Target, page 46
The abrupt ending of Weismann’s speech seemed to surprise many of the delegates. The Premier remained at the podium for a few seconds, and it was not until he turned to leave that they realized it was over. There was a thunder of appreciation, bank upon bank of the assembled diplomats waving order papers of support. Peterson watched it all unmoved, letting the doubts parade themselves in his mind, a jigsaw puzzle of a thousand pieces and a gradually emerging picture.
The U.S. President followed the Israeli. Fowler’s hastily re-written speech was as well conceived as Weismann’s had been. While Weismann had allowed himself hyperbole and rhetoric, Fowler had decided on simplicity, the words of a far-seeing statesman looking beyond an immediate problem. The world had been confronted with a crisis, but now the crisis was past. Hasty decisions had been made and they were regretted. Now was the time to forgive, if not forget. Israel had proved itself a country of sensible, world-conscious leaders. America was proud to consider itself a friend. It would do everything in its power to work for the peace Israel so fervently desired.
Peterson saw Levy as the President was coming to the conclusion of his address and moved quickly around the circular corridor, anxious to reach the Mossad leader. Levy saw him approaching and smiled. “I want to thank you,” he said as Peterson reached him. “And your man, for what he did. I hope we can forget the differences that arose between us.”
“It wasn’t us,” said Peterson.
“What!”
“We’ve already checked. Our man had nothing to do with it.”
The Israeli held out his hands in a vaguely uncertain gesture. “But I thought.…”
“Yes,” said Peterson. “That’s what everyone thinks. But it isn’t so.”
“Then how?”
“We haven’t had a report on that yet.”
Levy smiled, a sad expression. “You mean we did everything we did and it would have happened anyway, without interference?”
“That’s the way it seems.”
“Incredible.”
“Yes,” said Peterson. “Incredible. I wondered if we might meet later on — somewhere more private?”
Levy indicated some members of the Israeli delegation, a few yards away. “Difficult to commit myself, with half a government here.”
“It’s important.”
Levy regarded him curiously. “Where?”
“We’re both staying at the Waldorf. Why not there? Say in an hour?”
Levy’s doubt seemed to increase. “An hour,” he agreed.
The President appeared as excited about the satellite as Weismann was. During the Assembly meeting he had ordered that a reception should be prepared at the Waldorf and insisted, when Peterson asked to be excused, that the CIA Director attend. Peterson left ahead of the main American party, sure he could keep the appointment with Levy and still get to the celebration.
In his suite he sat at the bureau, listing the points to clarify them in his mind before the meeting, and driving the pencil into the paper in his bitterness. It was difficult, but he had managed to subdue his anger by the time Levy’s knock came at the door.
“There’s a reception,” said Levy, as he entered.
“I’m going, in a little while,” said Peterson. The Israeli had already been drinking, he guessed.
“What’s all the mystery?” inquired Levy. “Surely it’s a time for celebration.”
“There isn’t a mystery, not any more,” said Peterson. “But there has been, for quite a long time.”
The other man’s smile went. “That remark might be clear to you,” he said. “But it isn’t to me.”
“Russia worked with us very closely over this,” said Peterson. “Made a lot of reports available.…”
Levy was impassive now, head alertly to one side as Peterson spoke.
“I’d been troubled for a long time that there was something I’d missed … some denominator I should have noticed. And then I thought back to the very beginning, to the first indication we had of what was happening in Africa.…”
“From me,” said Levy.
“Right,” accepted Peterson. “From you, in Israel. And then I checked and found that the Russian alert came from Israel, from Soviet agents infiltrated in with the dissidents from the Soviet Union, which is a useful way of controlling information, if you know who they are. And then I thought of the first positive indications that it might be Chad. From Israel again.…”
“I still don’t understand.…” Levy started to protest, but Peterson talked on.
“Several of the reports from the two supposed priests we sent in spoke of people appearing to expect them: I thought at the time that it was African bush telegraph, but then I decided that not even that would have been quick enough to assemble all the natives on the day they were caught. So I went back to our people in N’Djamena and they checked the airport arrivals and the passenger lists and then we made the bribe big enough for a local official to go out and make inquiries for us. And learned about the people who’d gone ahead of our two men. And who had travelled around behind them, practically in their footsteps.…”
Levy sat, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t understand what the American was saying.
“When I debriefed Colonel Bradley, he said they’d heard helicopters from the complex, searching for them immediately after the assault went wrong. So I checked that, too. And discovered that although it has aircraft and an airstrip, there are not any helicopters there at the moment.” Peterson paused, waiting, but Levy did not speak.
“Not one of your party was killed,” reminded Peterson. “And all of them were fortunately helicoptered out to safety. And I wondered how it was that you knew that you would be needing the helicopters so quickly. And how it was that with a vast complex covering something like 70,000 square kilometers, your people actually came to land and made an assault within two hundred yards of where a combined American-Soviet entry was being made. And not just made it at the same spot, but at the same time.…”
Peterson stopped again, but Levy did not respond
“It’s been an amazing affair for Israel, hasn’t it?” persisted Peterson. “Your Premier has just finished convincing the world — to a standing ovation — that Israel is a responsible, statesmanlike nation. You’ve got a public commitment from the Soviet Union of Jewish emigration. From America you’ve got all the money and all the tanks and all the oil you asked for. And every Arab country hostile to you has been ridiculed and humiliated. Gadaffi has been shown up yet again, and this time in such a way that the Arab countries won’t trust him any more … and a rocket installation that might have been a problem is disgraced.”
“This is all a very wild piece of conjecture,” broke in Levy.
“Oh no,” refuted Peterson. “No it’s not. It’s got a logic about it. You set us up. You set America up and you set the Soviet Union up and I want to know how that rocket came down.”
Levy shook his head. There was no lightness about the man now, nor any indication that he had had any celebration drinks before coming to Peterson’s suite. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“Then you’d better think it out,” said Peterson, threateningly. “Your aid and your tanks and your oil are promised. That’s all, just promised. There’s no agreement. You know what sort of a man Fowler is: a shotgun over his arm and a horse to ride off into the West. He hates being made to look a fool. And he’s just left the United Nations having been completely deceived by this. Unless you tell me what it’s about, I’ll set it out piece for piece and convince him it’s true and you won’t get a damned thing. And then I’ll let Moscow know what happened and you won’t get another Jew out of that country for the next fifteen years.”
“Bastard,” said Levy.
“It’s a necessity of the business,” said Peterson, careless of the abuse. “You know me, David. You know I’ll do it.”
“You’d have done the same,” defended Levy, clumsily. “In fact I’m sure you have done the same, in the past.”
“What?”
“I had to evolve a foolproof way of keeping our own person in the installation free from suspicion. And she would have become a suspect, if there had not been so many diversions. It really didn’t matter who mounted them, you or Russia. I was sure one of you would try. Combining, as you did, made it a bonus. Now she’s got years of operational life left. Hannah Bloor is really a most remarkable woman: one of the most dedicated in our service. I couldn’t possibly risk losing her.”
“As project leader, she could actually time the malfunction, so you could orchestrate the whole thing … even the Premier’s appearance at the right time, here tonight?”
“We planned it very carefully,” said Levy, allowing the conceit to show.
“You were prepared to commit hundreds of thousands of dollars and God knows how many lives, for one woman!”
“Of course,” said Levy, surprised at Peterson’s outrage. “She was in a unique position: she had to be protected.”
Peterson thought again of the photographs of Henry Blakey’s wife and child, and the pictures of the mutilated agents he’d despatched in the beginning. “And you regard it as an overwhelming success?”
“Absolutely,” said Levy. “It worked perfectly, didn’t it?”
“Yes,” agreed Peterson. “I suppose it did.”
“Are you going to try to interfere with the aid agreement? Or emigration from Russia?”
Peterson considered the question. “There wouldn’t seem to be a lot of point,” he admitted.
“No,” smiled Levy, with obvious relief. “There wouldn’t, would there?” He made a pretense of looking at his watch. “The reception has started. Why don’t we have a celebration drink. We’ve come out even, you and I.”
“Yes,” said Peterson. “Why don’t we have a celebration drink?”
Soon they would be leaving the pool-side and going to her room to make love, Bohler knew. There was an unspoken awareness between them, like an aphrodisiac. Bohler stirred and put the towel over his lap and she saw the movement and smiled. Bohler was glad the depression was lifting and she was beginning to smile again.
“What will you do now?” he said.
She shrugged. “Return to Germany eventually, I suppose. You?”
“I suppose I’ll be going in a few days.” Bohler wondered if he would get the instructions that night. There seemed no need to remain any longer.
“I’d have liked it to have lasted longer,” she said.
“So would I,” said Bohler. He was surprised at his feelings, confused by them. It had been nervousness that had brought him and Gerda together, he knew. But he did not think it was nervousness with this woman. Was it possible to fall in love in a matter of days with someone about whom he knew nothing and whom he was supposed to be opposing? It seemed a ludicrous conjecture, yet Bohler was unsure of the answer. Certainly he felt differently about Hannah Bloor than he had felt about all the other women he had known.
“Would it be possible?” she said.
“I don’t know,” said Bohler. “Perhaps.”
She began gathering her towels and suntan-oil. “Let’s go back to my room,” she said.
He didn’t want to leave her, Bohler realized. It was illogical and impractical and insane, but he didn’t want to quit the complex knowing that he would never see her again.
Petrov knew there was no way the Politburo could learn that it was not the American who had caused the satellite to malfunction, and that he was therefore safe in his bluff. A consummate Kremlin strategist, he concealed his satisfaction from the other men in the room, enjoying the shift of attack upon Litvinov; it would be a long time before anyone else felt strong enough to mount any sort of challenge against him.
“It would seem that we owe you an apology,” said Dorensky.
“I never took any remarks to be directed personally against me,” lied Petrov.
“There were times when the lack of support was clear,” said the chairman. “For that, on behalf of everyone, I apologize. As always, Comrade General, you have concluded the matter very satisfactorily and with the minimal amount of difficulty for us. I congratulate you.”
