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But the message was the opposite of disastrous.
Volodya read with growing amazement. Werner explained that the German military had decided to send spies to Spain posing as anti-Fascist volunteers wanting to fight for the government side in the civil war. They would report clandestinely from behind the lines to German-manned listening stations in the rebel camp.
That in itself was red-hot information.
But there was more.
Werner had the names.
Volodya had to restrain himself from whooping with joy. A coup like this could happen only once in the lifetime of an intelligence man, he thought. It more than made up for losing Markus. Werner was solid gold. Volodya dreaded to think what risks he must have taken to purloin this list of names and smuggle it out of Air Ministry headquarters in Berlin.
He was tempted to run upstairs to Lemitov's office right away, but he restrained himself.
The four subalterns shared a typewriter. Volodya lifted the heavy old machine off Kamen's desk and put it on his own. Using the forefinger of each hand, he typed out a Russian translation of the message from Werner. While he was doing so the daylight faded and powerful security lights came on outside the building.
Leaving a carbon copy in his desk drawer, he took the top copy and went upstairs. Lemitov was in. A good-looking man of about forty, he had dark hair slicked down with brilliantine. He was shrewd, and had a knack of thinking one step ahead of Volodya, who strove to emulate his forethought. He did not subscribe to the orthodox military view that army organization was about shouting and bullying, yet he was merciless with incompetent people. Volodya respected him and feared him.
"This might be tremendously useful information," Lemitov said when he had read the translation.
"Might be?" Volodya did not see any reason for doubt.
"It could be disinformation," Lemitov pointed out.
Volodya did not want to believe that, but he realized with a surge of disappointment that he had to acknowledge the possibility that Werner had been caught and turned into a double agent. "What kind of disinformation?" he asked dispiritedly. "Are these false names, to send us on a wild goose chase?"
"Perhaps. Or they might be the real names of genuine volunteers, Communists and socialists who have escaped from Nazi Germany and gone to Spain to fight for freedom. We could end up arresting real anti-Fascists."
"Hell."
Lemitov smiled. "Don't look so miserable! The information is still very good. We have our own spies in Spain--young Russian soldiers and officers who have 'volunteered' to join the International Brigades. They can investigate." He picked up a red pencil and wrote on the sheet of paper in small, neat handwriting. "Well done," he said.
Volodya took that for dismissal and went to the door.
Lemitov said: "Did you meet Markus today?"
Volodya turned back. "There was a problem."
"I guessed, by your mouth."
Volodya told the story. "So I lost a good source," he finished. "But I don't know what I could have done differently. Should I have told the NKVD about Markus and warned them off?"
"Fuck, no," said Lemitov. "They're completely untrustworthy. Never tell them anything. But don't worry, you haven't lost Markus. You can get him back easily."
"How?" Volodya said uncomprehendingly. "He hates us all now."
"Arrest Irina again."
"What?" Volodya was horrified. Had she not suffered enough? "Then he'll hate us even more."
"Tell him that if he doesn't continue to cooperate with us, we'll interrogate her all over again."
Volodya tried desperately to hide his revulsion. It was important not to appear squeamish. And he could see that Lemitov's plan would work. "Yes," he managed to say.
"Only this time," Lemitov went on, "tell him we'll put the lighted cigarettes up her cunt."
Volodya felt as if he might vomit. He swallowed hard and said: "Good idea. I'll pick her up now."
"Tomorrow is soon enough," said Lemitov. "Four in the morning. Maximum shock."
