If sailors were not allowed ashore, how had one of them got the message?
Tentative answers were provided for this, too. An intermediary had given the sailor the message. The intermediary must have had time to establish a relationship with the sailor. The sailor had to be a regular on the route. However regular he was, the only local citizens he could meet were those allowed on his ship — in the normal way port officials or dock workers. But the area was a security area, which neither port officials nor dock workers were free to move in and out of at will. The intermediary had to come from outside. He had to have access to the ship — and also to the research station. What kind of intermediary could this be?
The experts proposed a transport worker. The foreign ships were not leaving Russian ports unladen. Some carried specialist return cargoes, of a kind which might afford access to the ship of a specialist worker. A closer examination of the ports concerned showed Dudinka, on the Yenisei, as the likeliest to have specialist return cargoes. Dudinka was the port for Norilsk, a large mining and industrial centre, and its main business was nickel and precision nickel-alloy parts.
A report was called for on the handling of nickel-alloy parts, and meanwhile three working propositions were set out:
1. The message had been posted by a sailor who regularly worked the Arctic route,
2. It had been given to him by an intermediary with access to his ship.
3. The intermediary was a specialist worker whose duties allowed entry to the research station and to the port.
These propositions (every one of them accurate, as it turned out) were then addressed very vigorously.
Let me hear thy voice concerning this matter the first day at midnight, VOA, the unknown correspondent had asked. The Voice of America was a wholly-owned subsidiary of the CIA, so there were no problems with this one. The first day, in biblical terms, was Sunday, and the VOA had a taped religious programme that went out then. A substitution was made and a man with a powerful voice preached a sermon on communication and identity. He used Exodus, 12.3: ‘I have heard thy voice’, and also Samuel, Joel and Esther: ‘Where art thou?’, ‘Who art thou?’ and ‘What is thy request?’ and he said these questions needed plain answers from everyone, particularly those in the waste howling wildernesses of life.
On the message itself were the prints of the man who had written it, and who had evidently rolled the cigarettes. They were on the address paper too, but not on the envelope or the tape. On all these appeared another set of prints, some very smudged and fragmentary, but similarly traceable to a single source: evidently the sailor.
For the reasons agreed, the sailor had to be a regular on the route. He was the postman. His regularity had to be relied on. From the internal evidence of the message — Wherefore do you not answer me? — he had been used before. It was not possible to say when he had been used before, or where he had posted the message before. But it was known where he had posted it this time.
The global list of ship movements showed three vessels from the Arctic as having been in Gothenburg around the date of the postmark. One of them, a Japanese tramp which had merely used the Arctic as a cheap delivery route for a random load to west Europe, could be discounted; but the other two, a Dutch ship and a German, were of greater interest. Both were in regular service on the Siberian run, and the Dutchman had returned with a cargo of nickel parts.
Gothenburg was not a regular stop for this ship but part of its nickel had been consigned there, and it had put in to the port for twenty-four hours: ample time for someone to slit cigarettes, buy an envelope and post the letter. This ship had then sailed for Rotterdam. The German had gone to Hamburg.
CIA officials in Holland and Germany were instructed to obtain, by any means possible, fingerprints of the crews of both these ships. But it was known already that the Dutchman had come from Dudinka. The origin of its cargo was not in doubt either.
Between Dudinka and the nickel mines of Norilsk was a road forty-five miles long, and the cartographic department had every inch of it mapped. Most of Siberia was similarly mapped. The maps came to them from the Defense Mapping Agency Aerospace Center at St Louis, and they were updated every few weeks. They showed not only geographical features and roads but the progress of all building works, both above and below ground.
The area around Norilsk was covered with a network of minor roads linking its industrial centre with outlying districts. The roads were well maintained, summer and winter, and heavily used.
Although the complex was large — the largest in the Arctic circle — it was still only a dot on the vast expanse of taiga surrounding it. Much of this area had been under regular surveillance for years, large numbers of ‘objectives’ being in it. The purpose of most of them was known but a few still remained in doubt. These were the ones that came under scrutiny now.
The major requirements for the secret establishment were still as specified; but in analysing satellite photographs a few other features were added. It had to have buildings whose precise function was still uncertain. It had to have barracks, probably with separate areas to accommodate scientific, maintenance and security staffs. And it had to have a road: to accommodate the transport worker.
Shortly afterwards, in a flurry of activity, St Louis was being urgently asked for further information: analytical material, to determine the mineral content of two lakes in the area, and gazeteer material to support the words ‘dark waters’ as a local name for them.
4
Miss Sonntag, while this work proceeded, was getting on with her own.
Something had come to mind after her cold. She had an idea that an envelope without a letter had appeared once before — she did not exactly remember when. But she didn’t associate it with Sweden. There was not much correspondence with Sweden. Her impression was that it was from Holland. In the same post, if she was not mistaken, there had been a number of circulars from there — academic book promotions from Amsterdam or The Hague or Rotterdam, most addressed with bits of stuck-on paper. Quite often these mailings were duplicated. She had thought that one was duplicated. Nothing in the envelope and she had shot it into the bin and thought no more about it. But after her cold she thought about it.
She had mentioned it to Lazenby, and seemed to catch him by surprise.
‘Holland, you say?’
‘I think Holland.’
‘Ah … Rotterdam, would you think?’
‘I can’t be certain Rotterdam. Perhaps Rotterdam.’
‘Well, I was supposed to … Hmm. I wonder,’ he said, and was thoughtful for a moment. ‘When are you off, Miss Sonntag?’
‘Off? On holiday? Next week,’ she said in surprise.
Next week was the middle of July, and every year she went off on holiday then; this year with Sonya to Florence. The flight was booked and the pensione was booked. ‘If it is quite convenient,’ she said, anxiously.
‘Oh, yes, rather. Still,’ he said, and produced a list. ‘I wonder if there’d be time for you to look out some letters. It shouldn’t take for ever.’
It didn’t take for ever, but it took four solid days, and it took place in the basement. And by the time she got down to it she had the building to herself, even Lazenby having gone off. He had left her his telephone number on the Spey.
He had not mentioned why the letters were needed, but evidently it was his work on cell structures at low temperature. The low-temperature aspect, which was the only subject of correspondence with the Russians, he had given up eight years ago. Everything before eight years ago was in the basement.