Hedi Kaddour - Waltenberg

And if you start talking of safeguards you immediately give the impression of being some sort of moderate and in the pay of the Anglo-Saxons to boot, and just at the very moment when the need is to come up with names, never mind, if we have to go in and clean up Budapest’s mess we’ll pick up anyone who doesn’t have a diplomatic passport and we’ll introduce martial law, without issuing any communiqués or talking about wasted bullets.

‘Misha, you’re not saying anything, are you bored? Is it complicated? What have you got to suggest?’

Markov smiles as he speaks and Michael Lilstein has a feeling that in that smile tragedy is choosing the object it will strike.

‘We could snatch someone well known, comrade Minister, someone who is well-protected, who has never been bothered until now, and by snatching this person we would show that we know everything, we’d be returning the goods to the sender, at night, all the way to Austria, they’ll get the message loud and clear.’

‘A corpse?’

A trap, don’t fall into it, you say:

‘That’s one option, comrade Minister.’

‘It’s still too complicated, Misha.’

Markov is not smiling now. Lilstein does not like seeing him in this mood. In January 1945, Markov was the first man Lilstein saw looming up in front of him, in woods close to Auschwitz, with his round, beaming face, Sancho Panza in a fur coat carrying a machine-pistol, part of the avant-garde of Konev’s army, Lilstein fell into Markov’s arms, he wept for a quarter of an hour in Markov’s arms, saying nothing, and Markov smiled and said: ‘It’s all over, lad, all over’ to a man who was two heads taller than him and weighed three times less. Markov was one of the political commissars of Konev’s army. He was always in a good humour. He’s done very well for himself. He’s deputy Minister now. Tonight his mood is grim, he says:

‘We’re floundering, I must get some sleep, tomorrow morning, at five, we’ll see what needs to be done.’

Twenty minutes after the meeting ended, Lilstein was called back to Markov’s carriage.

‘The Americans have an important agent in Budapest, an agent we’ve never bothered, and you never mentioned the fact to me?’

‘There was a good chance the information would end up on a desk that wasn’t yours, comrade Minister, I didn’t have time to come to Moscow personally.’

And Markov adopts a very mechanical tone, why so many precautions among men who are fighting the same war, all the Ministries have their shoulders to the same wheel, Misha should have sent his message without delay. Markov ends with a wide, childlike smile, the look in his eye dictates Lilstein’s response.

‘I was aware, comrade Minister, that it wouldn’t be long before you called us all together. I waited for the opportunity you’ve just created: it’s a woman.’

Markov throws his hands in the air:

‘We haven’t been giving you all this protection so you could come up with hogwash like that!’

‘She arrived here not long ago, comrade Minister, she was in Germany, she was already travelling in Germany and Hungary in the days of the Nazis and Horthy, and even before then, she has always known a great many things, she used to be a diva, by which I mean…’

‘Misha, I too am a cultured man, I don’t spend all my evenings questioning suspects with a blowtorch.’

‘Everyone who matters goes to her public master-classes, comrade Minister, and they invite her to dinner, she’s American.’

‘The one from Berlin?’

Markov couldn’t have asked for more, he doesn’t want an answer, he smiles, a good smile, like in the old days, Sancho Panza, Lilstein wonders why Markov mentioned blowtorches, ‘Comrade Minister, I’m certain that nowadays she’s a full-time CIA operative, with no diplomatic status, if you wish we could pass the information to the Hungarians, let them shoot her, or alternatively wait and only shoot her when we’ve gone in to do Budapest’s housekeeping, but if we send her back to them now, dead or alive whichever, they’ll realise we know everything, everything that is less well guarded than the secret of this woman’s role, they might settle for stirring people up with their Radio Free Europe broadcasts but if they really want to make a more specific response we must tell them that we know everything and are waiting for them to move.’

‘Does she still sing?’

‘Private recitals, just for friends, comrade Minister, apparently she’s as good as ever.’

‘Well, no more recitals! Lower the curtain! Put one of your men with mine, to keep an eye on things, this isn’t a bad idea, you’ve got forty-eight hours, less if possible. You really didn’t waste any time in sending me this information?’

Kappler doesn’t need to know this part of Lena’s story, not now, in the end Max will tell it to him, adding another episode, dating from in 1954, two years before Budapest, in the end Max will have to tell Kappler what he did in ’56 and ’54.

Max will turn it into a story in his usual style, with gaps, some invention, elements of the truth, and when the archives are opened fifty years hence it will be seen that Max was not very far wide of the mark, there’ll be a few snippets of information for Max, about 1956 and going two years further back, to early 1954.

You really should talk about this to a couple of your poker chums, Max, one rumour about Lena is doing the rounds in Washington, McCarthy has a hankering, the McCarthy of the glory days, the communist witch-hunt, a minor scene in the office of Senator McCarthy, he is alone with his aide who is reading aloud from a file:

‘This lady, this opera-singer who cosies up to the communists, she travels to the East whenever she wants, the FBI says nothing, the CIA lets her have a free hand, the State Department gives her trip its blessing, the KGB provides luxury hotel accommodation in Prague or Budapest, she’s always had covert dealings, first with the Nazis, as early as 1931, she even cosied up to the Germans between 1914 and 1917, she left Germany in tears, twice, first in 1917 and again in 1941, each time just before we went to war, the Russians must have a helluva fat file on her, they’ve got her, we’ll make her testify to the committee, under oath, diva or not, we’ll fry her, she fraternised with the Nazis and she works for the Soviets and she’s in cahoots with all the liberals in Washington, we’ve got her cold, a typical case, a Nazi, a Bolshevik and a Liberal.’

McCarthy makes up his mind:

‘We’ll subpoena her to appear before the committee.’

February 1954, McCarthy is about to put a large bomb under the communist and liberal networks, subpoena this woman, Max, you go too far, you talk as if you were sitting on McCarthy’s knee, the bastard, if you knew anything about the man’s morals, shush, not a word, down boy, this is guaranteed château-bottled stuff, aged in our own cellars.

McCarthy is out to get Lena, and two men ask for a meeting, two unofficial envoys from the White House, smart restaurant, private room, there’ll be two of us, Mr Senator, you can bring your aide, there’ll be no tricks, you can post one bodyguard at the door, not more, it will be a very significant meeting.

McCarthy has got the White House liberals, communist puppets, where he wants them, they’ve got their backs to the wall, they ask for a meeting and now they’re sitting across from him, private room with a thick-pile carpet, dark red drapes, very quiet.

Two liberals for McCarthy: Walker, a member of Eisenhower’s private office, the laid-back member of the team, tweed jacket, black-and-orange handkerchief in the breast pocket, Princeton colours, and the fairy, Garrick, grey suit, democratic Senator, two Washington fairies, both under thirty, each born with a silver spoon in his mouth, played football, law degrees from Princeton, muscles and crewcuts to give the lie, liberal fairies, they’ve had the nerve to send him these two, a single indictment will be enough, no cosying-up outside the door, no drinks even, McCarthy starts talking before he’s finished sitting down, his hands are still on the arms of his chair: