Show Me a Hero Read online

  This is for Eleanor Wright—the pre-Raphaelite beauty of Turnbridge Wells—with love from us all.

  Copyright

  Copyright © 1992 the Estate of Ted Allbeury

  All rights reserved.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The author has asserted his moral right in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act, 1988 [UK].

  Bibliographical Note

  This Dover edition, first published in 2017, is an unabridged republication of the work originally published by New English Library, Great Britain, in 1992.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Allbeury, Ted, author.

  Title: Show me a hero / Ted Allbeury.

  Description: Mineola, NY : Dover Publications, 2017.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017020303| ISBN 9780486820361 (paperback) | ISBN 048682036X (paperback)

  Subjects: LCSH: Spy stories. | Suspense fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Espionage. | FICTION / Political.

  Classification: LCC PR6051.L52 S55 2017 | DDC 823/.914—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017020303

  Manufactured in the United States by LSC Communications

  82036X01 2017

  www.doverpublications.com

  Most espionage novels concentrate on the actions of an agent in some particular operation, usually involving guns and general mayhem. But in real life the operation of an espionage network is very different. In this novel I have tried to give an impression of the life of a man who runs a KGB network in the United States. With more emphasis on his life than the work that he did. The novel covers a long period and for clarity I have kept to the same name for the central character and ignored his obvious need for aliases.

  Show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy.

  F. Scott Fitzgerald—The Crack-Up, 1945

  Vain hope, to make people happy by politics!

  Thomas Carlyle, 1831

  Man is a credulous animal, and must believe something; in the absence of good grounds for belief, he will be satisfied with bad ones.

  Bertrand Russell, “An Outline of Intellectual Rubbish,”

  Unpopular Essays, 1950

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Mary Taylor wondered why they had banned the TV crews and limited the press conference to journalists and radio. Even still-photographers had been excluded. Most press conferences at Camp David had three or four network crews. It couldn’t be a security problem. Maybe he just wanted to limit the time he gave them. The TV people always used their weight and dragged things out.

  They were still testing the microphones and recorder when he walked over to the dais. Blue shirt, no tie, grey slacks and Reebok trainers that looked as though they actually did some work. The wispy hair was lifting in the slight breeze and already that rather attractive lop-sided smile, as somebody moved the main mike. She’d always liked him even in the old days before he was Vice-President. He was really nothing like Reagan but in some ways they seemed much the same. Likeable All-American boys. But Bush was different because he had his hands on the levers and he not only did his homework but he understood it. His stint as boss of the CIA had seen to that. And he wasn’t likely to confuse Bolivia with Brazil. Not that Ronald Reagan lost votes because of gaffes like that. Most Americans couldn’t put their finger on Czechoslovakia on a map of the world. Reagan made voters feel that they really could be President of the USA if they wanted to.

  There were all the usual questions about arms reduction and Star Wars, as SDI had been christened by the press. The features girl from the Post tried to hassle him about abortion but he gave her the smile and pointed to the man from The Times of London.

  “Yes, Mr. Long.”

  “Mr. President, there are some in Europe, and I understand in the USA too, who wonder if the White House isn’t dragging its feet now that glasnost and perestroika have changed the international climate. Are they right, Mr. President?”

  “Well now—we’ve made considerable progress in our negotiations with the Soviets on arms reduction, the outlawing of chemical warfare weapons and troop reductions. I wouldn’t call that dragging our feet.”

  “Mr. President, I was thinking more of the psychological aspects of glasnost. The world sees the Soviets stretching out the hand of peace and the US government taking a rather aloof attitude. Not ready to accept the end of the Cold War.”

  The President smiled. “I’m delighted that the press are giving so much space to good news for a change. But let me make clear that this administration is responsible, as all administrations are, for the security of the United States and its people. We have had nearly forty years of Cold War—not, I hasten to add, of our making. We welcome wholeheartedly the changes in the countries of the Soviet bloc and in the Soviet Union itself—and we shall be only too ready to assist that progress to democracy. But in those countries you cannot go overnight from overbearing dictatorships to democracies—there are no organised political parties that are capable of ensuring that democracy prevails—it takes time and we must give them time—not rush in in a state of euphoria at the risk of being considered a destabilising influence. Yes …” The President nodded towards a man in the back row. “… Yes, Ted.”

  “Mr. President. With the new climate between the two superpowers is the administration aware that many Americans feel that it is time to end our commitment of troops and weapons to NATO?”

  He got the old smile as the President said, “When we have made progress on the main issues, the question of NATO and Warsaw Pact forces will undoubtedly be discussed. We have to find out what the other side have in mind.”

  One of the old China hands from PA-Reuters stood up.

  “Mr. President, doesn’t your use of the term ‘the other side’ show that the administration is reluctant to abandon its adversarial stance towards the Soviet Union?”

