Quiller KGB

'Did he use a parole?'

'No. He said his name was Geissler, and that he's got something for you from Lena.'

'He just said Lena? Not Lena Pabst?'

'That's right.'

'Anything else?'

'He left a number for you to call.'

I wrote it down.

'This was minutes ago?'

'I phoned you right away. Does the name mean anything?'

'Geissler? No.'

'When she phoned yesterday,' Cone said, 'she said she'd got some documents for you, remember?'

'Yes.'

A shrug in his tone. 'It could be that.'

'Or it could be someone in Trumpeter.'

After a bit he said, 'Yes, in which case you'll have to step gingerly.'

'I'll work on it and report back.'

I rang off and gave it some thought. Lena Pabst could have had someone with her when she'd started infiltrating Trumpeter, and he could be Geissler. Or someone in Trumpeter itself could have gone through her papers after she'd been shot dead, and found my number at the hotel and decided it was worth trying. They would have been desperate to know how much she'd found out and what she'd passed on.

Pick up the phone.

'Speaking.'

He had a quiet voice, though not passive; quiet in the same way as Shepley's.

'I'm told you've got something for me.'

I was listening very hard, particularly for the sound of aircraft in the background, or an office PA system. I was probably speaking to Werneuchen Airforce Base.

'Yes,' he said.

I hadn't turned the light on in the room, and the distant glow from the Wall was coming through the window.

'How do I obtain it?'

The brief, circumspect language of caution. I might even be speaking to the chief of the Trumpeter operation.

'We would agree on a rendezvous.'

She hadn't mentioned anyone. She hadn't said, I know someone who can help me.

'I'm willing to do that.'

'You would have to be alone.'

'I agree.'

I might even be speaking to Volper.

'Then we shall rendezvous at six o'clock this evening, in Karl Liebknechtstrasse. Is that convenient for you?'

'It is.'

'What car will you be driving?'

I was trying hard to detect an accent. In a blind rdv it can help if you can establish the other party's voice in the memory. This man's accent was educated and, I thought, Jewish.

'I'll take a taxi,', I said.

'Very well. Tell the driver to go east along Karl Liebknechtstrasse and pass the church and cross Liebknecht Bridge. Tell him to put you down between there and Spandauerstrasse. Do you understand?'

Said I did.

'When you get out of the taxi, forget to tip the driver. Walk a short distance and go back and give him the tip.'

I liked his style.

'Understood.'

'Then walk towards Spandauerstrasse. You will be met.'

'What do I look for?'

'Just keep walking. I will meet you.'

Captain Friebourg… Will Captain Friebourg report immediately to Wing Command…

Faint, but clear, metallic, a woman's voice.

Werneuchen.

'All right,' I said.

'I repeat. You will come alone. If I see anyone who might be with you, I shall not meet you, and of course you will receive nothing.'

'Understood.'

The line went dead.

A slight tingling along the nerves, but this was normal. Russian roulette is like that; it worries the primitive brain; and this was Russian roulette, though the odds were shorter: they were even. Either the man had been a friend of Lena Pabst's and had been working for me alongside her, or he was in the Trumpeter cell, and it might be fun to put it a little differently: tonight, if I kept the rendezvous, I could obtain valuable, even vital information on their operation that might advance Quickstep like a slingshot and send me straight to the objective. Or I could walk into a trap.

Ask for support.

You're not -

Ask Cone. Call him now.

You're not thinking. He could put six people into the field — he said he'd got six standing by — or Yasolev could put fifty into the field and I wouldn't be taking any risk, but this man Geissler sounded professional and he would put his own people into the field to make sure I went to the rendezvous alone, and they would report to him and he wouldn't even show up.

If I were going to the rendezvous it wouldn't be to waste time.

They could finish you off, don't you -

Of course I see.

Call Cone and get support. You can't -

Oh for Christ's sake shuddup.

All right then, there wouldn't be a chance of seeing the trap in time and doing anything about it, if this were a move by Trumpeter. But the rdv was set up in a lighted street at a busy time in the evening and there'd be people around and police patrols on routine duty in the area and this made a difference, gave me an edge.

Bullshit.

Well yes, if you want to put it that way, I agree. I'd go to this rendezvous even if it were at midnight in a deserted wharf on the riverside with not a soul in sight, because I wanted to reach the objective for Quickstep and that might be the only way to do it.

So I told Gunter I wanted the cab at 5:30 this evening and he said he'd stand by.

'What time do you eat?'

His eyes in the mirror. 'Any time I can make it.'

North on Friedrichstrasse towards Unter den Linden.

5:42.

'Take a loop or two. We're a bit early.'

He used Behrenstrasse.

At thirteen minutes to six we were back on Friedrichstrasse and turned east along Unter den Linden. There was rush-hour traffic, but less heavy than it would have been on the other side of the Wall, where there were more private cars.

At five minutes to six we crossed Marx Engels Bridge and I saw the church coming up on the left.

'Gunter. I want you to drop me in Karl Liebknechtstrasse, halfway between the church and Spandauerstrasse. When I get out, make a circuit of the block and cruise past the place where you left me.'

'Very good.'

'Cruise past there twice. If you don't see me, park at the church and wait for one hour. If I don't show up, go and find a cafe and have your meal. After that you're free.'

'Very good.'

Not really, but he didn't know that.

The adrenalin was already starting to flow: I was feeling high. The organism was going through the process of trying to survive, stopping digestion, diverting blood to the muscles, tightening the nerves. Fight or flight, so forth, but there might not be a chance to do either.

We don't like a blind rendezvous, even with support in the field, even with an overkill response mapped out, because the timing can be critical and the other party can make his strike and get clear before we can do a single thing about it. Some bright spark at Norfolk did a survey of the past ten years' history of intelligence and terrorist operations and came out with the figures: in the total number of a hundred and seven blind rendezvous actions, nineteen were carried out safely and in sixty-three cases the agent was kidnapped and in twenty-five cases he was killed, in fourteen cases by a long-distance shot.

Three minutes to six, the blood singing.

Two minutes, the mouth dry.

One minute, and the thought quick as a bullet — you shouldn't have come.

'All right, drop me just here.'

21: STEPS

I walked six paces, turned and walked back.

'Supper's on me.'

Be generous; 250 marks. Placate the gods. Thanked me, surprised.

I started walking again. A woman with two little girls, one of them swinging on her arm; three businessmen, visitors from the West, look at their suits — one of them waved at Gunter but he didn't stop. Walking steadily. A priest of some sort, holding a woman by the shoulders, offering his handkerchief; a man eating bread from a paper bag, hopeless with age; four or five girls half-running, laughing towards the bus stop; chimes from the church, six o'clock, in fourteen cases by a long-distance shot.