Charles McCarry - The Miernik Dossier

MIERNIK: Irresponsible. When I think that I asked Sasha to help you, thinking the danger was so much less than it was… The danger was your fault.

ZOFIA: There was no danger to Sasha. He can do anything.

MIERNIK: Perhaps he can. But to ask him to take extra chances as you did. I don’t know how I can apologize to him.

ZOFIA: If you do, he’ll laugh at you. It was a lark for Sasha.

MIERNIK: You think everything is a lark. Life is not a lark. You have never been asked to do an ugly thing in your life. You could have ruined everything.

(Remainder of Polish conversation consists of remarks by female voice on landmarks. Both voices change to English before tape ends.)

18 June, 1737 hours. Routine surveillance of Vasily Kutosov continues. In Luxembourg Gardens he approaches a female, aged approximately twenty-five, long dark hair, blue dress, medium height, exceptionally attractive. Kutosov, removing hat, speaks to young woman, who is feeding pigeons.

Conversation between two subjects ensues. Duration 7 minutes, 45 seconds. Forrest approaches subjects at approximately 1740 hours and ascertains that they are speaking Russian.

Kutosov is overheard to say: “It is a simple assignment. You have only to watch him and remember what he does. If he goes out alone, be sure he carries the little device that you will be given. You needn’t worry that he’ll come to any harm.”

Kutosov and female subject, after more conversation that was not overheard (audio surveillance was impractical because of lack of cover for the technician), continue feeding corn to the pigeons. Subject female has never before been seen with Kutosov. Her photograph is attached.

Female subject positively identified as Ilona Bentley, British subject, DOB 11 May 35 Berlin, now resident Geneva, Switzerland.

Cross-files: Geneva (info): Christopher: N. Collins: T. Miernik.

Action (London): Request biographical data British liaison.

Though it is of no probable operational importance, I report to you that Ilona Bentley has turned up in Naples. She appeared at the door of my hotel room this evening (22nd June), explaining that she had arrived in Naples two days before.

2. Miss Bentley joined our group for dinner and evidenced no particular curiosity about the presence of Zofia Miernik. Later she asked where the Miernik girl had joined us, and I told her Vienna. The subject was dropped.

3. I have to report that Miss Bentley wishes to join our group as well. As you may know, she and I have been friends for some time, and there has recently been some trouble between us of a personal nature. I have attempted to persuade Miss Bentley to return to Geneva, but I cannot be certain that she will do so. The ship on which we are travelling to Egypt is fully booked, and it is therefore unlikely that she will accompany us. However, Miss Bentley is an impulsive young woman who at the moment seems determined to renew her friendship with me, and she is certainly resourceful enough to find her way to Egypt by other means of transport. I realize that this unexpected event is awkward, and I shall do my best to sort it out.

The appearance of Ilona is most disturbing. She came down to dinner with Nigel and sat among us as if we had all met by accident in the Brasserie Centrale in Geneva. This is still her world, it seems natural to her to be among friends. But the world of Geneva seems far behind me, and I do not wish to be reminded of it. Especially it is painful to be reminded of it by an Ilona who comes downstairs with Nigel, her face bearing every sign that they have just made love. Ilona attaches no importance to her body apart from the pleasure it gives her; that the memory of it should cause suffering for her lovers does not trouble her. I doubt that it even occurs to her.

Automatic emotion: Why has she followed us? What is her secret purpose? From whom does she take instructions? All this is nonsense. I will never get away from the beating of my rabbit’s heart. Obviously she has come to make it up with Nigel. It will not be easy. He sat morosely through the whole meal, avoiding my eyes. There can be no question that he knows. Were I in his place (and of course I am: if he shares Ilona’s body with me, I share it with him) I would accept things for what they are: a whim of Ilona’s, an indulgence of her sexual curiosity that will never happen again. “Bad luck, Tadeusz!”

Christopher watched the byplay with his usual amusement. There is something about him that Zofia likes. After the adventures they’ve had together, this is natural. It is to Paul that she always talks (they lapse into German when the rest of us are talking about something else: I wonder why?). The contrast between Zofia and Ilona is extraordinary. One cannot judge a sister’s sexuality, but there is something withheld in Zofia, whereas Ilona is so accessible. It is more than manners, more than coloring-the one girl pale and blond, the other olive and black. The girls do not like each other. Ilona’s attitude: “I permit you to talk to the American, but the others are mine-and so would he be mine if I wanted it that way.” Zofia’s attitude: “I see what you mean, and I understand perfectly how you achieve your results.” They have an inborn talent for insult, women.

Tomorrow we sail. All this with Ilona will be behind me. It is a shock, seeing her when I never expected to see her again. After tomorrow, this will finally be true. Regret makes a cold supper. The fact of the matter is, I would abandon the journey, abandon all I have promised myself to do at the end of the journey, abandon my friends-if Ilona were to come to me instead of Nigel. A few doors away, they are together. I know what it is to be sore with love: with sex, as Kalash would say. Even sex is more than I hoped for. It would be enough for me; love is for the beautiful. What is more ludicrous than jealousy in an ugly man? And yet. And yet. And yet. And yet!

23 June. Our ship’s sailing has been postponed for at least two days. Engine trouble, says the purser. Egyptian stupidity, says Kalash. She is an oily old freighter called, of all things, the S.S. Nefertiti. Her registry is Egyptian. The purser was evidently afraid of losing our passage money, as he loaded the Cadillac, had our baggage taken aboard, and collected our tickets before giving us the news about the delay. He tells us that we are welcome to stay aboard while repairs are made. “Better view of Naples Bay from the deck than any luxury hotel,” the purser said. He’s right about that, but we’ll move back to the Commodore anyway.

The delay is serious for Miernik. The voyage takes six days, so his passport would expire before he reached Alexandria. (I’m beginning to wish that his people had fixed him up with an American passport, or at least an Ecuadorian one.) You will have further cause to suspect him, despite all his dilemmas, when I tell you that he burst into Arabic during the discussion with the purser; Kalash says he speaks it well, with a Syrian intonation. Miernik was too upset by the change in the sailing schedule to bother to explain how he happens to speak this language so much better than he told me he did.

Once Miernik is inside Egypt, he can at last throw away his Polish passport; the Sudanese laisser-passer Kalash obtained for him will get him out of the country. (But not into it: his visa is stamped on the Polish passport.) Interminable discussion: what to do about Miernik? Kalash, of course, was in favor of ignoring the entire situation; he has no doubt that he can get Miernik ashore in Alexandria even without a passport. “There will be a certain amount of shouting,” Kalash explains. “The Egyptians are a nation of crazed louts. But in the end I will find someone who knows my name and who will take old Miernik’s money. All will be well.” Miernik is not willing to accept the 10 percent chance that Kalash is wrong. He thinks that Kalash would leave him on the docks, chained to a couple of Egyptian cops, if the plan failed. “Kalash is a wonderful man,” says Miernik, “but you know how he is-he’d have forgotten my existence in half an hour.”