The Little Bird: Narva's use of the code name meant that they were through, really through, at last. But, ironically, it looked like being a barren success.
"What did he tell you?" There was no disappointment in Audley's voice, however, only urgency.
Narva thought for a moment, as though marshalling his memories the better to bring them over in good order.
"First, you must understand one thing, professore—and you
—" Narva included Boselli, "—that I did not suborn this man, I did not bribe him. He came to me of his own free will, unasked."
Audley nodded. "We accept that."
"He told me that he was a courier working for the British. He told me his code name—he said there would be ways for me to check up on that if I wanted to. ... He said that he had discovered a source of information which I might find valuable. It had nothing to do with his work as a courier. He regarded it quite simply as his own property, to be exploited for his own benefit."
"What made him come to you?" asked Richardson.
dummy2
"He trusted me, Signor Richardson," said Narva tightly.
"I'm sorry, signore—I didn't mean that. I mean—when he came to you in '68 you weren't involved in the North Sea. But Shell-Esso and BP and Xenophon and Phillips already were, so the information was worth much more to them than to you."
"The North Sea was not mentioned when he came to me."
"Not—mentioned?" Richardson gaped.
"He did not say one word about it, signore. He said he had a source of confidential information about Russian oil policies.
Nothing more."
"But that interested you?" said Audley.
"Mildly," Narva shrugged. "As you know, this country imports substantial quantities of oil from the Soviet Union. It was running at about 16 per cent of our total needs in '68, and the figure is a good deal higher now. But what was interesting me at that time was the possibility that at some stage the Russians would approach the West for assistance in developing their oil industry."
"Is that likely?" asked Richardson.
"I think it is more than likely. In fact I have been buying stock in the Occidental Petroleum Corporation of Los Angeles steadily this year because I believe they will be the first beneficiaries of such a move."
"Because of what Little Bird told you?"
"No, signore," Narva shook his head. "The Little Bird did not dummy2
send me any such valuable information at first. What he sent me was what I could just as easily have taken from the Petroleum Ministry handouts and the Russian technical journals, with a little gossip thrown in. He was a disappointment."
"But you kept him on."
"It was not like that." Narva nodded towards Audley. "We had what you would call 'a gentlemen's agreement'—you are a good guesser, professore—that I would pay only for results.
The Little Bird himself insisted on that. He said it would take time, but he was confident in the end it would pay off for both of us. He said he was quite content to wait."
"And you waited."
"No. He sent regular messages."
"How?"
"I do not think that is any of your business."
Possibly through someone in the Italian embassy, thought Richardson. It might not be too difficult to put someone on the payroll there.
"From the nature of his messages it is possible that his man was in the West Siberian fields—the 'Third Baku'—to begin with," went on Narva thoughtfully. "But if that is so, he moved to Moscow fairly quickly."
"The nature of the messages changed?"
"There was a time gap first. . ." The Italian paused. "I dummy2
remember thinking then that maybe this would be the end of it, and there would be nothing more. But then they started again, only not with Siberian information any more."
"The North Sea?"
"Not at first. To begin with there were details of projected oil exports to the Scandinavian countries—and to Great Britain
—" he nodded at Audley, "—countries with a North Sea littoral, it is true. But there was no mention of that."
It was beginning not to fit, thought Richardson uneasily. Or at least not to fit Macready's hypothesis of a calculated betrayal by a highly-placed official. It looked like a genuine piece of active intelligence by Little Bird.
The trouble was that that didn't fit either—it didn't fit the German's image of a careful operative who ought to have been able to calculate the risks against the possible profit.
"And then suddenly he put through a question," went on Narva. "He wanted to know whether I was interested in North Sea oil."
"That was—when?" asked Audley quickly.
"Early spring. April—or maybe late March."
Richardson looked at Audley. That was well before even the Cod Condensate strike.
"And you were interested, naturally."
"I was interested . . . intrigued might be more accurate."
"Because at that time some people were beginning to have dummy2
their doubts?"
"That is true." Narva nodded slowly. "The natural gas experts were pleased enough. The oilmen were not—that is true."
"Did it surprise you that the Russians had information of value?"
Narva's shoulders lifted. "I knew they were interested in offshore exploitation like everyone else. . . . But I was not aware that their exploration methods were ahead of the Americans. I did not expect anything spectacular, I will say that."
"But then you got it?"
"Not exactly."
"How—not exactly?"
Narva frowned a little, as though searching for the right word. He grunted to himself. "You knew this man—this Little Bird?"
"I never met him, if that's what you mean, signore."
"Hmm. ... He was not an impressive man physically. Not one of those big blond Germans, the Herrenvolk. He was—"
Narva carefully didn't look at Boselli, "—a short person . . .
grey-faced, older than his years—he gave that impression. He put me in mind of the Herr Dr. Goebbels a little, to be frank.
But he was impressive to me nevertheless."
"How so?"
Narva remained silent for a moment. "I think it was his dummy2
confidence which moved me. And I had the impression that he was a very careful man at the same time. It is a good combination, that—confidence and care."
"And he trusted you."
"That too," Narva agreed. "He was prepared to place himself entirely in my hands, and to be paid by results only."
"And you undertook to get his family out?"
"That was to be the final payment."
"If things went wrong, you mean?"
"No. He did not believe things would go wrong—"
They always believed that. Although with his experience Little Bird ought to have known better.
"After he had satisfied me he was resolved to retire, and he wished his children to grow up in freedom." Narva nodded at Audley wisely. "I think it was for them that he did this thing, professore, for his wife and for his children more than for the money. He came close to saying as much. But in any case, I myself have no doubt of it."
Richardson examined Narva closely. The man had no son himself, the wife whom he adored—so the record stated with a flash of sentiment—having died childless. But that did not mean he was without those family feelings which ran ocean-deep in every good Italian; even watered down in his own veins Richardson had felt this un-English characteristic tug at his affections.
More to the point, however, it helped to account for Narva's dummy2
curious feelings for the Hotzendorffs: by the purest accident the little Kraut had found a chink in the tycoon's armour.
And Audley too had found the same weakness, though not by accident.
"Yes—" Audley coughed apologetically "—but things did go wrong."
"Not at first. In fact not until the last."
"Exactly how did they go wrong?" asked Richardson, inflecting the question carefully so that it should not be apparent that this was the first certain intimation he had received that Little Bird's death had not been from natural causes.