The Bearpit

18

The major entered the office with military precision but the respect of authority was there and Malik determined to maintain it, wanting the man nervous. To heighten in Chernov’s mind the importance of the recall and the interview Malik had assigned an official car to bring the man to Dzerzhinsky Square directly from the airport. It also denied any opportunity for prior contact between the man and Panchenko, to prepare an agreed account.

Malik kept the security officer standing and nodded through the ritual of Chernov formally identifying himself, not actually looking at the man but appearing to study the files and dossiers carefully arranged over the desk, purposely to convey the impression of a detailed and widespread inquiry. When he looked up at last Malik said, intentionally curt: ‘You were part of a squad assembled on 9 September to arrest Comrade Deputy Agayans?’

‘I was,’ agreed Chernov. He was a small, clerk-like man.

‘Describe to me what happened.’

‘With Comrade Colonel Panchenko and others I went to Gogolevskiy Boulevard…’ began the major but at once Malik cut in, stopping him.

‘No!’ said Malik. ‘From the beginning: the very beginning. From the time the squad was assembled.’

Chernov swallowed, pausing in the effort to recollect and when he resumed it was haltingly, which Malik decided was understandable because until ten minutes earlier the man would have had no idea why he had been brought back to Moscow. Malik actually did have Panchenko’s revised report before him, following through it as Chernov talked, accepting there was no important disparity between the two accounts about the beginning of the arrest assignment.

‘Nightclothes?’ interrupted Malik again, when Chernov reached the point of Agayans opening his apartment door.

‘A robe, over pyjamas.’

‘What time was it?’

‘Nine.’

‘You are sure of the time?’

‘Positive. I checked at the moment of the door opening. It is procedure.’

Which Panchenko appeared to have ignored, remembered Malik: still not an important disparity. He said: ‘What was Agayans’ demeanour to find himself confronted by a uniformed squad?’

Again Chernov paused, frowning to find the appropriate words. Then he said: ‘There was hardly any reaction at all. I had never encountered such a response before.’

‘He did not even appear surprised?’

‘More as if he were dulled,’ said Chernov after a further pause. ‘As if he were uninterested in our being there.’

Quite a variation from Panchenko’s account, decided Malik. He said: ‘What happened then?’

‘Comrade Agayans asked what we wanted and Comrade Colonel Panchenko said we had orders for his arrest, upon your authority.’

‘How did Agayans react to that?’

Chernov shifted with discomfort and said: ‘I thought he was going to laugh.’

‘You thought a man about to be arrested was going to laugh!’ echoed Malik.

‘I mean no disrespect, Comrade First Deputy,’ said the security man. ‘I was trying honestly to answer your question.’

This was emerging very differently from Panchenko’s account, thought Malik. He said: ‘ Did he laugh?’

Chernov shook his head. ‘He said he had done nothing wrong and that he wanted to get dressed, to sort it out…’

‘… Sort it out…?’ stopped Malik. Something else not in Panchenko’s report.

‘Yes,’ said Chernov uncertainly.

‘How did he say he was going to sort it out?’ insisted Malik.

‘He didn’t,’ said Chernov and Malik felt a sink of disappointment.

‘What happened?’

‘He and Comrade Colonel Panchenko started to walk in the direction of a corridor which I assumed to lead into the bedroom. I started to follow…’

‘… You followed?’

‘It is procedure to accompany an arrested person at all times,’ said Chernov. ‘At the entrance to the corridor they stopped. There was a conversation and Agayans turned, as if he were coming back into the room.’

‘The conversation!’ seized Malik. ‘Did you hear what was said!’

‘Not completely.’

‘How much!’ demanded Malik.

‘Odd words,’ said Chernov. ‘I thought I heard him say nonsense. And then something about sorting it all out.’

‘Did Agayans come back into the room?’

‘He definitely took one or two steps back – I’d halted, not sure what was happening – but Comrade Colonel Panchenko stopped him.’

‘Stopped him!’

‘Physically reached out, holding him by the shoulder. There was some further conversation and then Agayans turned away from where we were and went back along the corridor.’

The questions jumbled in Malik’s mind but he refused to go out of sequence. He said: ‘What did you hear of this further conversation?’

