Bazil Faludi, David Hatton and Dimitri Vladim were in Scotland, at the secret code and cipher department where Dimitri had a small section of his own, known as the Polish Sector.
‘I have just heard from the PPS,’ Faludi said. ‘His Minister is very concerned. He’s saying this is not something his Minister could possibly countenance; he means: “Fuck the Russians. They can’t have their soldier back.”’
Neither David nor Dimitri liked the joke – David because of the dozen possible repercussions, and Dimitri because he knew that, if he had really been discovered to be in Britain, the Russians would go to any lengths to make him return, whereupon he would be shot as a traitor or, if he was lucky, sent off to the Urals to dig for whatever dangerous mineral needed to be extracted.
Faludi said, ‘I told the PPS that whatever the Minister says, I say, for the record, and with respect, that I don’t care that we haven’t got a leg to stand on.’
David didn’t actually know whether Faludi was capable of being so forceful to a Minister’s representative, but the matter was serious.
‘There is no way that the bloody Russians are going to get their hands on a code-breaker as valuable as Major Vladim. He is the Polish Sector. Possession being nine-tenths of the law, he’s ours. He’s pumped full of information about The Bureau, he’s loaded with our techniques and secrets and he has developed his own system… and in any case they have no real evidence that he ever came here. Last heard of, he was crossing the Spanish / French border, only to be lost in the fog of bureaucracy. They’re fishing, Hatton; trying it on to see if we bite. He’s not here, never was. Our answer is, “Never heard of him.”’
‘What concerns me, sir,’ said David, ‘is what if the Russians were to become our allies? An incident like this might blow up in our faces… not ours but in the FO’s faces.’
‘Is there anyone at the Foreign Office who expects them to come into the war on our side? Be sensible, Hatton. Germany and Russia are already winking at one another. Next thing you know, they’ll be in bed together.’
David was becoming angry. Faludi had ordered him to come up to Scotland, not a clue what it was about, only to find Vladim already in the ante-room waiting, as ignorant of what was going on as himself.
Dimitri had sat through all this as though he wasn’t one of ‘the bloody Russians’; but now his heavy voice intruded. ‘You gentlemen are… arse’oles, I think is the word. What do you think is on this chair, something you brought into the room on your shoe? Something you are ignoring? Do I smell? Am I an embarrassment to you? This pat-ball you are playing is with me. All that you have said is “Good morning”. Lieutenant Hatton asked me why I was here. I have said that I did not know, and that is all we have said.’
Faludi looked disconcerted. ‘I say, Major, no offence intended. It’s just our way of getting down to things.’
‘Is it so? Is not my way; I am courteous.’
‘It is simply that speed is of the essence here.’
‘Can you not be quick and courteous? I can be.’
‘We are concerned for you, for your safety and welfare.’
‘You are concerned for The Bureau, and not so much for this man here. I am valuable to you. I hold information you cannot get anywhere. In few months I have set up the Polish encoding and decoding section, now I work with others on encryption. I am not “bloody Russian”. I have been senior officer in army, I was two years trained by GPU. In your country you have nothing like GPU. You are amateurs. Not worth the name secret agent, special agent, undercover operator.’
‘You’re right, Vladim, damn bad manners. It is because we do value you that we are pulling out all the stops to see that you cannot be used to bargain with. Now, I apologise. Let’s start again. You have the gist of it from what has been said.’
‘Gist of it? Why do you think I want a gist? I want entire information. How did this happen? Who has been loose with information? Only few people know who is Major Vladim. To all others, I am Lec Podsadowski, Polish refugee.’
David Hatton said, ‘Look, Dimitri, I think the boss is right. Your people are just fishing. They will know by now that you went to Australia – we found you fairly easily – and I suspect that they’ve been fishing there too. They’ve nothing to lose by saying that they know where you are. I suspect that they don’t.’
‘Because I will not go back there does not mean that you people have hold on me. I am man who makes his own mind. I did not have to leave Spain as refugee, I made up my own mind. I know that when Lieutenant Hatton asks Eve to return, it is not so much her that you come fishing for, it is ex-GPU officer. A major in the Red Army with secret service training is a big fish for British. I know how it works, you see. It is what I would do myself. Shall I tell you?’
‘Please do, Major,’ Faludi answered.
‘You know that the English woman and the Russian have close relationship. And you, Lieutenant, know her nature; you know she is idealistic woman; she has rules for herself which she cannot break. She would not leave those children to their fate – she could not. It is not in her nature to do so. Do you know what she had with her when she left Barcelona with the children? Some bread and a piece of fat meat – and she had a long kitchen knife that she had sharpened like a razor.’
Faludi and David let cigarette smoke drift through their fingers unnoticed as they pictured this young woman trying to escape from the awful dregs of the lost war, taking with her a disturbed girl and carrying a sick baby. What would she have done with that knife?
‘One of the rules which she cannot break is that she must be loyal to her own people – I mean people with same beginnings as herself. She understands that my family in Ukraine is of high social standing – intellectuals… and accepts this has made me what I am now.
‘My family always argue philosphy; I join army with ideals – Communist ideals. A political commissar – as you know – is what I was in Spain, sees everything, knows everything. On the fascist side, the Luftwaffe was practising blitzkrieg. On the side of Republic, my country was providing arms and some men, but we were stealing away raw materials. Spain needed those materials… May I have cigarette, please?’
The others hastily offered packets and lighters. Although there were files on the Russian, information was bald and speculative. But this narrative was like a newsreel; no, more than that, it was a reliving.
Faludi listened as the Russian continued, and for the first time saw how important to them all this man was. Red Army, GPU-trained, multilinguist, and disillusioned with the Stalinist brand of socialism – Vladim must be kept out of Russian hands at all costs.