“Thank you,” said Petrov, staring pointedly at Litnivov and waiting.
“Congratulations,” said Litvinov, at last.
Back in his office, with the ugly view of the Kremlin complex, Petrov remained at his desk for a long time, considering his escape. He had been lucky. Amazingly so. He could not expect it to happen again. Which meant insurance. He pulled the file that had been assembled on Sergei Litvinov towards him and for an hour he sat making notation marks in margins, to remind him of operations to initiate against the man, until he had sufficient material to insinuate a purge into the mind of Dorensky or some other member of the Politburo.
Finally he stretched away from the papers, his mind still occupied with protection. There was only one thing outstanding which might create a problem, he calculated, reaching out for the telephone.
Two hours later, the frightened, twitching figure of Otto Bock emerged from the side entrance of the West German Foreign Office in Bonn and started across the road. He was only aware of the Mercedes in the last few seconds, managing to half turn towards it before it struck him with a force that sent him arcing into the air, to thump down, by some obscene irony, onto the parked car towards which he had been heading. Otto Bock was dead upon arrival at the hospital. The postmortem disclosed his homosexual tendencies, but at the inquest, at which the police admitted failure in every attempt to find the hit-and-run driver, the evidence was not produced, to spare the feelings of an already distraught wife.
45
Peterson had caught one of the earliest shuttles back to Washington, ahead of the presidential party, summoning Walter Jones as soon as he arrived at Langley. The deputy remained silent as Peterson disclosed what the Israelis had done, just occasionally shaking his head in disbelief.
“Jesus!” he said finally, when the Director finished.
“They suckered us, all the way along the line,” said Peterson.
“Did you tell the President?”
“No. As far as he’s concerned it was Bohler, so the credit goes to us. That puts Flood deeper into the shit, for the opposition he mounted.”
“What did you do, after Levy had admitted it?”
“We went and had a celebratory drink together at the President’s reception.”
“You drank with the bastard!”
“We even toasted each other.”
“I’d have found it difficult,” said Jones.
“I didn’t,” said Peterson. “I wanted him to remember the moment later.”
“Why?”
“He cost us God knows how much money and a lot of people. He almost cost me my job. Do you think I’m going to take that?”
Jones smiled for the first time. “No,” he said. “I don’t guess you are.”
“Can we get Bohler?”
“It hasn’t been too difficult so far.”
“Then get him,” ordered Peterson. “One quick message.”
“Saying what?”
“Kill Hannah Bloor.”
“Just that?”
“Just that,” echoed Peterson. “I’ll not have an Agency of which I’m the Director behaving like trained dogs for the Mossad and David Levy. He thinks he’s been as clever as hell. I’m going to show him how wrong he is.”
Because of the time difference between America and Africa, it was still early in the morning when the contact came. Bohler became immediately aware of the transmission light glowing on what appeared to be the station selector screen and hesitated before reaching out to adjust the set. It would be his recall, he guessed: the recall from Hannah. And he didn’t want that. It would have to happen, but he didn’t want it today. Or tomorrow. Just a few more days, that was all. Perhaps he could stall — argue that it was insecure to quit immediately and that it would take a little while to ease himself out. He smiled at the decision, reaching out to adjust the set and clip the miniature receiver into his ear.
There was the insistence for his identification code and Bohler gave it almost impatiently, then stared incredulously at the set as the message was relayed and the acknowledgement demanded from him.
“Acknowledge,” repeated the static-crowded voice from the Langley communications room.
“Repeat,” said Bohler, the request croaking from him.
“Kill Hannah Bloor.”
“I want clarification.”
“There’s no back-up instruction,” said the operator. “This transmission should be concluded.”
“No! I want clarification … someone in authority.”
“I repeat, we should conclude. The message is kill Hannah Bloor.”
“Please!” said the American. “I can’t … I want to know.…”
“This is against standard instructions … you’re in a detectable situation.…”
“I want …” started Bohler, but he never completed the sentence. Behind him the door to his room splintered off its hinges and he swivelled round to see the Libyan guards at the very moment they thrust through. He half rose from the chair, but the headset threw him off balance and he fell towards the bureau. The first shots missed him and he screamed, initially in fright and then in pain as the second burst from the Kalashnikov scythed into him, so fierce that it lifted his body over the divan and into the window. It didn’t break and he bounced back lifeless into the room.
Dr. Muller was still very shocked. His face was chalky and his hand, when he lifted the brandy goblet, shook so that some of the liqueur spilled down the front of his coat.
“It’s still difficult to comprehend,” he said, his voice uneven. “I never.…” He stopped, shuddering. “It’s frightening,” he said.
“Yes,” agreed Hannah. “Frightening.”
“You had become friendly?”
“I thought so.”
“Yet you had no idea?”
“How can you ask that of me!” protested Hannah, immediately affronted.
“I’m sorry,” apologized Muller at once, raising his hands before him in a placating gesture. “If you hadn’t gone to his door.…” He let the sentence trail away, as if the idea were unthinkable.
