Read Online The Labyrinth Makers by Anthony Price - Free Book Online
Authors: Anthony Price
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they've been getting through their spares must be baffling the French. Or if not baffling them, amusing them. But seriously old friend, what is this business of Saturday working? It's not good, you know. And besides, I have a date with my El-Al stewardess this morning, so spit it out.'
Now for the moment of truth. If Jake had heard a whisper that he'd been shifted from the Middle East he wouldn't give much, even for old times' sake. Jake was an honest horse-trader, but only when the trading prospects were reasonable.
'Nikolai Panin, Jake. What can you tell me about Nikolai Panin?'
The grin faded from Jake's face–too quickly for a genuine grin. He brushed his moustache thoughtfully.
'Panin's not a Middle Eastern man.'
'No, he isn't. I'm just doing a little job for a friend, and I need to catch up on him.'
Jake raised his eyebrows.
'Little job? Don't let them snow you, old friend. Panin's a hot number these days–are you in trouble?'
As ever, Jake was quick to sense changes in the wind. Much too quick.
'My only trouble is I'm too good by half. Don't worry about me. Just tell me about Panin.'
Jake pursed his lips, and then nodded.
'You might be the right man for Panin at that! You're both secretive sods.'
'Both?'
The Israeli gave a short laugh. 'Don't tell me you don't know, David. If you asked me to I could pretty soon number off the Central Committee, left, right and centre. The ones that matter, anyway. But not Comrade Panin–nobody knows who pulls his strings. And if we did we'd know quite a lot more about some other people!'
He drank his coffee thirstily.
'You know about Tashkent?' he continued. 'That's what really put him on the map in a big way. Up to that time he'd always been an internal man, as far as I know.'
'What does he really do?'
'What does he do? Bugger me, David, if I really knew exactly who does what in that goddamned Byzantine set-up do you think I'd be sweating out my time on this little island, trying to screw tanks out of you?'
'Is he KGB?'
'That's another million dollar question. If you ask me they're all KGB, right down to the children and the nursemaids. Particularly the nursemaids. But your Panin, I just don't know. He's a fixer, a smoother-out.'
'Tell me something he's fixed.'
'Well, since you ask me, I think he had a hand–or maybe I should say a foot — in kicking out Kruschev. But I couldn't prove it. Then again, he's always kept well in with the military. Very proud of his war record, too. He was a fighter, not a commissar. Joined up with the 62nd Army on the Volga, came through Stalingrad, slogged it all the way to Berlin. Came out as a staff major with the 8th Guards–one of Khalturin's little lambs. I wouldn't have liked to have been a German squaddie in a house they'd decided to take.'
'For a gullible lad sent straight from the kibbutz to buy our tanks, Jake, you're quite well posted on him.'
Shapiro grinned. 'I do my homework, unlike some who are more celebrated for it. Besides, I've met the famous Panin.'
'You've met him? Where?'
'Embassy party at Delhi, just after Tashkent–I was doing a little research on whose tanks had lasted longer in the Rann of Kutch. And there he was–and he talked to me in excellent English, too.'
'What was he like?'
'Like? He's got the face of a rather sad clown–nose broken in the war and set badly. Or maybe not set at all. But he knew me, because he immediately started to talk about the Masada dig, which I'd just visited. He was too bloody clued-up by half. And I didn't know him from Adam. So I went straight off and tried to find out about him, and came straight up against a brick wall, more or less.
'In fact I've been studying him off and on ever since–as I've no doubt lots of western layabouts have been. And with precious little success, because you've now got the sum total of my studies. In return for which I expect to get the sum total of yours in due course, my dear David.'
Nothing was more certain than that Jake would
Now for the moment of truth. If Jake had heard a whisper that he'd been shifted from the Middle East he wouldn't give much, even for old times' sake. Jake was an honest horse-trader, but only when the trading prospects were reasonable.
'Nikolai Panin, Jake. What can you tell me about Nikolai Panin?'
The grin faded from Jake's face–too quickly for a genuine grin. He brushed his moustache thoughtfully.
'Panin's not a Middle Eastern man.'
'No, he isn't. I'm just doing a little job for a friend, and I need to catch up on him.'
Jake raised his eyebrows.
'Little job? Don't let them snow you, old friend. Panin's a hot number these days–are you in trouble?'
As ever, Jake was quick to sense changes in the wind. Much too quick.
'My only trouble is I'm too good by half. Don't worry about me. Just tell me about Panin.'
Jake pursed his lips, and then nodded.
'You might be the right man for Panin at that! You're both secretive sods.'
'Both?'
The Israeli gave a short laugh. 'Don't tell me you don't know, David. If you asked me to I could pretty soon number off the Central Committee, left, right and centre. The ones that matter, anyway. But not Comrade Panin–nobody knows who pulls his strings. And if we did we'd know quite a lot more about some other people!'
He drank his coffee thirstily.
'You know about Tashkent?' he continued. 'That's what really put him on the map in a big way. Up to that time he'd always been an internal man, as far as I know.'
'What does he really do?'
'What does he do? Bugger me, David, if I really knew exactly who does what in that goddamned Byzantine set-up do you think I'd be sweating out my time on this little island, trying to screw tanks out of you?'
'Is he KGB?'
'That's another million dollar question. If you ask me they're all KGB, right down to the children and the nursemaids. Particularly the nursemaids. But your Panin, I just don't know. He's a fixer, a smoother-out.'
'Tell me something he's fixed.'
'Well, since you ask me, I think he had a hand–or maybe I should say a foot — in kicking out Kruschev. But I couldn't prove it. Then again, he's always kept well in with the military. Very proud of his war record, too. He was a fighter, not a commissar. Joined up with the 62nd Army on the Volga, came through Stalingrad, slogged it all the way to Berlin. Came out as a staff major with the 8th Guards–one of Khalturin's little lambs. I wouldn't have liked to have been a German squaddie in a house they'd decided to take.'
'For a gullible lad sent straight from the kibbutz to buy our tanks, Jake, you're quite well posted on him.'
Shapiro grinned. 'I do my homework, unlike some who are more celebrated for it. Besides, I've met the famous Panin.'
'You've met him? Where?'
'Embassy party at Delhi, just after Tashkent–I was doing a little research on whose tanks had lasted longer in the Rann of Kutch. And there he was–and he talked to me in excellent English, too.'
'What was he like?'
'Like? He's got the face of a rather sad clown–nose broken in the war and set badly. Or maybe not set at all. But he knew me, because he immediately started to talk about the Masada dig, which I'd just visited. He was too bloody clued-up by half. And I didn't know him from Adam. So I went straight off and tried to find out about him, and came straight up against a brick wall, more or less.
'In fact I've been studying him off and on ever since–as I've no doubt lots of western layabouts have been. And with precious little success, because you've now got the sum total of my studies. In return for which I expect to get the sum total of yours in due course, my dear David.'
Nothing was more certain than that Jake would
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