The Kremlin Letter (24 page)

“Certainly I've read them. And it's silly to ask why they don't publish him. Who knows why the officials do or don't publish anything? But Mandelstam will not go unheard. Like Isaac Babel, he'll be printed on the black market if nowhere else.”

As the discussion turned to the recent publication of Franz Kafka's
Penal Colony
, the Warlock noticed that Rudolf was paying no attention. He seemed preoccupied. A look of despair covered his face. He moistened his lips and fidgeted with his glasses. Finally he excused himself.

The Warlock found his host sitting in the kitchen with tears streaming down his face.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

“Only answer me this question. Why are the truly good people of this world maligned and eventually destroyed? Why? Why? Why?”

The next evening B.A. and Rone rigged a time-lapse camera and hid it in a tree opposite Kosnov's house. They recovered it the following day and hastily developed the film. Nothing was on it. The following night two cameras were planted, without results. The next night a third was added. Four photographs came out. The first was the back of a woman's head standing at the upstairs window. Her hair was blond and her back was bare. A second photograph showed a profile of the woman. Her mouth was curled back as if in anger and there seemed to be tears or water on her cheek. The third photograph was of a man's back. The final picture was of the girl again, her head thrown back in laughter. Rone recognized her. It was the woman Sweet Alice had identified as Erika Boeck Polakov.

That night B.A. and Mikhail made their way into a radio shop, ostensibly to fill an order B.A. had received at the free market. They took three radios and a television set. While Mikhail was not looking B.A. clipped some transistors and other small equipment into her pocket.

Four nights later it rained. B.A. made her way onto Kosnov's roof from an adjoining building. She lowered a rope and slid down it headfirst until she was beside the bedroom window. The room was empty. She lowered the upper frame just enough to get her hands through. She reached in cautiously and lifted one end of the curtain rod from its bracket and slid the curtain rings to the other end. Then she took a duplicate rod from inside her jacket and deftly slid it through the bunched rings. She lifted the old rod out of the wall brackets and put in the new one. Then she adjusted it so that the imperceptible microphone holes were pointing into the room. She silently raised the window shut and pulled herself back up the rope.

Janis reported that business was good and little else. The new trade had given the girls confidence in Madame Sophie, and requests for employment were starting to trickle in. Janis approved only the prettiest and the most addicted prostitutes.

Ward was making little headway with the addicts. A young couple, both engineers at the same plant, were becoming his most dependent customers. They had offered any services either could perform in order to keep the heroin coming. Ward was toying with the idea of letting them be subpushers so he could have more free time.

Rone now spent almost all of his time at the apartment. When he wasn't listening to a report he was at the radio set waiting for contact with Kosnov's house. The colonel and his bride didn't seem to be at home for the first two days—either that or they were using the back bedroom of the house. When no word was heard on the set after five days, Rone talked to B.A. about putting another curtain rod or two in the house. While B.A. was out gathering more material voices finally came through on the receiving set.

“But you said we could stay for two weeks. What happened? Four days and we're back,” said the woman's voice.

“It couldn't be helped, my darling,” said a man.

“Couldn't be helped. Couldn't be helped. That's all I hear from you. Aren't you in charge of your department? Aren't you the one who gives the orders?”

“Something has come up.”

“Something always comes up. What is it this time?”

“You know I can't discuss it with you.”

“Then why did you marry me? You could sleep with me without marriage whether I liked it or not. Why did you marry me if you won't tell me anything?” screamed the woman.

“You of all people should know there are certain things that can't be discussed, even with a wife.”

“Why should I know that?”

“I'm sure Polakov didn't discuss his work with you.”

“Are you?”

“That's what you told me.”

“Well, I lied.”

“Then or now?”

“Then.” The woman laughed. “There's that stupid look on your face again. You're not sure now, are you? Well, he did tell me things, because he trusted me.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Oh, things. If you take me dancing maybe I'll tell you.”

“Erika, what did he tell you?”

“I'd like to go dancing and then I think I'd like to smoke some of those cigarettes.”