‘Again just odd words,’ said Chernov. ‘I thought I heard Agayans say “settled” and I’m sure Comrade Colonel Panchenko said “bedroom”… something like “in the bedroom” or “to the bedroom”.’

‘During this time,’ said Malik, speaking slowly, ‘did you hear any names mentioned?’

Chernov appeared to give the question some consideration and then he said: ‘None.’

‘Think about it,’ persisted Malik desperately. ‘Are you sure there was no name mentioned apart from mine during the conversations between Panchenko and Agayans?’

‘Quite sure,’ insisted Chernov.

Malik was reluctant to leave the insistence upon names but decided that he had to. He said: ‘What happened when Agayans turned away from the main room a second time to set off down the corridor?’

‘Colonel Panchenko did come back into the room,’ said Chernov. ‘Actually turned me back to where the others were standing.’

‘ Turned you back?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you find that unusual?’

‘Yes. As I have already explained it is procedure always to accompany a detained man.’

Malik said: ‘What conversation was there when you and Panchenko returned to the rest of the squad?’

‘Comrade Colonel Panchenko gave orders how we were to travel back to the First Chief Directorate headquarters… who was to occupy which car and who was to accompany Comrade Director Agayans.’

‘And then?’

‘Comrade Colonel Panchenko told us to remain where we were and said he was going to check the bedroom.’

Malik looked back at his crowded desk, isolating the disclosures the major had made. He said: ‘ Told you to stay where you were?’

‘Yes.’

‘Told who? Just you? Or the rest of the squad?’

‘The remark was generally made but Comrade Colonel Panchenko appeared to address the remark to me.’

‘Were you surprised by that?’

‘Regulations do not stipulate the precise number of people who should accompany a detained person in these sort of circumstances,’ said Chernov unhelpfully.

‘What time elapsed from the moment Agayans went towards the bedroom, the discussion about the cars, and Panchenko following the man along the corridor?’

‘Three minutes,’ said Chernov at once.

Curbing any excitement in his voice, Malik said: ‘How can you be sure it was three minutes?’

‘I checked my watch,’ said Chernov simply.

Which Panchenko also claimed to have done, recalled Malik. And recorded the interval as ten minutes. He said: ‘There is no possibility of your being mistaken about the time?’

‘Absolutely none,’ insisted the man.

‘When he left you a second time did Panchenko hurry towards the bedroom?’

‘Yes,’ said Chernov.

‘Did he say anything as he left the room?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You could not see Panchenko enter the bedroom because the corridor bends?’

‘That is correct.’

‘So what did you hear?’

‘A voice. Someone shouting “No!” ‘

Slowly again Malik said: ‘How long after Panchenko had gone out of your sight did you hear the shout?’

‘I did not record the time but it would only have been a matter of minutes.’

‘One minute? Five minutes? Ten minutes?’

‘Nearer one minute.’

‘And then?’

‘There was the sound of a gunshot,’ said Chernov. ‘We all ran along the corridor, to the bedroom.’

‘What did you see when you entered the bedroom?’

‘Comrade Colonel Panchenko was kneeling over Agayans. The body was on the other side of the bed, half hidden, but it was obvious he’d shot himself: half his head had been blown away. The bedside table had collapsed, where he’d fallen against it.’

‘What did Panchenko say?’

There was a pause for recall. Then Chernov said: ‘My recollection is that the Comrade Colonel said: “He’s shot himself, the bastard.” And then he said: “This isn’t going to look good on my record.” And almost at once, again, “The bastard.” ‘

‘Who shouted “No!”?’ asked Malik.

‘Comrade Colonel Panchenko,’ replied Chernov at once. ‘After calling Agayans a bastard and saying that he’d shot himself, the Comrade Colonel said: ‘I shouted for him to stop but I couldn’t get to him in time.’’

‘Yet you said a few moments ago “a voice”,’ reminded Malik. ‘You didn’t say it was Panchenko.’

‘It could not have been anyone else, could it?’

‘Could you positively identify it as Panchenko’s voice?’ persisted Malik. ‘Could it not have been that of Agayans?’

‘Agayans!’

‘Answer the question, don’t pose one.’

‘The voice was indistinct,’ conceded Chernov.

‘Could you swear to the fact that the protest was made by the Comrade Colonel if required to do so by a tribunal?’

‘No,’ said Chernov, in further concession. ‘I could not.’

