The Intercom Conspiracy (18 page)

‘The other way you will certainly feel worse,’ said Schneider grimly. ‘Now, you say that the information described as coming
from N. V. Skriabin did not reach your directly. Then how
did
it reach you? What was the source?’

‘The owner of
Intercom
, Arnold Bloch.’

‘Who obtained it from whom?’

‘I don’t know.’ Schneider’s face started to tighten up, so I repeated it louder. ‘I tell you I don’t know. I received the whole story just as you read it. Not a word was altered, though I did in fact request permission to alter it.’

‘Why? In what way alter?’

‘I wanted to omit Skriabin’s name. That would be in line with our established policy of not naming sources. I wired Herr Bloch in Munich for permission to edit the name out and he replied refusing that permission.’

‘Did he give any reason?’

‘No. I was just told to publish the story exactly as it was.’

‘Have you proof of this?’

‘I have the correspondence in the office, yes, though why the hell I should have to prove anything to you …’

He waved me into silence.

‘You say you received it. How?’

‘By mail from Copenhagen. But on Bloch’s Munich paper.’

‘Any address in Copenhagen?’

‘No. The stamps were Danish and Copenhagen was the postmark on the envelope.’

‘You made a statement just now to the effect that N. V. Skriabin is a senior officer in the KGB. That suggestion is not in the item you published. Did that come from Bloch also?’

‘No.’

‘Ah, you had another source then. Who?’

‘The United Nations reference library.’

‘No more jokes, Carter.’

‘I’m not joking. As I told you, I was reluctant to publish Skriabin’s name. I was unhappy about doing so. I had someone check on him. Through a contact in the UN library this person dug up some biographical data on him, education, career, honours, that sort of thing. The KGB connection was deduced from the
fact that his appointment to a minor trade mission was inconsistent with his earlier service record. The trade-mission job was evidently a cover.’

He looked at me steadily for a moment, then nodded. ‘We will accept that for the moment. Now, the item you published on November twenty-ninth about Operation Triangle. What was your source for that?’

‘The same. Arnold Bloch.’

‘But you knew what Operation Triangle was.’

‘No, I hadn’t the faintest idea. I still haven’t.’

‘Did you not ask?’

‘It wasn’t my business to ask.’

‘You, the editor? Not your business?’

‘I was publishing technical and trade information bulletins on instructions from the owner, Herr Bloch.’

‘If you had been told that Operation Triangle is the code name for the first stage of an anti-ballistic missile system radar network and that it is on the NATO secret list, would you still have published that item?’

‘I can’t say what I would have done. That would have depended on who told me and whether or not I believed him.’

‘You may believe me, Carter.’

‘Then NATO ought to tighten up on its security procedures,’ I said. ‘I’ll probably do a piece on the subject, though without quoting you, of course.’ He started to tighten up again, so I went on quickly. ‘Look, Monsieur Schneider, you’re wasting your time pushing me around. Arnold Bloch is the owner of
Intercom
. He controls it. He is also an industrial public-relations consultant. Both these information bulletins you’ve been talking about, as well as others you haven’t mentioned, were published on his instructions in order to promote the business interests of certain of his associates.’

‘What associates?’

‘French and West German, I was told. I know nothing else about them. As for the contents of these bulletins, in most cases they have been meaningless to me. I accepted them for publication
from Herr Bloch on the understanding that they would be of interest to at least a section of our readership. Apparently I was not deceived. They seem to be exciting considerable interest, and you seem to know why. That’s more than I do.’

There was another silence, then Morin leaned forward. ‘Can you really be as innocent as you pretend, Carter?’

‘Innocent of what?’ I retorted. ‘Are you suggesting that something illegal has been done, that an offence in law has been committed by the publishers of
Intercom
?’

He shook his head wearily, not in denial but as if in despair at my folly. ‘You asked us who we were. Remember? And you asked in a particular way. Why, if you have nothing to hide and have committed no indiscretion, should you expect to be interrogated by members of foreign intelligence services?’

‘Because, as Madame was kind enough to remind me, I am not a fool, and because this is not the first time this week that I have been badgered by complete strangers asking the same sort of questions.’

He nodded. He did not seem surprised. A telephone had begun ringing in the next room and he waited until Madame Coursaux had gone to answer it before he went on.

‘The CIA, was it?’

‘Presumably, though I didn’t ask them. Their methods,’ I added, ‘were less crude than yours, but they did intimate that cruder methods might be resorted to if I continued to be uncooperative. That is why I asked if you, too, were CIA. I see now that I was wrong, of course.’

‘Why?’ demanded Schneider sharply.

‘The CIA couldn’t have cared less about Comrade Skriabin. They were more concerned over a story I published about a NATO fighter-reconnaissance plane.’

‘Did that item also come from Arnold Bloch?’

‘Yes it did. Is that significant? He also supplied the story about defective Soviet rocket fuels. You could put that in your report as well.’

Casually he tossed the remains of his drink into my face. A
piece of ice slid down my tie to join the whisky already soaking through into my underpants.

‘Now tell me about Bloch,’ he said. ‘And no more insolence.’

‘There’s not much to tell. I’ve never set eyes on him. I’ve never even spoken to him. All our communications have been by letter or telegram. If you want to know any more you’ll have to ask the man himself. In fact, he expressly instructed me by telegram today to refer inquiries about these bulletins you’ve mentioned – all inquiries from whatever source – to him personally. His address is …’

‘We know his address. If we were to go with you to your office now, could we see this telegram of instruction that you say you received?’

