‘So what exactly did he do for the CIA?’ Carrie asked.
‘Couriered data from his contacts’ contacts in and out of Berlin, Moscow, and Leningrad. He was handled by American embassy officers under diplomatic cover. But he was low-level. He didn’t have access to Soviet state secrets. And the dissident community was not particularly useful to the Agency at that point in time – they might give us names of people who had critical access and would spy for us, but dissidents were too closely watched by the KGB. Too easy, frankly, for the KGB to infiltrate.’
Evan studied the picture of Bast, murdered. Bast’s eyes were wide in horrified surprise. This man had known Evan’s parents. Played an unseen role in their lives. ‘No suspects?’
‘Bast lived a high life, even after his fall. A few husbands were rather unhappy with him. He owed money. He broke business deals. Any number of people might have wanted him out of their lives. Of course, Scotland Yard didn’t know about Bast working for the CIA, and we didn’t tell them.’
‘Rather important information to withhold,’ Carrie said.
‘I didn’t personally. You needn’t sound peevish.’
‘Of course you didn’t,’ Carrie said with a laugh, trying to defuse the sudden tension. ‘You’re not even forty, right? It just surprises me.’
Pettigrew’s voice took on a peppery tone of disapproval. ‘It’s not good advertising for recruitment to have your assets murdered.’
Carrie paged through the murder-scene photos. ‘The CIA must have suspected Bast was identified as a CIA agent and killed by the Soviets?’
‘Naturally. But the murder looked like it coincided with a robbery, and that simply wasn’t the KGB’s style. Remember, Bast was a low-level asset at best. He never was an original source of valuable information. He never fed us disinformation originating from the KGB. He was just a very reliable courier and gatherer of contacts. You know, a lot of KGB archives have come to light since the fall of the USSR. There’s no record that the KGB ordered him killed.’
‘Could we talk to his handler?’ Carrie asked.
‘Bast’s case officer died ten years ago. Pancreatic cancer.’
‘The robbery,’ Carrie said. ‘What was taken? Could the killer have discovered anything that pointed to Bast’s connection to the CIA?’
Pettigrew pushed another file toward them. ‘The Agency had an operative sweep Bast’s apartment after the murder and after the police had gone through. He found Bast’s CIA gear all properly hidden. Undiscovered by the police, who of course would have confiscated the stuff.’
‘What about his personal effects or his finances?’ Evan asked. ‘Anything unusual?’
Pettigrew flipped through the papers. ‘Let’s see… a friend, Thomas Khan, supplied information.’ He ran a finger down a list. ‘Bast had two separate bank accounts, he had a lot of money tied up in his publishing concern…’
‘You said Khan? K-H-A-N?’ Evan said. Same last name as Hadley Khan. Here was the connection from Evan to Bast. Carrie shook her head. Say nothing.
‘Yes. I have a file on Thomas Khan as well.’ Pettigrew fingered the file, pulled out a sheet of paper. ‘Mr. Khan said Bast kept a fair amount of cash on hand and none of that was found in the house. Khan was a rare-book dealer and said Bast often paid him for volumes with cash’
Carrie took the paper and read aloud from the report as she scanned it: ‘Born in Pakistan to a prominent family. Educated in England. His wife had been an English-woman, a high-ranking political strategist and academician who worked on defense initiatives. No trouble with the law. Conservative in political leanings, served as a director on a British foundation that pledged financial support to the Afghani rebels against the Soviet invaders. Worked in international banking for many years, but his real passion is Khan Books, a rare-book emporium, on Kensington Church Street, which he’s operated for the past thirty years. He retired from banking ten years ago and put his entire focus on the bookstore. Widowed twelve years ago. Never remarried. One son, Hadley Mohammed Khan.’
‘I know his son,’ Evan said. ‘Hadley. He’s a freelance journalist.’
Pettigrew shrugged; he didn’t care. His phone rang in his pocket; he excused himself with a quick wave of his hand, shutting the door behind him.
Evan made a quick survey of the files. No hint that Bast was also Mr. Edward Simms. Bedford had dug last night into incorporation databases and found that the Hope Home in Goinsville had been bought by a company called Simms Charities. The company had incorporated two weeks before it bought Hope Home, sold all its assets after the fire. If the CIA had put Bast up to buying orphanages, though, no sign remained in his official file.
Evan went back to the sheet on Thomas Khan. ‘Rare books, and among his specialties are Russian editions. Bast did Russian translations. So they both had contacts back into the Soviet Union. And both were involved in rebellion movements – one supporting dissident writers, the other supporting the mujahideen in Afghanistan.’
‘So they both hated the Soviets. It doesn’t prove anything,’ Carrie said.
‘No. It doesn’t.’ But Evan sensed a thread here; he just didn’t know how yet to grab it, follow it. He opened the file on Hadley. It was not a formal CIA file, unlike the one on Thomas Khan, who had had a London station file opened on him when he’d assisted the police in Bast’s murder investigation, or on Alexander Bast, who had been a paid operative. It was the little Pettigrew’s people had gleaned after Bedford’s hurried request: Hadley’s birth date, schooling, travel in and out of Britain, financial records. The school records were not impressive; the success and brilliance of the parents eluded the son. Hadley had spent two months in an Edinburgh detox center; he had lost two good magazine jobs and had not been published in the past six months. But the inquiry had produced new information: according to his latest girlfriend, who had been fooled by a London station assistant who’d called her this morning pretending to be a colleague of Hadley’s, Hadley Khan was recently estranged from his father. The girlfriend had not heard from or seen Hadley since last Thursday, but she did not sound concerned; he was a loose-footed guy who often went to the Continent for a couple of weeks at a time. Especially after a falling-out with dear old Dad.
The photos of Hadley in the file were culled from his British driver’s license; Evan remembered him from the cocktail party a lifetime ago at the Film School, his grin a shade too eager, his eyes holding a secret.
‘So Hadley Khan anonymously urges me to do a film on the murder of Alexander Bast, a friend of his father, and never responds to my e-mail asking why,’ Evan said. ‘And then he takes off the day before my mother dies. Hadley never mentioned any connection between Bast and his dad in the material he gave me.’
‘That’s very odd. It would have simplified your research.’ Carrie tapped Hadley’s file. ‘We know there’s a connection between our parents and Bast. And a connection between Bast and Khan. That doesn’t mean a direct connection between Thomas Khan and our parents.’
A chill prickled Evan’s skin. ‘It’s no coincidence that Hadley pitched the Bast story. He must have known of my parents’ connection to Bast.’
‘He approached you, but he didn’t tell you everything. So he either copped out or he was stopped from getting in touch with you again.’
‘I think he got scared. It’s why he went anonymous. Hadley had his own agenda. The girlfriend says he and Thomas don’t get along. I wonder… if this was revenge against his father.’
‘It’s only revenge if his father’s done wrong.’ Carrie massaged her injured shoulder.