Black Rose

CHAPTER 39

Ilya Yezhov and his sergeant stood a few feet away and looked at the man who liked to think of himself as the most powerful man in Russia. He was naked and sweating. Konstantine Kamarov was clamped immobile into a hard wooden armchair, in a dark room lit only with a single, bright lamp. His huge body bulged out the sides of the uncomfortable chair. The odor of his fear filled the air with a sour, unpleasant scent.

Next to Kamarov's chair was a small metal table on wheels, placed where he could see it. A white towel covered the top of the table. Two rows of polished steel dental and surgical tools gleamed in the light, laid out on the towel in meticulous order. The array of tools was rounded off by a battery-operated electric drill. There was a second chair next to the table. At the moment, it was empty.

They were in an isolated dacha on the outskirts of Moscow. It was a place used sometimes when it was important that no one see the prisoner except his interrogators. Curtains covered the windows. The rugs had been removed, revealing a wooden floor scarred with years of use. Dark stains on the wood testified to past interrogations. The dacha had been a favorite of Lavrenti Beria's for questioning special prisoners, when Beria had been head of Stalin's secret police.

The door opened. General Vysotsky and another man entered the room. Vysotsky's companion walked with a limp and wore steel rimmed glasses. His eyes were a watery blue behind the glass lenses. His hair was thinning on top, a nondescript brown color. He had a neat mustache clipped short across his upper lip. The man wore a white laboratory coat. A stethoscope hung around his neck. He carried a small, black bag.

Yezhov recognized him. He didn't know the man's name, but he knew who he was and what he did. The few who knew his occupation called him the Doctor.

Vysotsky walked over to Yezhov. The doctor sat down in the empty chair, opened his bag, and laid out three syringes on the table. He added several vials of liquid and a package of needles. Then he sat back and waited.

Yezhov saluted. "Sir."

"What has he said, Captain?"

"Nothing of value, sir. He did say that he would feed me to his dogs."

"Perhaps he does not understand the seriousness of his situation."

"No sir, I don't believe that he does."

Vysotsky turned to his prisoner. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes. You are General Vysotsky."

"Do you understand the seriousness of your situation, comrade Kamarov?"

Kamarov's head was clamped to the back of the chair with a steel brace. His eyes darted from side to side. Sweat ran down his forehead. He licked his lips. Vysotsky could see his mind working, searching for a way to turn things to his favor.

"General," Kamarov said. "I can make you a very rich man. Very rich. Wouldn't you like that? Whatever it is you want to know, whatever it is worth to you, I can offer you more."

Vysotsky placed his hands behind his back and looked thoughtful as he considered Kamarov's offer.

"What about my Captain? Would you make him rich also?"

Kamarov smiled.

"Yes, of course. Whatever he desires."

"But you told him you would feed him to your dogs," Vysotsky said.

"I was angry, upset. He'd killed my driver and my guards. I apologize, I didn't mean it."

Vysotsky turned to Yezhov. "You hear that, Captain? He says he's sorry."

"I don't accept his apology."

Vysotsky turned again to Kamarov and sighed. "You heard what he said. I'm afraid that it's out of my hands."

"What do you want?"

"Your friend in Switzerland, Gutenberg. Tell me about him."

"Johannes? What's there to tell? I have business dealings with him, money dealings. He is useful because of his extensive banking connections."

"And your other friends? The Indian who sells drugs, for example?"

"I don't know who you mean," Kamarov said. He licked his lips again.

"Allow me to introduce the man sitting next to you," Vysotsky said.

Kamarov's eyes darted left. Vysotsky continued.

"This is the Doctor. Doctor, this is Konstantine Kamarov. Perhaps you've heard of him?"

"I know who he is." The Doctor's voice was soft and bloodless.

Vysotsky picked up an odd looking surgical tool from the table. He held it in the light and looked at it and showed it to Kamarov.

"What does this do?" he asked the Doctor.

"First I make a few simple cuts across the forehead and around the face. That requires only a scalpel. I lift the scalp and with the tool you have in your hand, I clamp the skin and pull it away. It is then possible to remove the face and hold it up for the subject to see."

Kamarov turned white.

"Is it painful?" Vysotsky asked in a curious tone.

"Oh yes. Then after the subject has seen his face, I hold up a mirror so that he can see what he looks like without it." The doctor's tone was conversational, clinical. "I usually save that procedure for later in the interrogation, if the subject has been uncooperative."

"Can you give comrade Kamarov a brief demonstration of your skills?"

"Certainly."

The doctor drew fluid from one of the vials into a syringe, shot a bit the air and then injected it into Kamarov's arm. The Russian sucked in his breath.

"It will be a minute or two before it acts," the doctor said. "The drug stimulates the nerve endings and enhances the sensation of pain. Let me demonstrate before it takes effect."

He picked up a scalpel and drew a shallow line along Kamarov's left forearm, leaving a thin trail of blood. Kamarov flinched but said nothing.

"A mere superficial cut," the doctor said, "nothing any of us would consider especially painful."

He looked at his watch. "The drug should be taking effect about now."

He took the scalpel and drew another line on Kamarov's arm, parallel to the first. Kamarov screamed, a sound of agony.

"How long does it last?" Vysotsky asked.

"Usually about two hours. I can keep the subject alive that long. I rarely need to use a second injection." He picked up another tool from the tray. "This one is used to peel skin from other parts of the body."

Kamarov started sobbing. His bladder let go and urine dribbled off the sides of the chair.

"I think he understands the seriousness now," Vysotsky said to Yezhov. "Don't you, Konstantine?"

"Yes, yes. I will tell you what you want to know. Please, get him away from me," he said.

"This is your only chance," Vysotsky said. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes, I understand."

"Doctor, please wait in the other room."

"As you wish," the man said, disappointment in his voice. He got up and left the room.

"Tell me about your friend Gutenberg," Vysotsky said again.

Kamarov began talking.