Death of a Tyrant

by Christopher Nicole

  Tatiana returned along the various corridors to Number Twenty-Eight. She stood outside the door for some minutes, drawing deep breaths to get her emotions under control, then unlocked the door. There were red blotches on Andrew Morgan’s body as well, but she reckoned those might have been inflicted when he was being brought in. Certainly he was fully alert. His head jerked as the door opened, and now he stood up, facing her. “Is it time?” he asked, his voiced controlled.

  “That is up to you,” she said. “Come with me.” He looked her up and down, then past her into the empty corridor. “I know you are an ex-soldier, Andrew,” she said. “But do believe me when I say that I can break you in two before you could even touch me. Equally, I have but to give a single shout and there will be guards in here. I am afraid they would beat you up if I summoned them. So please do be sensible.”

  “You mean you wish me to walk like a lamb to my slaughter.”

  “It need not come to that. Walk in front of me.”

  “Like this? Can I not even have a pair of pants.”

  “No.”

  “All part of the drill, eh?”

  She stepped back, and he walked past her into the corridor. “Turn right,” she commanded.

  He did so, and they went towards the interrogation room. “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me just why I have been arrested? Just why I am being treated like this?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “I am hoping you will tell me that,” Tatiana said.

  The door was opened for them and they stepped into the Interrogation Room. Andrew stopped so suddenly she nearly bumped into him. But she did not blame him for checking. In front of him, in the centre of the room, the man Smith was strapped to an iron frame. His wrists were secured above his head, his ankles to each leg of the frame, and his waist to the frame itself by a leather strap. An alligator clip had already been taped to his penis, and another thrust into his anus and also taped into place, the wires leading away to the waiting control box.

  Opposite him, the woman Antonina was strapped to another frame. She was similarly secured, but with her face to the frame, so that her back was exposed. But her frame had been arranged so that she faced Smith. Smith’s face was reasonably composed; Antonina’s was a mask of terror.

  The door closed behind Tatiana and Andrew, and she stepped past him, looking from his face to that of the other two. Antonina’s never changed. Smith frowned. “Jesus!” he commented.

  “You know this man?” Tatiana asked. Smith licked his lips. “You?” Tatiana asked Andrew.

  “We met on the train,” Andrew said. “But you must know that. You were on the train.”

  “You met by arrangement?”

  “Good God, no. He said he was a typewriter salesman. He showed me a typewriter. But I wasn’t interested.”

  Tatiana turned back to Smith. “Is what he said true?” Smith licked his lips again. Tatiana knew he was trying to work out how this could be used to his best advantage. “What about the woman?” she asked Andrew.

  “I have never seen her before in my life,” Andrew said.

  And he was telling the truth, about them both, Tatiana was certain. “What was found in the apartment?” she asked the secretary.

  “Nothing of importance, Comrade Captain.”

  Antonina opened her mouth, and Smith gave a quick shake of his head. Well, well, Tatiana thought. Something was found, but it has not been provided. That decision had to be Beria’s. But he was the boss, and she had her work to do. “You,” she said. “Antonina, have you ever seen this man before?”

  Antonina’s eyes flickered, and she looked at Smith, again seeking guidance. But she had not looked at Andrew. Tatiana realised she had a problem. Andrew was quite innocent, she was certain. But to tell Beria that might be fatal. Beria had said he wanted Andrew alive, for confrontation with some other agent he had apparently managed to capture. But that was on the assumption Andrew was involved. If he was not involved, Beria might order him to be shot out of hand; it was certain that he could never be released, after the way he had been treated. The only way she could be certain of keeping him alive was to act, and to treat him, as if she was certain of his guilt. And to prove it in front of these people, who were quite capable of reporting to Beria behind her back — perhaps even Atya. However painful that might be for Andrew. “Secure him,” she told the guards. “Position number one.” Andrew’s head turned, sharply, but before he could react they had pulled his arms behind his back and handcuffed him to one of the uprights. He stared at her, opened his mouth as if he would have spoken, and then closed it again. She was glad of that.

  She stepped up to Antonina, again twined her fingers in her hair, gave it a slight tug. She ran her hands over Antonina’s body, cupping her breasts, caressing her buttocks, squeezing her pubes. “All this beauty,” she whispered into Antonina’s ear. “Don’t you wish to have this beauty, still, when you leave here?” Antonina panted. “So tell me now,” Tatiana said softly. “Who are these men, really.”

  Antonina sucked air into her lungs. “I know that man as Smith. He was a friend of my husband’s. He came to see us, and my husband sent messages for him.”

  “What kind of messages?”

