ADAM HALL - The Warsaw Document

Most of the stuff was in Russian but none of it encoded and I went for main headings and serial numbered collations and found one specific document summarising the whole of the operation under sections Preliminary Evidence — Prima Facie — Integration of Testimonies — Dossier of Accused — Summary of Charges.

The name N. K. N. Voskarev appeared throughout with the title of Chief of Enquiry and the name of Colonel A. S. Foster began appearing on the reports dated later than January 16 which was the day he'd flown in from Moscow. Two other names were featured.

My senses were atrophying to a slight degree: the sound of the traffic seemed muffled and the light in here was keyed lower. Quite normal, the effect of sudden concentration as the typed symbols jumped and the mind span, incapable of containing this scale of significance.

Movement and my eyes flicked but he was only crossing his legs. In reflex I said softly:

'Sit still.'

I was looking again at the document.

So here it was: the programme I'd sensed was running in the silence and in the dark, smooth and massive and perfectly engineered, designed to protect the East-West talks from abortive collapse in the event of insurgence by the people of Poland and subsequent control of the capital by armed force under the provisions of the Warsaw Pact.

Precis: a special tribunal to be convened in Moscow for the immediate trial of a Western agent sent into Warsaw for the express purpose of activating the interests of an international imperialist conspiracy. Indictment: inciting dissension and revolt, providing clandestine liaison with Western factions, conveying assurances of diplomatic support from capitalist powers.

The trial to be attended by international correspondents with all facilities required to make manifest the guilt of the accused and the gravity of his acts.

A show trial on the Garry Powers scale with a scapegoat dragged into the limelight and butchered on the block of political expedience. A man with two names.

P. K. Longstreet, alias Karl Dollinger.

'There's nothing,' I heard Foster saying, 'you can do about it. Because you can't leave Poland.'

I went through the rest of the drawers.

He was standing behind me.

'Get over there and sit down, damn you.'

Angry because I'd let him move without my seeing him. Postpone all thoughts about the document until the sector was green, otherwise highly dangerous.

'I'm not going to do anything, old boy.' But he couldn't get his tone right. ‘We're alone here, and there might not be another chance like this. We can talk the whole thing over and do a deal on the quiet. I'll accept your word and you can accept mine. Give me a brief confession and I can arrange that you won't get more than three years, good conduct, special remission, you know the drift. Otherwise it's for life. Now do be sensible.'

I tugged at the last drawer but it was locked and I had to open it with one of Voskarev's keys. Then they were in my hand: 35mm strip of negs and a set of prints. I'd always thought it was how they'd done it, with photographs.

The streets looked different but not because of the new snowfall: there weren't so many people about and the traffic was thinning; between Praga and the city centre there was a darkened car standing at almost every intersection. Those who didn't want to be involved were keeping indoors and those who were waiting for midnight were lying low.

No one stopped us: the car carried police-plates.

There'd been a briefcase in the office and I'd cleared it out and refilled it with the stuff I wanted and it was on the carpeted floor with Voskarev's. The main document was on my lap and I leafed through it because there might be a chance to summarise the key facts in signals before I had a go at breaking a frontier. That would be when they'd get me, if I reached that far. Voskarev was working satisfactorily as a hostage but there was a deadline on that: he and Foster weren't officially involved in the counter-insurgent operations but they were in liaison with the police divisions and they'd be reported as missing, any time now.

'After all, we only need to prove our point that the uprising was incited by the West. We've nothing against you personally.' His smile had great charm in it and his tone was patient. 'Once you've been convicted you'll be of no further use to us — sorry to put it that way but I'm sure you understand — so there'll be no point in taking it out on you afterwards We're not spiteful, you know.’

He was on the tip-up seat: he seemed to like it there. I remembered something about back-trouble, a slipped disc or something: at parties he always chose an upright chair. I said:

'You couldn't have used Merrick, didn't you know that?' On the relevant pages of the document Merrick's name had been crossed out and Longstreet written above it by hand. 'He's got diplomatic immunity… The most you could have done was kick him out of the country.’

'Generally speaking yes, but we'd have made sure he'd elect to go on trial. That's why we chose him, instead of a known agent like Browning of M.I.6 — he's piddling about at the Embassy. I expect you're aware of that.'

'I never know anything about M.I.6.'

He gave a soft laugh. 'Same old thing, the departments in London don't hit it off, do they, never have. But young Merrick was just the job, you see: we wanted to create an inexperienced man and groom him for stardom. Someone we could rely on to say the right things at the trial. Then you turned up.'

'Supposing you can ever get me inside a tribunal, you think I'll say all the right things?’

'You don't need to. You've been incriminating yourself since the day you flew in, and it's all down there in the reports sent in by Merrick. It won't really matter what you say.'

Lights reflected in the glass division and I watched them and they steadied and followed for two blocks through the central area past Ogrod Saski Park and I began sweating because the minute Foster was reported missing the Moskwicz would become a trap.

'I don't think it's a police car, old boy. But it will be, sooner or later.' He leaned towards me and said with absolute sincerity: 'You'll have to accept my little offer, so you ought to do it now, because don't you see you're only adding to the charges, playing right into their hands? I'll try telling them I went with you to the Commissariat of my own free will, but old Vosky's going to bleat out the whole story. You must see you're making things difficult for me.'

Basic brainwash technique: the operator allies himself with the subject without any pretence of switching loyalties: 'their' hands. Friendly attitude: 'old Vosky', not such a bad chap if you treat him right.

'What d'you think the chances are, Foster?'

He wouldn't tell the truth unless it suited him but it'd give me an idea of what else he wanted to sell me.

The puffy lids opened wider in surprise. 'They're a hundred per cent. I give you my word that the maximum will be three years, providing you — '

'The chances of Moscow sending tanks in.'

He looked away. I hadn't done it deliberately but for a moment he'd thought I was hooked.

'It depends how far things go.'

That could be the truth. For the past three days there'd been careful announcements about tank regiments carrying out winter manoeuvres ten miles outside the city, 'to test the efficiency of mobile armoured units in snow conditions'.

'How far d'you think things'll go?'

He spread his hands in appeal. 'We've done all we can, as you know, to weed out the rowdy elements. If those remaining decide to make a nuisance of themselves then we'll just have to keep order. Surely that's reasonable? We had to do it in Prague.'