The Deceiver

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Frederick Forsyth – The Deceiver

DON’T MISS THESE

GRIPPING BOOKS

BY FREDERICK FORSYTH

THE DAY OF THE JACKAL

THE ODESSA FILE

THE DOGS OF WAR

THE DEVIL’S ALTERNATIVE

NO COMEBACKS

THE FOURTH PROTOCOL

THE NEGOTIATOR

THE DECEIVER

THE FIST OF GOD

AVAILABLE WHEREVER

BANTAM BOOKS ARE SOLD

LOOK FOR

ICON

IN BANTAM HARDCOVER

Frederick Forsyth – The Deceiver

PRAISE FOR THE DECEIVER:

“Nothing that Frederick Forsyth has written in the 20 years since his debut, The Day of

the Jackal, is as solidly entertaining as The Deceiver. That’s how good it is.”

—Daily News, New York

“Forsyth’s stalwart tribute to the spies who came in from the cold: four ingenious thriller-

novellas featuring the intrigues of British superagent Sam McCready ... sophisticated,

shrewd, roundly satisfying spy-stuff.”

—Kirkus Reviews

“A master of Cold War suspense, Forsyth here points out a few directions toward which

glasnost and the fall of the Berlin Wall might deflect the genre. ... Flawless espionage

fiction.”

—Publishers Weekly

Frederick Forsyth – The Deceiver

Bantam Books by Frederick Forsyth

Ask your bookseller for the books you have missed

THE DAY OF THE JACKAL

THE ODESSA FILE

THE DOGS OF WAR

THE DEVIL’S ALTERNATIVE

NO COMEBACKS

THE FOURTH PROTOCOL

THE NEGOTIATOR

THE DECEIVER

THE FIST OF GOD

Frederick Forsyth – The Deceiver

FREDERICK FORSYTH

THE DECEIVER

BANTAM BOOKS

NEW YORK • TORONTO • LONDON • SYDNEY • AUCKLAND

Frederick Forsyth – The Deceiver

THE DECEIVER

A Bantam Book

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Bantam hardcover edition published October 1991

Bantam paperback edition I July 1992

Bantam reissue / August 1995

Grateful acknowledgment is made for permission to reprint the following: Excerpt from THOSE WERE THE DAYS, Words and

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 91-13114.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including

photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. For

information address: Bantam Books.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and

destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

ISBN 0-553-29742-2

Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada

Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Its trademark, consisting

of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other

countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 1540 Broadway, New York, New York 10036.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

RAD 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11

Frederick Forsyth – The Deceiver

The Cold War lasted forty years. For the record, the West won it. But not

without cost. This book is for those who spent so much of their lives in the

shadowed places. Those were the days, my friends.

Frederick Forsyth – The Deceiver

Contents

Prologue .............................................................................................................................. 8

Pride And Extreme Prejudice............................................................................................ 16

Interlude ............................................................................................................................ 81

The Price Of The Bride..................................................................................................... 83

Interlude .......................................................................................................................... 151

A Casualty Of War.......................................................................................................... 153

Interlude .......................................................................................................................... 211

A Little Bit Of Sunshine ................................................................................................. 214

Epilogue .......................................................................................................................... 284

About the Author ............................................................................................................ 287

About the e-Book............................................................................................................ 288

Frederick Forsyth – The Deceiver

Prologue

In the summer of 1983 the then Chief of the British Secret Intelligence Service

sanctioned the formation, against a certain internal opposition, of a new desk.

The opposition came mainly from the established desks, almost all of which had

territorial fiefdoms spread across the world, for the new desk was designed to have a

wide-ranging jurisdiction that would span traditional frontiers.

The impetus behind the formation came from two sources. One was an ebullient mood

in Westminster and Whitehall, and notably within the ruling Conservative government,

following Britain’s success in the Falklands war of the previous year. Despite the military

success, the episode had left behind one of those messy and occasionally vituperative

arguments over the issue: Why were we so taken by surprise when General Galtieri’s

Argentine forces landed at Port Stanley?

Between departments, the argument festered for over a year, reduced inevitably to

charges and countercharges on the level of we-were-not-warned-yes-you-were. The

Foreign Secretary, Lord Carrington, had felt obliged to resign. Several years later, the

United States would be seized by a similar row following the destruction of the Pan

American flight over Lockerbie, with one agency claiming it had issued a warning and

another claiming it had never received it.

The second impetus was the recent arrival at the seat of power, the General

Secretaryship of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, of Yuri V. Andropov, who

had for fifteen years been Chairman of the KGB. Favoring his old agency, Andropov’s

reign instituted an upsurge of increasingly aggressive espionage and “active measures”

by the KGB against the West. It was known that Andropov highly favored, among active

measures, the use of disinformation—the spreading of despondency and demoralization

by the use of lies, agents of influence, and character assassination, and by the sowing of

discord among the Allies with planted untruths.

Mrs. Thatcher, then earning her Soviet-awarded title of the Iron Lady, took the view

that two can play at that game and indicated she would not blanch at the notion of

Britain’s own intelligence agency offering the Soviets a little return match.

The new desk was given a ponderous title: Deception, Disinformation, and

Psychological Operations. Of course, the title was at once reduced to Dee-Dee and Psy

Ops, and thence simply to Dee-Dee.

A new desk head was appointed in November. Just as the man in charge of Equipment

was known as the Quartermaster and the man in charge of the Legal Branch as the

Lawyer, the new head of Dee-Dee was tagged by some wit in the canteen the Deceiver.

With hindsight—that precious gift so much more prevalent than its counterpart,

foresight—the Chief, Sir Arthur, might have been criticized (and later was) for his

choice: not a Head Office careerist accustomed to the prudence required of a true civil

servant, but a former field agent, plucked from the East German desk.