  “I don’t know. They never showed them to me.”

  “Then to whom were these messages sent?”

  “I don’t know.” Antonina began to weep.

  Tatiana continued to stroke her breasts and buttocks, giving her belly gentle squeezes as it inflated with each breath. “What about the other man?”

  “I don’t know him. I have never seen him before.”

  “I do not believe you, Antonina. If you don’t tell me the truth, I am going to hurt you, very badly.”

  “I don’t know him,” Antonia said. “I don’t know him,” she shouted.

  Tatiana released her. “Six strokes.”

  The cane was so thin as almost to be made of wire; in fact, it had a length of wire passed through its centre so that while it might splinter, it would not snap. Atya held it in front of Antonina’s face, and grinned at her. “Now you may speak, my little one.” Antonina gasped, and her whole body sagged. Then she threw back her head and uttered a tremendous shriek. “And I have not even touched her, yet,” Atya complained.

  “Tatiana,” Andrew said. “You cannot do this.”

  The guard standing beside him hit him in the stomach. Andrew retched, and his body, held against the pillar only by the handcuffs, doubled forward. “Speak when you are asked a question,” the guard told him.

  “We were couriers, nothing more,” Antonina gasped. “We received messages, and we passed them on. Paul…my husband…travelled. Oh, God, Paul. Now he is dead.”

  Tatiana nodded, and Atya slashed the cane across Antonina’s buttocks, creating an immediate huge weal. Antonina’s body stiffened, and she screamed again. “Couriers,” she shrieked. “We knew nothing. We took and received messages.”

  Tatiana nodded again, and Atya delivered her next blow, with perfect aim and precision, creating another deep red weal an inch above the first, neatly bisecting the tight buttocks. Again Antonina’s howl of agony reverberated through the chamber. Slowly Andrew straightened, still gasping for breath. “You will only kill her,” Smith said. “She is telling the truth.”

  Atya glanced at Tatiana, received another nod, and struck again. This time Antonina’s body arched against the frame so violently it trembled. But she could no longer utter a sound. Her mouth sagged open, and her head fell back. “Silly little bitch has fainted,” Atya grumbled.

  “Then revive her.”

  Tatiana went forward, stood beside Antonina, drove her fingers again into the girl’s hair to raise her head. Antonina’s eyes drooped open, and her lips puckered. “Do not scream,” Tatiana said. “Speak to me. You carried messages. From Smith?” Antonina gasped, and Atya poured a mug of water onto her face. Antonina gasped again. “From Smith?” Tatiana asked again.

  “Tell her,” Smith begged.

 
; Antonina’s mouth closed. She was gaining courage. But not enough. Tatiana nodded, and Atya struck her a fourth time. Now the cane was splintering, little pieces of bamboo flaking off to stick to the tortured flesh, exposing the wire beneath. “The next one will make you bleed,” Tatiana warned her. “You received messages from Smith?”

  “Yes,” Antonina gasped. “Oh, God, yes.”

  “And who else?”

  “I do not know their names.”

  “You know Smith’s name, Antonina.”

  “My husband told me his name,” Antonina sobbed. “He did not tell me all of their names.”

  “But he told you some. List them. You…” Tatiana nodded to the male secretary, who had remained seated at the table. “Take these down.”

  “I…I cannot remember,” Antonia said.

  Atya struck her again. Antonina had regained sufficient breath to scream, an even more unearthly sound than before. Blood trickled down her buttocks to gather in a pool between her feet. “The next one may well expose a bone,” Tatiana told her. “I wish all the names you can remember.”

  Antonina began to speak. The secretary wrote diligently, occasionally bending forward to listen more closely as her voice dwindled. Antonina listed eight names, of which seven were Russian. Tatiana began by watching Smith’s reactions to his partner’s disclosures, but soon became more interested in the names themselves. Especially the eighth. The Russians would easily be found and identified, but… “Moonlight?” she asked. “Would you say that again?”

  “Moonlight,” Antonina whispered.

  “Give her something to drink,” Tatiana commanded. Atya poured a glass of vodka, held it to Antonina’s lips, and the girl drank greedily. The vodka would, of course, increase her thirst in a matter of seconds. “Is that all you know him as?” Tatiana asked.

  “Yes,” Antonina said. “I swear it.”

  Atya raised the cane, but Tatiana shook her head. “You have met this man?”

  “He came to the apartment, once. I did not speak with him. Paul spoke with him. He was only a shadow to me.”

  Tatiana had no doubt she was again telling the truth, as when she had disclaimed any knowledge of Andrew. How amusing it would be if Andrew in fact turned out to be Moonlight. But also, how tragic. She turned to Smith. “Tell me about Moonlight.”