  “Mr. Olson—it is Mr. Olson, isn’t it?—right. Mr. Olson, when two lawyers appear in court, one defending, the other prosecuting, they both refer to ‘the other side’ and they each assemble the facts of the matter in court to suit their different cas
es. However—it is not unusual for the two of them to play golf together on Saturday afternoons.” He grinned. “I suppose the diplomatic equivalent is making one’s points in arms reductions talks and then going for a walk in the woods together.”

  There were a number of shouted questions but the President said, “I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but I have meetings scheduled. Thank you for your time and your questions.”

  She saw O’Brien walking towards her. He was the President’s Press Secretary but she had known him way back when she was with NBC and O’Brien had been on Madison Avenue.

  He pulled up one of the empty chairs and sat beside her. “Glad to see you, Mary. It’s been a long time.”

  “Will he see me?”

  “What’s your piece for?”

  “Nobody yet. I’m free-lance now but it could end up in one of the nationals.”

  “News or think-piece?”

  “Think-piece.”

  “OK. I can get you in in about ten minutes. He’s making some calls right now. But a couple of conditions.”

  “Like what?”

  “Only fifteen minutes and no direct quotes. Background for you and not repeat not an interview.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  O’Brien looked surprised. “Oh, I thought you would be huffy. How come you’re flattered?”

  “Flattered that he’d talk with me off the record and trust me not to abuse it.”

  He smiled. “You’ve got a good track-record, honey. How’s the small boy?”

  She laughed. “The small boy’s at Yale doing law.”

  O’Brien looked at his watch. “I think we could wander in now.”

  The President smiled as he took her hand. “Nice to see you, Mary. I guess Sean already told you the ground rules. They OK with you?”

  “Of course, Mr. President. I’m grateful for the time.”

  “Sit down, make yourself comfortable.”

  When she was seated he leaned back in his chair.

  “Fire away.”

  “The so-called Eastern bloc countries and the lurch to democracy. What’s going to happen in the end?”

  “In the GDR there’s a chance that they could form new parties based on the political parties in the Federal Republic. And having the FRG alongside them and the possibility of economic and financial help from Bonn will help. But the Communists aren’t going to give up without a struggle. Not right away but maybe in a year or two’s time. Euphoria doesn’t last and if the new leaders don’t improve living standards people will be disillusioned. And in Czechoslovakia and Hungary they’ve got to go all the way back to square one. And that ain’t gonna be easy.”

  “And re-unification?”

  “Bonn want that and they’ll work hard to get it. But there are long memories in Europe. Whatever they say in public the French won’t like it, neither will the Poles and the Italians. Maybe in ten years’ time when the East Germans have worked their passage. If they rush into it it could turn out to be a real can of worms.”

  “What about NATO and withdrawing our armed forces in Europe?”

  “Moscow are already doing a great PR job about reducing numbers on both sides but it depends on what they mean. Just pulling out numbers equally isn’t on for us. It’s got to be the number of troops and weapons that are left. They’ve got far more of everything than NATO at the moment.

  “And you’ve got to remember that if things went wrong they’ve only got to roll across Poland or East Germany and they’re on the way to the Rhine. We’d have to send troops from the States. Could be over before we get there.”

  “Do you think that Gorbachev really means it?”

  “Oh, he means it all right. He doesn’t have any choice. The Soviet economy is crumbling to dust because of its corruption and inefficiency. You’ve got to remember that glasnost and perestroika didn’t start with Gorby. It started way back with Khrushchev when he denounced Stalin at the Twentieth Congress—in 1956 if I remember correctly. But the time wasn’t right. And Gorbachev has got problems beyond the economy. The new upsurge of nationalism is just as big a problem.”

  “What about the suggestion that we’re dragging our feet in ending the Cold War?”

  “They created the Cold War, Mary. Not us. And now they want to end it. That doesn’t mean they’ve necessarily given up their aim of sustaining subversion and expansion wherever they can. They’ve got a chaotic situation on their hands and I’ve got no intention of rushing in and ending up taking or sharing the blame when they make a mess of it—as they probably will.

  “The Western public have been the target of a superb PR exercise from Secretary General Gorbachev. What most of them don’t realise is that in all his public statements about glasnost he has at no time ever suggested, or even hinted, a set of reforms that would turn the Soviet Union into a pluralist society, nor has there been the slightest questioning of the supreme authority of the Communist Party. He’s a communist, Mary. Don’t ever forget that. And don’t let the public forget it either. Deeds not words are what they should go by.”

  “And what about Star Wars? They seem fanatical about us giving up that whole project.”

  For long moments he looked at her then he leaned forward towards her and said, “No quote, no hint, not even a vague reference to what I tell you. OK?”