The man was Sam McCready, and he ran the desk for seven years. But all good things

come to an end. In the late spring of 1991 a conversation took place in the heart of

Frederick Forsyth – The Deceiver

Whitehall. ...

The young aide rose from behind his desk in the outer office with a practiced smile.

“Good morning, Sir Mark. The Permanent Under-Secretary asked that you be shown

straight in.”

He opened the door to the private office of the Permanent Under-Secretary of the

Foreign and Commonwealth Office—the FCO—and ushered the visitor through it,

closing the door behind him. The Permanent Under-Secretary, Sir Robert Inglis, rose

with a welcoming smile.

“Mark, my dear chap, how good of you to come.”

You do not become, however recently, Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service, or SIS,

without developing a certain wariness when confronted by such warmth from a relative

stranger who is clearly about to treat you as if you were blood brothers. Sir Mark steeled

himself for a difficult meeting.

When he was seated, the country’s senior Foreign Office civil servant opened the

scarred red dispatch box lying on his desk and withdrew a buff file distinguished by the

red diagonal cross running from corner to corner.

“You have done the rounds of your stations and will doubtless let me have your

impressions?” he asked.

“Certainly, Robert—in due course.”

Sir Robert Inglis followed the top-secret file with a red, paper-covered book secured at

its spine by black plastic spiral binding.

“I have,” he began, “read your proposals, ‘SIS in the Nineties,’ in conjunction with the

Intelligence Co-Ordinator’s latest shopping list. You seem to have met his requirements

most thoroughly.”

“Thank you, Robert,” said the Chief. “Then may I count upon the Foreign Office’s

support?”

The diplomat’s smile could have won prizes on an American game show.

“My dear Mark, we have no difficulties with the pitch of your proposals. But there are

just a few points I would like to take up with you.”

Here it comes, thought the Chief of the SIS.

“May I take it, for example, that these additional stations abroad that you propose have

been agreed upon with the Treasury, and the necessary monies squirreled away in some-

body’s budget?”

Both men well knew that the budget for the running of the Secret Intelligence Service

does not come wholly from the Foreign Office. Indeed, only a small part comes out of the

FCO budget. The real cost of the almost-invisible SIS, which unlike the American CIA

keeps an extremely low profile, is shared among all the spending ministries in the

government. The spread is right across the board, including even the unlikely Ministry of

Agriculture, Fisheries, and Food—perhaps on the grounds that they might one day wish

to know how many cod the Icelanders are taking out of the North Atlantic.

Because its budget is spread so widely and hidden so well, the SIS cannot be “leaned

upon” by the FCO with a threat of withholding funds if the FCO’s wishes are not met.

Sir Mark nodded. “There’s no problem there. The Co-Ordinator and I have seen the

Treasury, explained the position (which we had cleared with the Cabinet Office), and

Treasury has allocated the necessary cash, all tucked away in the research and

Frederick Forsyth – The Deceiver

development budgets of the least likely ministries.”

“Excellent,” beamed the Permanent Under-Secretary, whether he felt it was or not.

“Then let us turn to something that does fall within my purview. I don’t know what your

staffing position is, but we are facing some difficulties with regard to staffing the

expanded Service that will result from the end of the Cold War and the liberation of

Central and Eastern Europe. You know what I mean?”

Sir Mark knew exactly what he meant. The virtual collapse of Communism over the

previous two years was changing the diplomatic map of the globe, and rapidly. The

Diplomatic Corps was looking to expanded opportunities right across Central Europe and

the Balkans, possibly even miniembassies in Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia if they

secured independence from Moscow. By inference, he was suggesting that with the Cold

War now laid out in the morgue, the position for his colleague in Secret Intelligence

would be just the reverse: reduction of staff. Sir Mark was having none of it.

“Like you, we have no alternative but to recruit. Leaving recruitment to one side, the

training alone is six months before we can bring a new man into Century House and

release an experienced man for service abroad.”

The diplomat dropped his smile and leaned forward earnestly. “My dear Mark, this is

precisely the meat of the discussion I wished to have with you. Allocations of space in

our embassies, and to whom.”

Sir Mark groaned inwardly. The bastard was going for the groin. While the FCO

cannot “get at” the SIS on budgetary grounds, it has one ace card always ready to play.

The great majority of intelligence officers serving abroad do so under the cover of the

embassy. That makes the embassy their host. No allocation of a “cover” job—no posting.

“And what is your general view for the future, Robert?” he asked.

“In future, I fear, we will simply not be able to offer positions to some of your more ...

colorful staffers. Officers whose cover is clearly blown. Brass-plate operators. In the

Cold War it was acceptable; in the new Europe they would stick out like sore thumbs.

Cause offense. I’m sure you can see that.”

Both men knew that agents abroad fell into three categories. “Illegal” agents were not

within the cover of the embassy and were not the concern of Sir Robert Inglis. Officers

serving inside the embassy were either “declared” or “undeclared.”

A declared officer, or brass-plate operator, was one whose real function was widely

known. In the past, having such an intelligence officer in an embassy had worked like a

dream. Throughout the Communist and Third Worlds, dissidents, malcontents, and

anyone else who wished knew just whom to come to and pour out their woes as to a

father confessor. It had led to rich harvests of information and some spectacular

defectors.

What the senior diplomat was saying was that he wanted no more such officers any

longer and would not offer them space. His dedication was to the maintenance of his

department’s fine tradition of appeasement of anyone not born British.

“I hear what you are saying, Robert, but I cannot and will not start my term as Chief of

the SIS with a purge of senior officers who have served long, loyally, and well.”

“Find other postings for them,” suggested Sir Robert. “Central and South America,

Africa ...”

“And I cannot pack them off to Burundi until they come up for retirement.”

“Desk jobs, then. Here at home.”

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