‘Was there any talk of calling a doctor?’

‘He was obviously dead, as I have already said.’

‘Or the civilian militia?’

‘Comrade Colonel Panchenko ruled that it should remain an internal KGB matter.’

‘Were any technical experts called to the apartment?’

‘Not during the time I was there.’

‘Any evidence assembled at all for a possible inquiry?’

‘I took the gun to our forensic department here and made a report to the medical expert examining the body at the mortuary.’

Upon the sheet in front of him Malik wrote the word ‘gun’ and put a query against it. He said: ‘So there was an autopsy?’

‘I believe so,’ said Chernov. ‘I was not called upon to attend.’

Alongside the query about the gun Malik wrote ‘autopsy’ and queried that, as well. Enough to reopen the inquiry, he wondered. Without doubt sufficient to have brought about a stronger rebuke at the original hearing but, alone, the further indications of negligence were scarcely grounds for a reconvening. He said: ‘Did Agayans at any time in your presence seem suicidal?’

‘No,’ said Chernov without any hesitation.

‘Did you expect to be transferred to Kiev?’ demanded Malik abruptly.

Chernov frowned at the unexpected question. ‘No, Comrade First Deputy.’

‘Did you request it?’

‘No.’

‘Were you surprised to be transferred?’

‘Yes,’ said the man at once.

‘I’ve given orders today for you to be reassigned back here, to Moscow,’ announced Malik. ‘I may wish to question you further about the incident.’

Malik had held back from issuing such instructions, wanting Chernov in the capital for questioning before Panchenko learned of the recall. The security chief did so within an hour of the encounter, with the arrival in his office of Malik’s official but delayed edict. Panchenko had already made the alarm call to Kazin when the second notification reached him, this time from Major Chernov strictly obeying the earlier directive issued by the security chief that any interview or approach concerning the incident involving Igor Agayans should be immediately reported.

So Malik had not given up, Panchenko realized. The man intended sniffing on, like some dog searching for a half-detected scent. Except that there was not one dog but two, Kazin as well as Malik. And Panchenko recognized he risked being chewed and torn between them, like some disputed rabbit. Panchenko confronted the fact that he was already too committed and too exposed. It was time he started taking what little precautions still remained open to him.

David Proctor kept the monthly appointment upon which Levin had insisted, striding hand outstretched into the debriefing den and repeating ‘Yevgennie, it’s good to see you, Yevgennie’ several times before releasing the Russian. As soon as the FBI man sat down, his spectacles began their on-off movement, to be polished and repolished.

‘What news about Natalia?’ demanded Levin at once.

Proctor frowned towards the debriefer. ‘Didn’t Billy tell you about the letter agreement?’

‘Sure did,’ said Bowden at once.

‘I meant about her coming here.’

‘Give us time, Yevgennie!’ pleaded Proctor. ‘We’re practically moving at the speed of light as it is.’

‘It doesn’t seem so to me.’

Proctor put his spectacles briefly into place and said: ‘It’s come good, Yevgennie.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We caught Lubiako, red-handed,’ announced the American.

‘When?’

‘Two nights ago,’ disclosed Proctor. ‘We were letting him run, as you know. But keeping him under the tightest surveillance. Our people followed him directly from the United Nations and out to Newark airport. Nabbed him actually making the exchange with a junior technician at a company holding a whole bunch of defence contracts with the Pentagon.’

Dzerzhinsky Square were prepared to sacrifice a very great deal, Levin thought. He said: ‘What happens now?’

‘Moscow is making a song and dance. We’ll arraign Lubiako but I guess we’ll have to agree to a swap. We usually do. But it means we’ve taken some bastard traitor out of circulation at one of our defence plants.’

‘I’m glad it worked out for you,’ said Levin.

‘Time to move on a little now,’ announced Proctor.

‘Move on?’

‘We’re going to tell the CIA what you told us,’ came in Bowden.

Levin kept any reaction from showing, the almost immediate excitement balanced by his finally understanding why the delay had occurred. They had wanted one of the KGB agents he had identified positively to be proven an operative – and by so doing provide further proof of his own genuineness – before making any approach to the sister agency. Cautiously he said: ‘I am surprised you kept it from them.’

‘Reasons, Yevgennie, reasons,’ said Proctor. ‘It’ll mean they’ll want to see you.’