“Erika!”

“Come make love to me upside down. Look. This all belongs to you officially now. How does it look upside down? This is what I was known for in the Berlin houses.”

Rone heard the door slam. The woman shrieked with laughter. Then she began to sob.

26

The Dinner Party

“But I don't want to go to dinner with people I've never met before,” protested Erika as the car drove along Novinski Boulevard.

“I would rather not be going myself,” Kosnov admitted.

“Then why can't we go dancing instead, like you promised last week?”

“If we finish early I'll take you.”

“Russians never finish eating early. They stuff their fat faces for hours and hours. You all eat like pigs anyway.”

“I want no talk like that tonight,” Kosnov said menacingly. He grabbed Erika's arm and squeezed it tightly. “And I want you to remember the story. I want you to repeat it, just as I told you.”

“I will, I will. Now let go. You're hurting me.”

“If they like you tonight then you'll be accepted by the others. That means we can get out more often. Go more places. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“I'll believe it when I see it,” Erika said with irritation. “Who is this Bretavitch that we have to come running when he calls?”

“Bresnavitch. Aleksei I. Bresnavitch. Say it.”

“I'll remember.”

“Say it,” demanded Kosnov.

“Aleksei I. Bresnavitch. Satisfied?”

“Just remember it and do not drink too much.”

“If I embarrass you why did you marry me?”

“Because I love you.”

“I'll make you sorry for that.”

“It had better not be tonight,” Kosnov told her coldly. Erika believed him.

“Well, who is this Bresnavitch, anyway?”

“He is a very powerful man in Moscow.”

“Is he your boss?”

“In a way.”

“Then I'll sleep with him so you can get a promotion.”

Kosnov, slapped her across the face before he realized it. Erika took the blow cheerfully. She smiled at her husband and began rearranging her hair.

Seven people sat around the dinner table: Bresnavitch himself; his daughter and her husband, Grodin; Kosnov and Erika; and Gregori Kazar, a high-ranking Kremlin adviser, and his wife.

Bresnavitch proposed a toast to the newlyweds. Erika sat to his right, Kosnov to his left.

“You are as beautiful as they say,” Bresnavitch said.

“Thank you.”

“We understand you were one of Colonel Kosnov's agents in Germany,” Kazar's wife said inquisitively.

“Yes.”

“That must be very dangerous work for a woman,” she commented.

“There is no danger when you believe in a cause.”

“Well spoken,” Bresnavitch interjected. “And how do you find Moscow?”

“It is a beautiful city,” Erika answered.

“I would not have the courage to be a spy,” said Kazar's wife. “I would not have the duplicity required. It is rumored that you married an enemy agent and lured him into Russia to be captured.”

Erika felt a sharp chill race through her body. “I married the man Polakov on orders from Colonel Kosnov. My mission was to stay with him and learn of his activities. I led him nowhere. He came to Moscow on his own. I accompanied him as any wife would.”

Kosnov watched Bresnavitch. The remark did not seem to effect him.

“Why did he come here?” asked the woman.

“I am afraid that is classified information,” Erika said.

“Oh,” said the woman, at a loss. “I do so much like to hear about spies. Can't you make her tell us?” She appealed to Bresnavitch.

“That is up to Colonel Kosnov,” Bresnavitch told her.

“I assume we are all above suspicion, Colonel,” Kazar said genially. “I would like to hear your wife's answer if it is permissible?”

Kosnov thought for a moment, then he nodded to Erika.

“Polakov came to Moscow to make contact with a high Soviet official who was willing to give information to the West.” Kosnov froze and glared at Erika. This was not what she had been rehearsed to say. He recovered quickly enough to notice Kazar staring at Bresnavitch. He seemed unperturbed.

“Might I ask who the contact was?” Kazar asked intensely

“Now, now, now,” Bresnavitch interrupted. “That would certainly be information Colonel Kosnov would prefer to keep to himself.”

