Curtain of Fear Read online

“That is not strictly true, Nicky. Although he refused to give away his contacts he did confess to his own activities, and at his trial he stated that he had embarked on those activities because he felt it was a contribution he could make to the safety of mankind. In other words, he hoped, by telling the Russians what he knew, to give them parity with the West in the development of atomic weapons, to prevent a war by putting the capitalists in a situation where they would know it to be suicidal to launch one.”

  “Perhaps; but there was no likelihood of war then; and as soon as he recognised the signs that things were heading that way he stopped giving information to the Russians. Fuchs, on the other hand, came on the scene much later, and deliberately disclosed vital secrets that he knew would be used against this country in the event of a show-down. Surely you see the difference?”

  With an impatient gesture Bilto exclaimed, “Nicky, you are splitting hairs! You have agreed that Russia does not want war, and obviously the best hope of preventing it still lies in providing her with the means to defend herself if she is attacked.”

  “I don’t think that the majority of people in Britain or America want war either.”

  “The British don’t, naturally, as they at least have sense enough to know that they would be in the front rank of the battle; and since Fuchs and Bruno Pontecorvo did their stuff even Churchill and his warmongering pals have been pulling their horns in. That’s why they jibbed at the Yanks’ attempt to make them take a strong line with China. They are scared now that any extension of the hot war might ultimately lead to the devastation of London and the Midlands, and they reckon that’s too big a price to pay for the loan of a few billion extra dollars. But the situation in America is very different. Big business there is fed up with pouring money into Europe, and what would happen if they turned off the tap altogether?”

  Having flung out the question Bilto paused for an answer, and Nicholas replied, “Without dollar support most of the European governments could no longer carry on. In effect, the American money buys the votes that keeps them in power, as without it they could not possibly maintain the living standards of their peoples. Within six months there would be chaos and starvation. In France and Italy, and probably several other countries too, the masses would turn to Communism as the only way out.”

  “Exactly; but America dare not let that happen. And now that even the middle classes there are kicking at the prospect of having to pay heavy taxes for the rest of their lives, as the price of halting the spread of Communism in Europe, what is the only alternative? It is to go in and smash Communism once and for all at its fountain head.”

  Bilto paused again, then went on, “They argue that the United States is still too far from Russia to suffer serious damage to her cities, but that it may not be if they give the Russians a few more years to perfect the new weapons. Therefore their best bet is to strike now.”

  “Do you really think they are prepared to sacrifice their allies? Because that is what it would come to. Western Europe is still only half armed, so could not possibly stand up to a Russian onslaught. Most of its cities would be bound to go up in flames, and unlike the last war, there wouldn’t be much left worth picking up afterwards.”

  “The type of American I am thinking about doesn’t give a hoot about Europe. His only concern is that its factories, shipyards and material resources should not come under Communist domination by peaceful means, so that while still intact they could be used as war potential against the United States.”

  “Yes, one can’t deny that a lot of them do think like that.”

  “Looked at from their point of view, you can’t blame them either. Their reasoning is entirely logical. That is why the movement there to force a show-down is growing in strength every day. Only one thing can stop it—the knowledge that the Russians are in a position to give as good as they get, and that if America starts anything her own cities will promptly be laid in ruins. There you have my reasons for the step I am about to take; and if you had the power, as I have, to make this great contribution to preventing war, I am sure you would make the same decision.”

  “I suppose I would,” Nicholas murmured unhappily. “I can’t help feeling, though, that there is another side to it. God knows, no one could ever accuse me of being swayed by silly, sentimental patriotism. I’ve denounced it too often as one of the major evils leading to war. But, all the same, England has done a lot for you and me; particularly for you, as she took you in when you were a hunted, penniless refugee, gave you protection and enabled you to earn a good living at your own chosen work. It seems pretty mean to me that in return for all that, you are now about to place in the hands of her enemies something that they may use to bring untold misery to her people.”

  “Nicky, be your age!” Bilto said impatiently. “Stick to the broader issues and stop befogging your mind with clap-trap. The kernel of the issue is that I believe I have it in my power to prevent another major war.”

  “I know. But if you give the Russians the benefit of your knowledge, there is always the possibility that it might tip the balance the other way and decide them to strike first. Even as things are, a lot of people think that they may be tempted to bank on their colossal man-power and launch a war of preservation while they still have a big superiority in the more orthodox weapons.”

  “God Almighty!” Bilto threw up his hands. “To think that I should ever live to hear you spouting capitalist propaganda! You can’t possibly believe that there is the least truth behind such scaremongering.”

  “No. I can’t honestly say that I do,” Nicholas admitted a little shame-facedly. “Still.…”

  “Still what?”

  “Oh, nothing. It is only that I can’t bring myself to approve whole-heartedly of what you are about to do. But, of course, you have the inalienable right of the individual to decide on your own actions, and if you insist on going through with this it is not for me to set myself up as your judge.” Having made this admission, Nicholas added a moment later in the same rather pompous strain, “Naturally, too, as your only relative here, quite apart from the affection I bear you, I should regard it as a duty to agree to your request about looking after your interests.”

