Last Call for Blackford Oakes (29 page)

He turned to the dean. “His complaints. Are they serious? Is it only irksome, what he has objected to, in the matter of his freedom to do research?”

“More than just irksome, comrade. It can be paralyzing, to be hindered in spontaneous communication with foreign students and academic researchers. Even when the material sought after isn't flatly barred, sometimes weeks and months go by because the security bureaucracy—forgive me, Colonel Bykov, if I am rubbing my feet over the face of one of your children. What is truly difficult, and sometimes impossible, is to secure permission to send out research done by Dr. Titov and his team.”

The deputy foreign minister's interest was keen, and he motioned the dean to expand on his point.

“The problem is that if a researcher doing work in a laboratory in Chicago wishes to coordinate his work with Titov's, he cannot do that unless Titov can send him what
he
has. But the security people usually forbid this.”

“On what grounds?” Paval asked.

“On the grounds that Soviet research should not be shared with anybody. On the grounds that to do so is to give away a national property—”

“Suppose we were talking about research into missile interceptors,” Bykov interrupted. “You would hardly expect that we would make such research common property, Comrade Rodzinsky?”

“Are you then saying that we should begin by simply denying Titov the freedom he is after?”

“Comrades, comrades,” Deputy Foreign Minister Paval cut in. “To me it is clear that we have here an opportunity for negotiation. It is possible that after some discussion, and some reassurances, and an invitation to Dr. Titov to reflect on some of the … incongruities of what he proposes, that we can persuade him to return. Meanwhile, there is to be no mention of his absence in the media. Dr. Titov is, we shall record officially, on a leave of absence and traveling in … Europe.”

“Are we to inform the Austrian police that we have no further interest in his whereabouts?”

The door opened. Bykov recognized the intruder, and rose to ascertain why he was there. The two talked for a few seconds in whispers. Bykov returned to his seat and apologized. “An important development, Comrade Nikolai Vasilievich,” he addressed the deputy foreign minister.

Paval went back to what he had been saying before the interruption. “Yes, in answer to that question. The Austrian police are to be told that all is well in the Titov matter. Meanwhile our detachment in Vienna is to do everything possible to locate him. An emissary is to contact the Austrian go-between, Jutzeler, to ask him to set up a meeting between our representative and Titov.”

“Who will be our representative?” Belov asked.

“On that point I will wish to confer privately with Comrade Mikhail Pavlovich.”

The others left the room.

Bykov stayed. “The interruption, Comrade Nikolai Vasilievich, was to advise me that our KGB in Leningrad have … picked up Nina Titov and her son. Attempting to leave the country.”

CHAPTER 57

It was Tuesday late morning. Colonel Bykov had made up his mind how to proceed.

He sent for Comrade Andrei Martins. “Bring him here right away.”

Philby was there an hour later. Bykov briefed him on the Titov defection.

“You have once or twice asked to be given another mission, Andrei Fyodorovich. Today we have one for you. You are to go to Vienna. Your mission is to get Titov back here. You will have substantial help. To begin with, Dr. Vladimir Kirov will be with you. Do you know Kirov?”

“I met him once, Mikhail Pavlovich. He was the mentor of Professor Ursina Chadinov—”

Bykov looked up. Philby thought he could see a wink. “The late Professor Ursina Chadinov.”

“I stand corrected.” Philby, too, suppressed a smile, or almost.

“Most critical, here, is that Kirov was a classmate of Titov and continues as close friend and confidant. I have already talked with Kirov, and he is willing to go to Vienna. But he has reservations. He says he is hardly in a position to contradict Titov on the matter of his complaints about access to data and to foreign scientists.”

“You will have to fill me in.”

“Ah! Of course. You are not aware of the demands made by Titov? The conditions he set down before agreeing to return?”

“No, Mikhail Pavlovich, I am not.”

“He demands—of course—the safe arrival of his wife and son. That is a story on which I will need to expand. Then he demands future unimpeded access to foreign data and foreign scientists. Deputy Foreign Minister Paval is anxious to make that concession, whereas I am insisting that there be surveillance of Titov's conversations with foreigners—especially after this! And that a committee evaluate any request for a transfer of data or material he wishes to have sent out.