“It turned out to be a false lead,” Erika offered gracefully. “His motives were completely domestic. He came to Moscow to introduce me to his mother and sister. I had married him in vain.” She smiled across to Kosnov. “Darling, the next time you have your wife get married I hope it will prove more productive.”

Everyone at the table laughed.

“Is that true, Colonel? Is that why Polakov came to Moscow?” asked Bresnavitch.

“On that trip, yes. But he had been here before. Erika found that much out. The trip she accompanied him on was unofficial. We had not known before that time that Polakov had a mother and sister living here. We were not really sure he was Russian. Once we knew he was in Moscow I didn't want to risk losing him. I had him picked up.”

“That seems like rather strange intelligence protocol,” observed Kazar. “Why didn't you follow him until you found his contact?”

Bresnavitch interrupted again. “Colonel Kosnov is a very effective interrogator. His methods are quite extraordinary. Very few men fail to talk once he has captured them.”

Kosnovsaw Erika take a long drink of wine. For the remainder of the meal she did not look up at him. He knew that Bresnavitch was also watching.

After dinner Bresnavitch took his guests on a tour of his paintings. They returned to the living room for coffee and cordials. Grodin's and Kazar's wives seemed taken with Erika. Bresnavitch suggested that his daughter show the other two women the house so the men could discuss a little business.

“Colonel,” began Kazar, “I would not want you to misinterpret what I am about to say. Obviously you are aware of the complete reevaluation of Comrade Khrushchev's politics. This type of activity is commonplace with a change of leadership. None of us is immune. Each must be prepared to answer for his activities over the last ten years. What I am asking here tonight is completely unofficial. It is really a clarification of certain matters and especially expenditures. You have made no secret of the Polakov matter, and for that I thank you. I am sure other camps within the government will be talking to you about it soon, if they haven't already. I don't believe it's a secret which elements I represent, and there are certain questions that we wish to put to you. If you prefer to remain silent that is your prerogative. If you accommodate us and clarify certain points we would be appreciative. If you are willing to accommodate us but prefer doing it at some other place and time, we will certainly honor your suggestions.”

“I'm quite willing to discuss it,” Kosnov answered calmly. He had known this was coming for months. He was prepared.

“Comrade Kosnov,” said Bresnavitch, “let me first say that we are not interested in your investigation of ourselves and other Kremlin officials. We know it must take place under the circumstances. If the man Polakov was indeed in contact with a defector of high rank, we, as much as you, want him found. Each of us is at your disposal, and we accept the fact that you must proceed as you feel best.”

“Thank you, Comrade Bresnavitch,” answered Kosnov, slightly surprised.

“What concerns us more is the immediate security,” Bresnavitch said somberly. “You have spent great sums of money to determine which foreign agents might be sent to contact the traitor. We have learned, and not through my son-in-law, about the incident at Vorkuta. We compliment you on your ability to find them so fast, but your procedure and your conclusions have led to some confusion in our minds. Is it your opinion that the two men in the truck were the enemy agents sent in to contact the traitor?”

“They most likely were,” answered Kosnov.

“And you are satisfied that the two men in the truck were definitely the two men you were looking for?”

“They were most likely the two men we were informed would come to this country.”

Bresnavitch walked across the room and returned with a folder.

“Colonel, I have here a medical report on the two bodies found in that truck. Unlike your report, ours was made by Moscow doctors.”

“How could they give a knowledgeable opinion without having the bodies?” asked Kosnov.

“Comrade Kazar and I had the bodies flown to Moscow. You can look at this later. In effect, Colonel, our two doctors feel that there was a definite time difference between the deaths of the two men in the truck. They agree with your official findings that the man known as the Highwayman died of suffocation and burns. They also feel that Charles Rone died of a concussion, but that he died three days before the other man. Your report claims that both men died in the crash and that their bodies were subsequently burned. When the fire burned out, what was left of them froze. Our doctors claim that this is true only of the Highwayman. A dermatological report indicates that Charles Rone was dead and frozen before the fire began. Skin samples indicated that flesh was frozen, began to thaw slightly and then was burned. Subsequently it froze again.”