  “Thank God for that!” Bilto muttered. “Come on, then; let’s get the job over.”

  Nicholas stood up and together they went through the papers that Bilto had produced. As he handed over the Power of Attorney, he said, “I should get a solicitor to handle the collection of my assets on your behalf, as there is no point in drawing down opprobrium on yourself by letting it be more widely known than necessary that you are acting for me.”

  “That is bound to come out,” Nicholas shrugged. “But naturally I shall deny having been an accessory before the fact to your departure; and fortunately it is against their principles in this country to persecute the relatives of anyone they consider to have committed a crime against the State.”

  When he had pocketed the Power of Attorney and the other papers, he lit another cigarette and perched himself uneasily on the edge of the bed. Then, after taking a few nervous puffs, he stood up again and announced abruptly:

  “Well, as there is no more to be said, I might as well be going.”

  “Oh, don’t go yet.” Bilto was smiling now. “Have a drink first to wish me luck.” As he spoke he rummaged in his suitcase and produced a bottle of whisky, then went into the bathroom next door and returned with a tooth-glass. Filling it half full with the neat spirit he held it out to Nicholas.

  “No, thanks.” Nicholas shook his head. “I don’t want a drink. All the same, on purely personal grounds, I hope that you don’t find yourself in prison to-morrow morning. If you do get away safely I expect you will feel a tremendous sense of relief. Keeping secret rendezvous with Russian agents all these months, and never knowing that at any time you might be caught out, must have been an appalling strain.”

  Bilto took a gulp of the neat whisky, coughed, spluttered, then replied, “It was nothing like as bad as you mi
ght think. The Russians are past-masters at that sort of thing. They are much too clever to involve their informants in the least unnecessary risk, and they show great patience in allowing considerable intervals to elapse between meetings. That enormously lessens the chance of M.I.5 being on one’s tail when a meeting does take place. In my case, too, until I actually took the decision to leave England, they employed only one contact, which is a good insurance against betrayal. You see, only that one person had it in his power to identify me as the man he had met; so if any of their other agents were caught and tried to get off lightly by giving away what they knew I stood no risk of being incriminated.”

  After a moment Nicholas remarked, “I’m a bit foxed about this woman you are interested in. I naturally formed the impression that she was in Prague and working against the Russians; but from what you have said since dinner that doesn’t seem to make sense.”

  “She was, until they caught her husband. It was then they got their hooks into her; but she has since become a convert, and a very useful one. I only found that out when I met her again.”

  “In that case I should have thought you would have been willing for her to carry on with her work.”

  “No; it’s too risky. I’d never have any peace of mind with her dodging about Europe and liable to arrest every time she left Prague. That is why I have stipulated that she should be there to meet me when I arrive, and not be given any further missions. In view of my usefulness to them, I don’t think it likely that they will go back on their bargain.”

  Nicholas gave a pale smile. “Then if all goes well to-night, you will be with her, and making plans for getting married, tomorrow morning.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  Again Nicholas stood up. “Well, I wish you luck about that; but really I think I had better be getting along.”

  Bilto swallowed the rest of the whisky. “No. What’s the hurry? Stay and keep me company while I pack. I won’t detain you long. A car will soon be coming to fetch me.”

  As he spoke he began to cram the rest of his things into the open suit-case, and Nicholas asked:

  “Do you know from which airport you are leaving?”

  “I have no idea,” Bilto shrugged. “It was up to them to make all the arrangements for my journey. I was simply told to be here at a certain hour and that a car would be sent to pick me up.”

  After a glance round he added, “I may as well have a quick wash and brush up before I repack my sponge-bag.”

  Then he walked into the bathroom.

  The moment Nicholas was left alone, he passed a shaking hand over his eyes and endeavoured to collect his racing thoughts.

  He was in the unhappy position of a man convinced against his will. From early boyhood he had always liked and admired his cousin. It was from him, when in the most formative years, that he had imbibed with such enthusiasm the Marxist doctrines; but he had since fully convinced himself of the rightness of those beliefs in hundreds of discussions with scores of intelligent people. All the arguments that Bilto had put forward in justification of his proposed act were, he felt, entirely sound and he had time and again used them himself. Yet, just supposing.…

  Just supposing there was something in the contentions of men like John Stevenson and old Benjamin Salting-Sala. They held that the Soviet rulers had long since abandoned the Communist doctrines that had inspired their youth; that when they now quoted Marx and Lenin, it was only hypocritical lip-service which enabled them to continue gulling their people; that Stalin had succeeded in forcing on Russia a rule more autocratic than that of any of the Czars, and that like the Czars his policy was governed by an old-fashioned nationalism with insatiable imperialistic ambitions. According to them Stalin maintained his vast armies and air forces only with a view to future conquest, and would already have launched them into Western Europe had he not been deterred by fear of the United States’ lead in atomic weapons.