‘You could.’ I flicked the piece of ice from my leg to the floor. ‘You could also have the address of Dr Bruchner, the Swiss director of the corporation which owns
Intercom
. He is in Bâle. After that I could show you a memorandum from Herr Bloch reminding me that any interference by foreign intelligence agents with a Swiss-based business enterprise would be viewed with serious disfavour by the federal security services. When you’d thought that over maybe we could call the police.’

Schneider threw up his hands as if words had at last failed him and went to get another drink. Morin laughed. ‘But what would we tell the police, eh, Carter? That your car broke down? That we happened to be passing and invited you in here for a drink while your car was repaired? That while you were here conversing amicably with us you accidently upset a glass of whisky over yourself? I don’t think that the police would be very much interested in that information, do you?’

Madame Coursaux had come back into the room. ‘His car is ready,’ she said.

‘Good, good. Morin chuckled waggishly. They had no trouble, I take it, fixing the
plastique
, the bomb. Does it explode when he opens the door or when he switches on the ignition?’ He raised a hand suddenly in mock alarm. ‘No, no. Better not say. Let it be a surprise.’

I got to my feet. He stood up with me.

‘Going?’ he said.

‘How much do I owe?’ I asked Madame Coursaux.

‘For what, Monsieur?’

‘For having the rotor arm put back. I presume that that was what you had taken out, wasn’t it?’

She stared at me blankly. Morin made a tut-tutting sound.

‘My dear,’ he said to her, ‘his experiences at the hands of the CIA have given him strange ideas.’ He glanced at Schneider. ‘We must be understanding, eh?’

Schneider surveyed me coldly for a moment. Then he said: ‘There will be no charge, Carter, not
this
time.’

He gave me a nod of dismissal. I went into the passageway followed by Morin. As he helped me on with my overcoat, he spoke softly to me.

‘A word of friendly advice, Carter. There may well be a next time. We have colleagues who may have further questions to ask and suggestions to make. Don’t, I beg you, compromise yourself further by going to the police or the Swiss security service. They cannot help you. You will only endanger your own interests and those of others. Remember instead what we were speaking of earlier, the fate of the men and women who worked for
Résistance
. It was not only the editor who died. You understand?’

‘I understand.’ I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

He smiled and opened the door. ‘
Bon appétit
’ he said cheerfully.

I went.

My legs were very shaky, but once I got into the outside air again I felt a bit better. I started to walk back to my car.

I was three blocks away from the Chateau Europa and the headache was beginning to go when I saw the Fiat with the Fribourg plates cruise past me and park near the next intersection.

VALERIE CARTER

transcribed tape interview

My father came home looking terrible. His face was pale and blotchy, his glasses were crooked and he seemed to be having trouble breathing. He smelled strongly of whisky.

For a few moments I thought that he was drunk and had had a fall. He muttered something about having been held up and then, without taking off his overcoat, went through into the living room to look down into the street.

I went after him and got his coat off.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. ‘Were you followed again?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but they seem to have gone away now. I need a drink, Val, and go easy on the water, will you?’

‘Dinner’s almost ready.’

‘I still need a drink. I may smell like a distillery, but that’s mostly from outside.’

I didn’t argue. I had realised by then that he was upset but not drunk.

‘What happened?’

He didn’t tell me immediately. He said, ‘I’ve got to think, Val, I’ve got to think.’ So I gave him the drink and went back to the kitchen.

He was still standing by the window when I brought in the tray and began to put things on the hot plate.

We had veal cutlets in a white wine sauce that evening, I remember; but I don’t think either of us ate much. Over dinner he told me what had been happening to him.

I have a confession to make, Mr Latimer. I’m not really mad about detective stories, and I don’t often read them. Some of yours I
have
read, of course – those my father has in the English editions – but I only read them after I met you, because it seemed
the polite thing to do and because I wanted to know how well you wrote. Of course, I enjoyed them. I think they’re highly ingenious and much better written than most. Above all nobody in them is made to behave stupidly. Oh dear, all this must sound terribly impertinent and patronising, but I’m sure you know what I mean. One of the things I can’t stand in that sort of book is the character who gets trapped in a dangerous situation and is forced to run appalling risks simply because he didn’t, for some feebly contrived reason, go to the police when the trouble started. The author is assuming that the reader is a moron, and that’s infuriating.

So, when my father began explaining why he couldn’t go to the police and tell them what was going on, I became angry. Naturally that made him angry too. He became acid.

‘What exactly is little Miss Great-heart proposing that I should tell the police?’ he asked.

‘You’ve said that you were kidnapped.’

‘Virtually kidnapped.’

‘And assaulted.’

‘What do you suggest I offer as evidence? A bent spectacle frame?’

‘You could swear out a complaint.’

‘It would be my word against theirs – one against three.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but they’d have to
give
their words. They would be questioned by the police and be asked to make statements. If they are what you think they are, KGB people, they wouldn’t like that. Why do you think they warned you against going to the police?’

‘Because I would cause them some minor inconvenience if I did.’

‘Surely that’s better than nothing. At least it tells them that you aren’t intimidated.’

‘It also tells them, my dear, that my response to threats is to commit pointless and ineffectual acts of defiance. I’d rather they didn’t add that to the dossier they have on me.’