“Call that a negotiable point. And—listen, Andrei Fyodorovich, to this: He wishes two of his colleagues at the institute to emigrate to Vienna to work alongside him to continue joint researches.”

“That is truly wonderful! I find that truly imaginative! You have of course not spoken to the select two?”

“Of course not. They are not even aware that they are playing a role in all of this. Bear in mind that Titov's colleagues are not even aware that he is … estranged. We have arranged to pass on the word, through the dean, that he is taking a brief vacation. But of course even here,” he offered Philby a cigarette and lighted his own, “word gets out. And there is the matter of his wife and son.”

“You were going to tell me about them.”

“Our branch in Leningrad acted very quickly, very commendably. In a routine check at the ferry terminal, they spotted the young man—his name is Aleksei—buying tickets to Helsinki. He was apprehended, refused to give the address of his mother, and was taken to the security building, the Balukla—”

“I know the place. I lectured there, if you remember, to three hundred of your colleagues.”

“Yes, well, there he was interrogated by Vasily Trail. Lieutenant Vasily Trail.”

“Who is he? Why is his name important?”

“Vasily Trail was a young assistant to Blokhin. V. M. Blokhin. Comrade Blokhin believed in direct action. He—” Bykov aimed an imaginary pistol to his head—“singlehandedly executed 7,000 Poles—individually—in twenty-eight days, in Katyn, in 1940. We have to be grateful that the young Titov did not resist Lieutenant Trail for too long. Trail had not been advised that we have an interest in the health of Titov's wife and son.”

“Was the boy … maimed?”

“No. But he will not be fit for several days to be seen by his father. In short, we must keep mother and son sequestered, but available by telephone, if and when we think it useful that they speak to Titov. Proof that they are alive.”

“If not well.”

“He will recover.”

“What is my role?”

“We can assume that the Americans will have an aggressive unit in Vienna to talk Titov into defecting. We do not know what inducements the Americans will come up with. We can assume that they would find no problem in funding a continuation of Titov's work in a select university.”

“Are the research facilities he needs very—special?”

“They are certainly special. But presumably within reach of a scientist working in Vienna.
Your
job, Andrei Fyodorovich, is to make yourself aware of exactly what is going on, what the Americans are offering, what Titov is thinking. At the right moment, I would suppose that you would speak directly with Titov.”

“My Russian is serviceable, but not … resourceful.”

“A member of your team will serve you as an instant translator, Russian-English.”

“What am I to say to Titov, beyond stressing the professional concessions you have spoken about?”

Bykov drew on his cigarette. “Andrei Fyodorovich, you are by reputation the wiliest intelligence agent in the world. We will be substantially guided by what
you
recommend. Your mission is simple: Get Lindbergh Titov back to the Soviet Union.”

“Reunited with wife and son?”

“If Titov does not come back, wife and son will stay here.”

“Dead or alive?”

“Dead or alive.”

CHAPTER 58

The Titov project went quickly to the top of the pile on the desk of CIA Director William Webster. He called in Walter Jacobs from the Soviet desk. What Jacobs liked most about the director was that even when saying not a great deal, Webster could communicate a shelf-load of thought.

This time Webster opened by saying: “Why do we want Titov so badly? Have you thought about that?”

“No.”

“Well, let's think about it together.”

A half hour later, Webster got through to Ambassador Henry Grunwald in Vienna. Grunwald, before taking on diplomacy in his retirement, had reached the pinnacle of the profession of journalism—editor-in-chief of all the publications of Time, Inc. Webster had talked with him a few times before his retirement as a journalist and had the measure of the speed with which Grunwald caught on to whatever the problem at hand was. Grunwald was about the same age as Henry Kissinger, and they had arrived in the United States as refugees from Hitler at about the same time, speaking English with about the same Germanic coloration.

“I'm sitting here with Walter Jacobs, Henry. Obviously we want Titov the scientist to come to us. Who wouldn't? But is he of any use to us as an anti-Communist? Hang on, I'm going to put you on the speakerphone so Walter can hear what we're saying.”

