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When the train drew into Szolnok station, Harald Radler decided he wanted a coffee. Knowing he had 15 minutes before the train departed, he grabbed his little suitcase and stepped down from the front coach and took a moment to visually find the nearest kiosk during which he also spotted the two Hungarian police officers entering the rearmost carriage. It struck him as an unusual event, there being no requirements for internal identification procedures at locations such as this meant they were looking for someone. Deciding to take no chances, he promptly disappeared down the nearby subway which linked the many platforms. Emerging on the same platform at the opposite end of the train, he observed the scene whilst having his small kávé.
A quick check of his watch against the platform clock told him it was time to get back on and just as he climbed aboard the two officers descended from the front. He found the first empty seat, checked there was no luggage above and settled down by the window as the train glided away towards the Romanian border. As the carriages picked up speed, he returned to his old place in the front coach.
When he’d first pitched his thoughts to Greta he knew all about her extra activities with the foremost western intelligence agencies; associations that had proven beneficial from time to time. A slip of the tongue by Astrid during a relaxed conversation with Greta had given her, and Radler, the knowledge the MI6 case officer also led a double life as an MI5 asset. It was convenient because the Security Service was who he really wanted to deal with, not MI6; he knew they were compromised by his own agents. In particular, he was hopeful his previous contact with ’Gally’ and his immediate superior would ensure his safety. Aware that, as dear a friend as she was, Greta wouldn’t be able to withstand any harsher methods used if subjected to a difficult interrogation, he limited his information to her for both their sakes.
Before the DDR was given wider political recognition in the West, he used to receive asset reports through the Russian embassy with its embedded Stasi agent. Now, they came directly from their own not long founded embassy in London; simple microdot despatches concealed in routine documentation for the attention of the president of the London trade delegation, Berlin, who just happened to be Harald Radler.
This was how he’d learned from Hugh Chamberlain that MI6 had sent two agents to make contact with a would-be Stasi defector and it was how he knew their names and aliases.
But for now, he could relax and enjoy the journey that took him nearer to the small Romanian city of Oradea and his change of destination, happy in the lack of knowledge that a phone call made from politeness had begun the slow toppling of dominoes that were his escape plan.