  “Of course, Mr. President.”

  “They’re far ahead of us on SDI. They’ve already got it. It’s that kind of deceit and hypocrisy that I have to bear in mind when I hear the words glasnost and perestroika.” He stood up. “I’ll have to go, Mary. It was good to see you. Stay and have a drink with Sean.”

  Camp David had been cleared that night of everyone except Marines and Secret Service agents. Not even White House staff were allowed to stay.

  The President dined that night with his wife and the old man. When it was time for the old man to leave the President walked with him to the door. He remembered what Malloy had told him about the old man’s arthritic hands and he took the old man’s hand very gently as he said, “You’ve helped clear my mind and I’m truly grateful.” Then he smiled and said, “Da svedahnya a spasibo.”

  The old man smiled. “Da svedahnya.”

  Bill Malloy drove the Lincoln to the servants’ section of the main building and helped the old man into the passenger seat. They took the service road to the main road and then Malloy headed for the airstrip.

  They sat in the car as the plane was checked over and Malloy said, “You don’t want to change your mind?”

  “No. I called it a day long ago.” He smiled. “I hope we’ll still see you from time to time. Both of you.”

  “You will. I wish we could tell the world how much we owe to you—the man who won the Cold War.”

  The old man shook his head. “Not won it, my friend. Just helped you people in a small way to make sure it didn’t become a real war. And that’s all that matters.” He turned his head to look at Malloy. “You people have got a lot of things to work out, my friend. When you look at the new democracies remember what Bertrand Russell said.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If one man offers you democracy and another offers you a bag of grain, at what stage of starvation will you prefer the grain to the vote?”

  Then they were signalling that the plane was ready for take-off. Malloy walked with him to the steps and waved back when he had climbed up to the entrance.

  Malloy stood there long after the plane had taken off. It was probably the last time he would see him and he felt both guilty and sad about the old man. Despite all that he had done to help them it had been a wasted life. So lonely, even when he was with people. The mind that was so shrewd and yet so innocent. The heart that bled for all humanity but found no solace from individuals. Loved but not loving. A man to respect but not admire. He took consolation from knowing that although they had used him they had not abused his dedication. Jack Kennedy had said—“We will pay any price …” and the old man had been part of that price. But it
was Moscow who had drained the soul out of him for a cause that was crumbling to dust all over the world.

  Malloy walked slowly back to the car. At least the old man had Tania who saw him as a saint and had love enough for both of them.

  CHAPTER 2

  As the train made its way over the snow-covered plains of Poland he wondered if he had done the right thing. It had been bad enough when Rosa was alive, the chaos of Moscow: that mad monk in the Palace, the third Duma as ineffective as its predecessors and the evidence from every quarter that the Jews were going to be the next target. He had been warned that he should get out and take the family with him. The army would kill Jews just as ruthlessly as they had shot the workers. And then the news from the doctor that Rosa had only a few weeks to live. In fact she had struggled on for nearly six months. The police had stopped him as he left the synagogue. Checking through his papers, shouting question after question until Lensky had intervened. Lensky was a lawyer and a wealthy man with influence everywhere. But it had been the final warning that they had to go.

  He looked at the children asleep on the opposite seat. He wondered what would become of them all. Andrei the five year old, Anna just four and Ivan the baby, only a year old. For years he had worked for the Party in his free time. Waiting for the day when the workers would rise and the Party would take over. There had been uprisings but they had all been put down by the Tsar’s soldiers. It seemed unbelievable, Russian soldiers shooting down Russian workers. He sighed and shook his head. One day it would happen but he wouldn’t see it. He wasn’t escaping because he was a communist but because he was a Jew. Not a good Jew, just a Jew, and that was enough. When he had talked to Lensky about going underground Lensky had pointed out that he had three young children to care for. And somehow he felt that Lensky was also telling him that being a Jew, even after the revolution, he wouldn’t survive. There were big men in the Party who were Jews. He wondered how they would survive. Lensky was a Jew but he was a rich man who knew influential people, not only in Moscow but all over the world. God knows what would have happened to him and the children if it hadn’t been for Lensky. But there would be work to be done for the Party in Paris. Maybe Andrei would be the one to see the dream come true. He’d teach him what it was all about. He was a good boy and quick to learn. Lensky had given him the tickets to Paris and enough money to live on until he found work. He’d heard that gloves were much in demand in Paris, and there were other things he could turn his hand to if he had to. Mikhail was going to sell their few belongings in Moscow and send the money to him when he had an address in Paris. The only things he had brought with them were clothes and his Party pamphlets and one book—the fourth German edition with Engel’s preface of Marx’s Das Kapital. There were pamphlets in Russian of translations of Value, Price and Profit and The Class Struggles in France.