He pressed the requisite button. “You hearing me, Henry?”

“I hear you fine. You are asking me if I know whether Titov is an anti-Communist.”

“Well, sure. In the sense that he resents the repressions on research, we can assume that, yes, he is. But before we exert ourselves totally, it would be good to know whether, if he gets out, he will be willing to speak up.”

“You mean, speak out on … the basic things? Human rights, Soviet totalitarian practices, that sort of thing?”

“Yes. That sort of thing.”

There was a trace of laughter. “‘That sort of thing,' Bill, goes a long way … Well, in the past ninety-six hours I've read everything I could put my hands on about Lindbergh Titov—I even found out that he was named after Charles Lindbergh, born the same year Lindbergh made his flight.”

“Have you had any experience with Gus Windels, one of our guys in Moscow, hangs out at the State Department—Public Affairs?”

“No. What's he got on Titov?”

“Maybe a fair amount, because he briefly dated Ursina Chadinov. The late Ursina Chadinov. Chadinov and Vladimir Kirov were very close, and Kirov was a classmate and longtime friend of Titov.”

“So. What can I get from Windels, on the phone from Vienna, that you can't get, on the phone from Washington?”

“Not much. But we're bringing Windels in. He'll arrive in Vienna later today, or tomorrow morning.”

“I'll expect him to call me. Meanwhile—”

“Yes, he'll know to do that.”

“Meanwhile, I know where Titov is hiding out. Not with the man I first thought of. But I should have thought of this lady. She defected, after getting her graduate degree in biology at Moscow U., and that was fifteen years ago. She teaches now at Vienna U. The go-between, Peter Jutzeler of the Austrian Information Office, has been placed in charge of this little mess by the Austrian government, and he has told me to come by to see him.”

“When did he tell you that?”

“About the time, Bill, you began this phone call.”

“Okay. We'll hold. Get back to me as soon as you can.”

“As soon as I can will still be early, Eastern Daylight Time.”

“You know the number. They'll find me.”

“They'll put me through on a secure line?”

“I'll arrange that—wait a minute, Walter has a question.”

Webster leaned to one side and Walter Jacobs bent his head toward the speaker phone. “Mr. Ambassador, this is Walter Jacobs.”

“How do you do, Mr. Jacobs.”

“The scientist who defected fifteen years ago, with whom Titov may be staying, is her first name Valeria? V-a-l-e-r-i-a?”

“Yes. Valeria Mikhailov, graduated Moscow U. School of Medicine 1972, defected to Austria 1973.”

“Thanks. We have a file on her.”

“I haven't met her, but word is she's a tough lady and pretty vocal anti-Communist.”

“Okay. I'll turn you back to the director.”

“Henry, I'll wait to hear from you. Hear from you on two counts”—William Webster was methodical. “(1) What Jutzeler is asking, and (2) whether Valeria Milker—Milkkervich—”

“Mikhailov.”

“—Mikhailov is willing to put you in touch with our quarry.”

“Gut. Auf Wiedersehen.”

The ambassador's car pulled in at the Austrian Information Office, an annex of the Foreign Ministry. It was once a palace for a neglected Austrian queen, who was left to console herself with her ninety-seven-room abode. Ambassador Grunwald stayed in the limousine, sending an aide to expedite contact with Jutzeler. Grunwald was, after all, ambassador of the United States of America. He had driven here from a relatively modest residence, though it was adequate to have served as the meeting place of Premier Nikita Khrushchev and President John F. Kennedy when they met in 1961 to confer on the Berlin crisis. Grunwald was ready to do what he could to bring Titov permanently to the West, and preferably to the United States.

It made a difference, leaving the Soviet Union and taking up work again in the United States. Solzhenitsyn had discovered this, though he too had allies, not in Vienna, but in West Germany.

Grunwald wouldn't be sticky about protocol, certainly not to the point of remaining immobile in the car until Herr Jutzeler came to get him. He would get out of the car and follow his aide, if informed where exactly to go, and that Jutzeler was standing by.