling with a pass-key – which was, in fact, a steel pick-lock.
Once inside the room, he worked with the speed of the true professional. At first he kept the tray in his hand to provide an excuse and an apology for a misunderstood order, in case the occupant of the suite was still inside, but having checked throughout, he put it down. Beneath the door leading into the corridor he jammed two rubber wedges, to guard against any surprise discovery, then from their containers took the minute devices which had accompanied his written instructions from Moscow.
They were the latest bugging equipment developed by the K.G.B., transistorised pinheads that could be secured inside a telephone receiver, turning it into an open microphone for any discussion which might take place in the room as well as relaying any conversation on the instrument itself. Magnetised, they were so small that they adhered inside one of the perforations in the mouthpiece and needed an expert technician with laboratory facilities to be discovered.
Williamson reappeared in the corridor within four minutes, shaking his head and studying a written order to find out where he had made his mistake, for the benefit of any casual observer.
The service lift took him to the floor on which Pendlebury had his rooms. Williamson’s face twisted with distaste at the condition inside, but he didn’t pause in what he had come to do. Better acquainted now with the suites, Williamson was in the corridor, again doing his bewildered but mistaken waiter head-shaking, within three minutes. His arm was aching by the time he got back to his own room, still carrying the tray. To check the installations, he used his telephone to call both sets of rooms, hearing the ringing loudly on his monitoring equipment. Satisfied, he connected what appeared to be an elaborate radio and tape cassette player to two receiving spools, coupled to the devices in each room, so that any conversation that occurred in either would be recorded.
By the end of the first day, from Pendlebury’s apartment, he had learned enough to satisfy him that the anonymous caller to the Washington embassy had been telling the truth and to realise, as well, that the intended robbery was government inspired, if not planned. By eight o’clock, he had airfreighted to Washington complete reports from the eavesdropping of both rooms, with a special request for the voices on the tapes to be scientifically tested for voice prints against the recording they held of the unknown man who had given them the warning. He also asked for any information on a man called Giuseppe Terrilli, whose name had featured on the tape from Pendlebury’s sitting room.
Because for a man of Williamson’s expertise it was a logical, almost natural thing to do, he looked up the name in the telephone book, as Charlie Muffin had a few days earlier. And by nine o’clock had reconnoitred the Terrilli mansion, acquainted himself with the degree of protection installed around the building and returned to the Breakers very contented with his day’s work. He still hadn’t abandoned hope of getting back to the West Coast in time for the Rams’ game.
18
Giuseppe Terrilli sat forward in his chair, gazing down at some spot by his feet. The occasional nod – Chambine hoped of approval – was the only movement from the man as he outlined the preparations they had made and talked of the rehearsals in the Orlando warehouse.
Because he remained anxious to impress, Chambine took a long time, but Terrilli gave no sign of impatience. When Chambine finished, the older man remained sitting in the same attitude of concentration. Chambine waited on the edge of his seat, wondering what the response would be. He hoped he was managing to conceal his nervousness.
At last Terrilli looked up and Chambine relaxed very slightly at the smile.
‘You’ve thought it out very well,’ he said. ‘And appear to have chosen the people well, too.’
‘Thank you, Mr Terrilli.’
‘There seems little likelihood of failure.’
‘I don’t think there will be.’
‘The only problem I can foresee is the timing between the visits of the security guards.’
Chambine had omitted that morning’s discussion in the warehouse, knowing the other man’s attitude to violence. Now he said, ‘Some of the others are worried, too.’
‘If it has to happen, it happens,’ said Terrilli shortly.
‘I’ve made plans in case it becomes necessary to silence them.’
Terrilli smiled again. ‘I’m sure you have.’
‘But only in an emergency,’ added Chambine.
‘I’d like you with me permanently,’ said Terrilli. ‘How would you feel about that?’
‘I’d like it very much.’
‘I’ll do it properly,’ promised Terrilli. ‘Formally ask your people in New York, so there would be no offence.’