  Such ideas Nicholas regarded as the wildest nonsense. From being in touch with various pro-Communist organisations he considered that he was far better informed on Kremlin policy than were these elderly scaremongers. As he saw it, Russia’s efforts to secure a permanent understanding with the West had been unceasing, and that they had failed had been entirely due to sabotage by the old capitalist interests. There was, too, ample evidence in Stalin’s speeches that he had never deviated materially from the Marxist line, but confined himself to enlightened interpretation of the original doctrine. And the fact that he continued to maintain vast armed forces had an obvious explanation. Menaced as he was by the capitalist conspiracy to destroy Communism root and branch, he would have been failing in his duty had he not kept his people in a constant state of preparedness to defend Russia—the heart, soul and world-wide hope of the movement—from attack.

  Yet at the back of Nicholas’ whirling brain there lurked one uneasy thought. The cost of the cold war to Russia must be as great as it was to the Western powers, but her industrial potential was less. How long could she stand the strain without breaking? What if the men in the Kremlin felt that Russia was nearing the point when she could no longer bear such a burden, and must either fight while it was still within her power to do so, or collapse from internal exhaustion? Supposing that awful choice was already looming on the horizon, might not the information Bilto was about to take then prove the deciding factor, through providing those who advocated war with a stronger case for claiming that Russia would emerge from it victorious?

  A slight sweat broke out on Nicholas’ forehead as he thought of that. War was war whichever side started it, and whatever their reason for doing so. Ever since he had been able to think clearly he had been an ardent pacifist, and the horror of the air-raids in the last conflict had made him positively fanatical on the subject. The next would be infinitely worse. It would mean the blotting out of whole cities, the slaughter of helpless people in their tens of thousands, and in most frightful circumstances. He recalled reading of the effects of the atom bomb dropped on Hiroshima. Its victims who had been blown to pieces had been fortunate; great numbers of survivors for miles around had died days and weeks later. Their hair and teeth had first fallen out and they had suffered the most frightful tortures from flash burns or internal injuries caused by gamma rays. A picture flashed into his mind of Wendy, stripped naked by the blast and screaming.

  With terrible suddenness it was borne in upon him that it was he who now held this ghastly power in his hands. If he did nothing Bilto would give it to the Russians, but he could still step in and prevent that. It seemed to him that for a few moments of time the future of the whole world lay in his keeping; that by acting or refraining from doing so, he must inevitably shape history for many generations to come. By his decision he might decree misery and death for countless fellow human beings, or spare them to live out their lives in peace and security. He wondered if such an appalling responsibility had ever been thrust on any man before.

  Then his mind subconsciously took in the fact that the sounds of Bilto splashing in the basin next door had ceased. In a few minutes they would be face to face again. Half numbed with horror, he realised that he was not to be granted any time for calm, reasoned thought. The decision had to be taken—and taken swiftly.

  Like a swimmer who fears he may drown before reaching the shore, he strove desperately to keep his head, to thrust out the nightmarish speculations that filled it, and make a final effort to concentrate on the choice of striking out or passive floating.

  To prevent Bilto giving aid to the Russians would be to go against the principles that he had always cherished. That in itself was difficult enough; but the broader aspects of the problem dwarfed such a personal one into insignificance. The awful thing was that Bilto might be right about feeling in the United States. If he were and the war party there got the upper hand, the only thing that might prevent them from attacking the Russians was the knowledge that Bilto had taken the latest nuclear secrets over to them. On the other hand, if a crisis was approa
ching in the Kremlin, to let Bilto go ahead was to present them with a newly-sharpened sword, and tempt them to save themselves by using it. His palms sweating and and almost sick with horror, Nicholas faced the fact that whether he stopped Bilto or let him go, his decision might in either case equally well result in precipitating the most terrible war that man had ever known.

  Bilto had dried his face and hands, and pulled the plug out of the basin. Nicholas could hear the water gurgling down the waste. In a frenzy he sought for some touch-stone which would resolve his doubts. Were the Americans, or the Russians, the more honourable, restrained and humane? That was no good. It was part of his creed that race made no difference to the fundamental goodness or badness of people. From which side would an onslaught be least likely to prove disastrous to himself and Wendy? No! To think on those lines would be the lowest degree of baseness. In which event would Britain stand the best chance of survival? There could be no doubt about the answer to that; but could he, as an internationalist, honourably accept it as the deciding factor? He had reproached Bilto for his proposed betrayal of the country that had sheltered and fed him; but only half-heartedly, because he believed the well-being of any portion of the human race should always be sacrificed when it conflicted with the general interests of mankind. No. He must not allow himself to lapse into sentimental patriotism, because he happened to have been born British. What of his friends? They formed an infinitely smaller group, so the same argument applied to them. But was there not another that over-rode it; an obligation imposed by love of a few people that one knew intimately, and affection for many others, that transcended all demands made by the cold logic of intellect? Unless a man stood by his friends he was a mean and worthless being. He was on friendly terms with Hindus, Chinese and Negroes, as well as people of many European nationalities, all of whom were living in London and working for the cause. There were several of his fellow professors at Birmingham whom he liked and admired; quite a number of his old students still wrote to him in the friendliest way; and there was the present crowd, the majority of whom looked up to and trusted him. Again, as faces and figures raced through his mind, he visualised the blinding flash and deadly purple dust of the atom bomb that had been exploded over Hiroshima.