Lewis managed to look shocked. ‘Good heavens no. There isn’t the slightest connection. We don’t rate as a “great power” these days. Thought you knew that.’
The Norwegian tipped the end of his cheroot against the big ashtray. ‘Perfidious Albion,’ he said. ‘At it again.’
‘You do us an injustice, Roald. One of our submarines exercising north of Vrakoy found him on a life-raft. The sort carried by small boats. There was dense fog at the time. You can check with your people. Our submarine picked him up. As soon as he realized it was British he declared himself a defector. Requested political asylum.’
Lund looked doubtful. ‘Did he say how he got there?’
‘No. He refused to discuss that. Could have been a Norwegian fishing boat. Some other small craft.’
‘Sounds highly improbable.’
‘Not as improbable as you think. There was a US submarine not far from ours. The Rockfish. Our captain, Bill Boyd, says that a high-powered US Navy skimmer came alongside at three o’clock this morning. Mistook Boyd’s ship for his own in the fog. Boyd had a chat with the coxswain before the skimmer pushed off. Gave him the distance and bearing of Rockfish. Boyd says the skimmer came from the direction of Nordvag Bay, going like a bat out of hell. Three crewmen in it. They might have had something to do with Krasnov and the life-raft. It was soon after that he was found.’
‘Did Boyd ask the coxswain what they were up to?’
‘Yes. He said they were doing a radar exercise with Rockfish, their mother-ship.’
Lund hauled himself out of the chair, crossed to a window from which he could see the lights of the harbour and the dark spread of Oslo Fjord through a curtain of rain. ‘What was Krasnov wearing when Boyd picked him up?’
‘No uniform. Navy blue roll-neck sweater, blue denim trousers.’
Lund thought of Martinsen’s report made earlier that day: Krasnov’s uniform jacket and the other clothing found on the rocks in Nordvag Bay. ‘Well, Freddie,’ he said. ‘How can we help? We certainly don’t want him. If you’re trying to sell him to us you can forget it.’
Lewis held up his hands in protest. ‘My dear Roald. Nothing could be further from our minds. It’s your advice…’ he looked round the office, playing for time while he hunted for the right words, ‘your channels of — what shall I say communication — we think might help.’
‘I don’t follow. Perhaps you could be more explicit.’
‘This is a funny business, Roald. We don’t want Krasnov. You don’t want him. Who’d you think might like him?’
Lund said, ‘Well, first on my list would be the KGB. I take it you don’t mean them?’
‘Definitely not. After all the chap’s a defector. We have to honour the political tradition.’
‘You seem to be going to a lot of trouble not to.’
‘No. That’s not fair. We’ll not let him down. We want to put him in safe, friendly hands.’
Lund moved away from the window. ‘If you’re thinking what I’m thinking and I’m quite certain you are — then yes — I think we may be able to help.’
‘I thought you’d come up trumps. Splendid of you, Roald.’ There was sudden exuberance in Freddie Lewis’s manner.
Lund said, ‘You must give me date, time and place. Precise and exact. No margin for errors. And there is one absolute, inflexible condition.’
‘What’s that?’
‘No use to be made of Norwegian territory — and that includes our territorial waters.’
Lewis followed the akvavit with another generous swallow of beer. ‘Don’t worry about that. There’s no question of using your territory.’ He looked at his flying boots as if there was something unusually interesting about them. ‘We wouldn’t dream of doing a thing like that.’
Lund smiled sardonically. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t. Not like the “great power” which winkled him out of Vrakoy.’
‘Yes. I do wonder. Those US chaps. Really.’ Lewis at his most bland, shook his hand. ‘Never miss a trick, do they? Of course they have fantastic resources. But one must hand it to them. They’re highly professional.’
‘Aren’t they?’ said Lund. ‘Now. Let’s have it. Date, time and place.’
Lewis produced a pocket wallet, took from it a slip of paper. ‘This is provisional. Specific date, probable time, general locality. I’ll confirm tomorrow.’
Lund read it. ‘Mind if I keep this?’
‘Wonder if you could make a copy? Now. It’s no more than a dozen lines.’
‘You trust no one, do you? Not even me.’ Lund spread his hands, shook his head in despair. He was fond of Freddie Lewis. ‘Your glass. Akvavit?’
‘Yes. Love it.’ He handed it over. ‘It’s nothing to do with trust, Roald. It’s training. You’re subject to the same rules. Never part with a document that identifies the originator.’
‘Of course. I was pulling your leg.’ The Norwegian poured the drinks, put them on the table and went to the desk. He made a handwritten copy, returned the original to Lewis. ‘No guarantees,’ he said. ‘We’ll do our best. It’s fortunate that Martinsen flew in from Vrakoy this afternoon.’
‘Stirring tales to tell? How’s the old Zhukov?’
‘Likely to be towed off the rocks in a day or so. The Soviet salvage people seem pretty efficient.’
‘Good for them. And cheers.’ Lewis held up his glass. ‘Skol,’ said Lund. ‘Martinsen told me a few other things. Like Krasnov’s disappearance. The murder of the Vise-Ordforer, Kroll. The disappearance of a Chinese couple with Hong Kong passports.’ He stopped to see how Lewis was taking that one but the group captain was imperturbable, examining a broken fingernail. ‘Caught it on my car door yesterday,’ he explained. ‘Sorry. You were saying?’
‘Non-return from mountain climbing of two Frenchmen from Bordeaux.’
‘Tell me. Who killed Kroll? And why?’
Lund shook his head. ‘We don’t know who. We think we know why.’
‘Can I be told?’
‘Yes. But not for publication. He was a double agent. CIA-KGB. Probably no longer active. And rather a nasty sort of Quisling in ‘39 — ‘45. That’s enough to get yourself killed.’
‘Yes.’ Freddie Lewis nodded. ‘There’s a good deal of mortality around currently. Our SIS lost a couple of operatives last week. One an old friend of mine. Used to be in the same squadron. Their cover was blown. Shot as they tried to get away.’
Lund was sympathetic, asked where it had happened. Lewis said, sorry he couldn’t remember. Lund apologized. Shouldn’t have asked, he said. They returned to the subject of Martinsen’s report.
‘Strange happenings for a small island,’ said Lewis. ‘No knowing these days, is there?’
‘Small islands have their uses.’ Lund looked up from refilling the glasses but Lewis was not reacting. ‘Skol.’ The Norwegian raised and lowered his glass. ‘Here’s to a happy ending for Krasnov.’
‘Skol,’ echoed Lewis. ‘We did London-Oslo in thirty-eight minutes.’
‘Not bad,’ said Lund. ‘What in?’
‘The new job. Sepecat Jaguar B. The training version. We’ve a couple for familiarization. Not in service yet.’
‘You still fit enough to be a passenger in one of those?’
‘Just about. Nice young pilot. Did everything gently for me.’
‘Lucky you.’ Lund looked at his watch. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, Freddie. I’ve got to see Martinsen about this. Then back to dinner. Make amends with my hostess and my wife.’
‘Give Anita a big hug for me. Put all the blame on Freddie. Not that they’ll believe you with your track record.’ He took Lund’s hand. ‘Can’t tell you how grateful we are. Any time you think we can help let us know. We’ll do our best.’