'It seems that there were three of them, David: Kulik, Prusakov and Lukianov.' Having committed himself, he watched Audley like a hawk. 'Kulik, I gather, you don't know.
But what about the other two?'
Getting so much so quickly posed a pretty problem, in view of both Jake's information and his loss of face on Capri. So perhaps it would be advisable to compromise. 'Prusakov . . .
don't know.' Prusakov was a dead duck, anyway, according to Jake. 'But Lukianov . . .' He frowned, but encouragingly.
Names, after all, were supposed to be his stock-in-trade.
'Leonid S. Lukianov,' Charlie regarded him hopefully. 'Come on, David!'
He mustn't disappoint Charlie, who had supported him in his hour-of-need. 'Soldier. Originally soldier, anyway —
Spetsnaz, too. Maybe GRU once, but then KGB. Colonel . . .
but maybe General Lukianov now. Served in Afghanistan . . .
And — ' He frowned at Jaggard ' — wasn't he a friend of Brezhnev's son-in-law? The one they've just sent down the river, Henry?'
But Jaggard was frowning at Jack Butler.
'That's very good, Dr Audley,' said Mary Franklin, with a hint of misplaced admiration. 'Especially as he isn't in our records
— or yours.'
Ouch! 'Isn't he?' That would teach him to underrate her!
'Well. . . no, I suppose he wouldn't be, at that.' He looked into the space above her head for a moment, playing for time.
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'Or . . .' Lukianov had to be in the records, somewhere! '. . .
or, are you sure?' Neville Macready came to his rescue: dear old Neville was safely dead. 'It was Neville Macready who mentioned him to me, a couple of years back.' All he had to do was to imagine how Lukianov's career might have gone downhill since then. 'I think he'd just been posted out of Moscow to Kabul, or something like that.' He shrugged at her. 'But I'm only interested in the coming men, not the ones who backed the wrong horse, Miss Franklin.' That would do for the time being. So he could return to Jaggard. 'Where did you get these names, Henry?' (And at least Charlie looked satisfied.)
Henry Jaggard slid a picture across the table for an answer.
'Have a look.'
'Is this him?' It was irritating that he'd missed Lukianov somehow. 'Good-looking chap. But I still don't know him.'
Another picture came across the table.
'Prusakov?' Less irritating. But still irritating. 'Ugly bugger.'
He shook his head. 'Don't know him either.' But now curiosity was in order. 'Where did you get these pictures?'
'Huh!' exclaimed Charlie. 'Where indeed! They've been hawked right across Europe, my dear chap — like "Most Wanted" posters, if not pop star pin-ups.' He twisted a ghost of his usual cheerful grin at Audley. "The Kulik one has now been withdrawn: he's no longer in the Top Ten ... or Top Three, in this instance.'
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So the Russians had been so shit-scared of these three defectors that they'd flooded the market, regardless of consequences, only interested in quick results. Just as, in another age and with the aid of better technology, the British would have transmitted mug-shots of Burgess and Maclean, among others, once upon a time.
'So what else is known about them — ?' He addressed Mary Franklin in order to stop her thinking more about his remarkable special knowledge of General Lukianov. 'Kulik was a military intelligence computer-man, I gather.' He made a face at her. 'According to Sir Jack, anyway.'
'He was only a technician, Dr Audley.' She accepted that, anyway. 'He was perhaps a whizz-kid, technically . . . we're not sure, though.'
'And Prusakov?' It was Lukianov, the action-man — Lucky Lukianov — who really mattered now. But he must be interested in Prusakov first. 'What was he?'
'He was also in computers. But he was much higher up, and into politics too.' But she seemed to be accepting this, also.
'Only ... he wasn't one of your "coming men" either, Dr Audley.' She didn't smile. 'He was a "going man".'
'And now he's gone,' murmured Charlie.
And gone in more ways than one, too. But Mary Franklin was watching him, and he had to keep Jake Shapiro under wraps for the time being still. So he pushed the photos back towards Jaggard and looked at Billy Pitt. 'And you haven't dummy1
had a sight of him?'
'We're on the look-out for him, as well as Major Richardson.
And Lukianov, of course.' Pitt nodded.
'And so is everyone else.' Renshaw also nodded. 'According to Henry these pictures have been scatterd around like confetti by every KGB station in Europe. So they'll know we've got them by now, David.'
'Yes.' Mary Franklin claimed his attention. 'What I was wondering, Dr Audley, was whether you'd had sight of either Prusakov or Lukianov in Italy. But obviously not.'
'Why should they be in Italy, Miss Franklin?' inquired Renshaw. 'Do you mean . . . one of them was going to be bait for Richardson, the way Kulik was the bait for David here?'
'Something like that, Mr Renshaw.' She still watched Audley.
'What do you think, Dr Audley?'
'I think . . . I'd like to know more about General Lukianov, Miss Franklin.' He was tempted to smile at her, but decided against it. 'Then I'll tell you what I think. For what it's worth.'
'Very well.' She accepted his serious face at face-value. 'But I'm afraid we don't know much more than you do. He was a Spetsnaz specialist, as you know. And the Americans say he was a European expert originally — they think he made a special study of our own Special Forces, too. But then he may have transferred to the GRU or the KGB, they're not sure.
But after that he did a tour in the Middle East, they believe, in the late 1970s.'
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That would be the Israelis feeding the Americans most likely.
'So he could have had contacts with the terrorist groups? As a trainer, maybe?'
'It's possible.' She was properly cautious of guesses tacked on to nebulous second-hand information. 'Then he was posted to Afghanistan. And he was with Spetsnaz there — that's certain, Dr Audley.'
Audley nodded. It was certain because the Americans had worked hard on analysing the Soviet Army's personnel, as well as its performance, in its first hot war since '45. But there was something more, he could see. 'Yes, Miss Franklin
— ?'
'There's a story about him.' She paused for a moment. 'He went on a raid into the mountains with one of his units — a unit he'd once served with. They were dropped by helicopter, to block a Mujahadeen escape route. But then the weather closed in, and the main attack was delayed. So they had to hold out for a week, instead of three days. There were only three survivors, all of them wounded. And two of them died afterwards. The youngest one died in his arms, apparently.'
"Lucky" Lukianov, indeed! But also a real front-line general, thought Audley.
' Beau Geste stuff!' Charlie Renshaw frowned at Jaggard suddenly. 'And this Lukianov is now a defector, you say, Henry? He doesn't damn-well sound like one — if that isn't just a propaganda story, anyway.' He took the frown to Audley. 'Eh, David?'
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Leonard Aston emitted one of his dry little coughs. 'Defeat, Charles, does strange things to heroes. Especially humiliating defeat.'
Audley saw Charlie's eyebrows lift, and realized that his own had also gone up. Coming from little Len, who was as dry as his cough, such an insight was surprising.
'I have had no first-hand experience, of course.' Aston touched his lips with his ever-ready handkerchief, aware of their astonishment but quite unembarrassed by it. 'I am not a military man, and never could be. But... I was in our embassy in Washington during the last days of Vietnam, and for two years afterwards.' He gazed from Renshaw to Audley and back like a tutor with two rather thick undergraduates. 'And during that period I observed some very strange behaviour among some senior officers, as well as a predictable disorientation among those beneath them.' Aston's voice became more pedantic as he spoke. 'It was no surprise. For a long time they believed they were invincible ... in the knowledge that they had never been defeated, or in any real danger of final defeat ... at least, not since 1814. But then, long before the final debacle, the senior officers knew better