Time for awkwardness, decided Levin. He said: ‘I’ve been promised a letter from Natalia. But I haven’t received one yet. And we don’t know what to do with those we’ve written to her.’

‘Why I’m here,’ said Proctor glibly. ‘Your mission…’ He hesitated, smiling again. ‘… Your old mission,’ he qualified, ‘have agreed to the correspondence being exchanged through the United Nations. Give me what you’ve got and I’ll take them back to Manhattan with me tonight.’

‘And Natalia’s, to us?’

‘I’ll come up as soon as anything arrives. My word.’

‘I had expected to hear by now,’ protested Levin. It was not difficult for him to appear disgruntled.

‘I’m sure it’ll be soon,’ soothed Bowden. ‘What we’d like to settle today is cooperation with the CIA.’

‘What sort of cooperation?’

‘Your telling the Agency everything you know. We can assure them that you will, can’t we?’

‘It will be safe?’ demanded Levin, maintaining the pretence of a nervous defector.

‘You surely don’t need any proof of that?’ said Proctor. ‘You’re armour plated.’

‘How will it be done?’

‘Still to be decided between us,’ said Bowden. Imagining the reassurance was necessary, he said: ‘But you’re not to worry. You’ll be absolutely protected whatever the arrangement.’

‘Of course I’ll cooperate,’ said Levin, apparently conceding. Guessing how much the FBI would want it, he added hurriedly to Proctor: ‘But however it’s done, I want either you or Billy with me. I don’t want to be with people I don’t know.’

From the other men’s immediate and smiling response Levin knew he’d guessed correctly.

Proctor said: ‘You’re going to insist on that?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Then we’ll be with you, every step of the way,’ guaranteed Bowden. The FBI would have sought positive involvement: Levin was their catch, to be shared but not taken over.

‘You will bring anything from Natalia, the moment it arrives, won’t you?’

‘My word,’ promised Proctor again.

Always a quick undertaking, thought Levin. He said: ‘And something else. We’re cooped up here like prisoners. Aren’t we allowed some sort of outing?’

‘Why not?’ agreed Proctor at once.

At last things were moving, thought Levin. Literally.

Establishing that a Caroline Dixon worked at an advertising agency occupying three floors of the skyscraper block near Madison and 46th Street was almost overly simplistic: Yuri telephoned the number, was assured an executive of that name was employed there and was available and hung up before he was connected to her extension.

He snaked his zig-zag way from the UN, doubly, redoubly and then again retracing his own route. Finally satisfied he was alone he was in position just up from the cross-street junction by 4.30 in the afternoon, aware as he established himself he had no idea what time she would leave.

It was 6.45 before she did, by which time he had had to shift positions four times to avoid drawing attention to himself by loitering, which was not the immediate focus of anger. The woman who left, laughing, was the Caroline Dixon. And she was hand-in-hand with a bespectacled, three-button-suited, clip-collared, club-tied man with a short haircut and vacation-determined tan. Why irritation? he demanded from himself at once. The purpose of the expedition was to confirm that the person whom he had encountered at the 53rd Street safe house was who she claimed to be. Nothing else apart from being sure: ridiculous to be irritated.

He was lucky to halt a cab almost in procession to theirs, stumbling his uncertainty about a destination by saying he was unsure of the address he wanted, gesturing the man in pursuit of the vehicle one hundred yards ahead and saved any positive difficulty by their stopping at a bar just two streets and three blocks away. There was another bar, practically opposite, and he got a window bench and sat with a club soda growing warm between his hands as Caroline and the man encountered a group that seemed to expect them and with whom they drank, for another hour. Yuri stayed with the one club soda. It was more difficult to follow them the second time, because it was later into the evening and the taxis were not so frequent but again they only went three blocks and on the same avenue this time, so it was a straight-line journey and he never lost sight of them. He thought of following them into the restaurant, confident he could conceal himself in the bar, and then decided it was a pointless pursuit and so he abandoned it, but not at once, lingering for almost an hour for no reason, knowing he was behaving foolishly. Maybe he’d already behaved foolishly, he thought, as he finally hailed yet another cab: maybe he should have taken some precaution against AIDS. It was followed quickly by another thought. How was it that his father couldn’t hate, at being cuckolded as he had been?