  “He is a name, nothing more,” Smith said.

  “Antonina has just established that he is more than a name,” Tatiana pointed out.

  “I meant, to me. I have never met him.”

  “I do not believe you, Comrade. Will you not tell me about this man? If you do not, I must hurt you, very badly.”

  Smith licked his lips. “I do not know him.”

  Tatiana stood beside him, went into her stroking routine. Andrew, gazing at her, could not believe that she had done those things to him. He had lain in the arms of a tigress, and supposed it was love. “You have ten seconds, Comrade,” Tatiana whispered. “Then we are going to make you wish you were a eunuch. His name.”

  “I do not know his name,” Smith said stubbornly. There were great beads of sweat on his forehead.

  Tatiana stepped away from him and snapped her fingers, and one of the male guards depressed a button on his control box. It was almost possible to hear the electricity crackling through the wires in the split second before Smith screamed, a howl of the most utter agony as his body arched away from the steel frame. The force of the charge even erected his penis, for a moment, before he collapsed, hanging from his wrists, legs still jerking against the bars. “Are you trying to kill him?” Tatiana snapped.

  “I am sorry, Comrade Captain,” the guard said. “I must have pressed too hard.”

  Tatiana pulled on a pair of thin rubber gloves to hold Smith’s chin, just in case there was still some electricity about. She lifted Smith’s head, looked at the blue lips. The eyes were open, but bloodshot and sightless. She snapped her fingers again, and Atya handed her a mirror. Tatiana held the glass in front of Smith’s nostrils, frowned. “Cut his wrist,” she commanded.

  The guard stepped up to Smith, a knife in his hand. He made a small incision in Smith’s left wrist, opening the vein. Only a drop of blood came out. “That was very stupid,” Tatiana said.

  “There is the other one,” Atya suggested.

  Andrew stared at her. This cannot be happening, he thought. I cannot be standing here, tied to this pillar, watching a man killed by sheer carelessness, and a woman being systematically destroyed as a human being: what had just happened to Antonina must scar her mind for life, even if the scars on her flesh eventually faded — although even that was doubtful. And now it was to be his turn, because Tatiana was looking at him. “Get rid of this one,” she said.

  The guards released Smith, and he slumped into their arms. They carried him from the room, but returned very quickly; presumably they had dumped him in an empty cell. Supposing there was such a thing as an empty cell in this hell. Andrew realised that he was thinking, urgently, desperately, rubbish to stop himself from facing the reality of what was about to happen to him.

  Tatiana stepped up to him. “Tell me about this Moonlight,” she said.

  “I know no one named Moonlight,” he said, relieved that his voice was not actually trembling. “That is the truth. You have to believe me.”

  Of course I believe you, Tatiana thought. But I must still torture you, for the benefit of these others. “And I know that you do,” she said. “Comrade Doctor.” The doctor stepped forward, apprehensively. “You examined the man Smith?” Tatiana inquired. The doctor licked his lips. “And you noticed nothing wrong with his heart?”

  “It is difficult, with a cursory examination, Comrade Captain. The heartbeat was irregular, but I put that down to fear. The charge was simply too strong.”

  “Well, examine this man.”

  “I have already done so, when he was brought in, Comrade Commissar. He is very fit.”

  “Do it again, now,” Tatiana commanded.

  The doctor obeyed, using his stethoscope with great deliberation, while Tatiana waited, staring at Andrew. Who stared back. I loved you, he thought. I would have loved you forever. Perhaps he would still love her forever. Even after she had reduced him to a gibbering wreck. “He is absolutely fit, Comrade Captain,” the doctor pronounced.

  Tatiana snapped her fingers, and the electrical clips they had taken from Smith’s body were brought to her. She attached them herself. “This is your last chance,” she said.

  “You know I have nothing to tell you,” he said. “My God, you know that, Tatiana.”

  Tatiana moved to the box, took the control herself. “We do not want any other accidents to happen,” she said.

  *

  “There’s a gentleman to see you, ma’am,” Mottram said. “He said to give you his card.”

  Elaine took the piece of pasteboard. “The State Department! Oh, thank God! We’re getting somewhere at last.”

  “Do you really think so, Ma’am?” Mottram had been the most affected of all the servants by Priscilla’s kidnapping. She seemed to take it as a personal affront that she had not been present when Gregory Asimov had made his move, if not to protect her mistress, at least to go with her.

  “You bet, Pamela.” Elaine had never been able to get into the habit of calling a ladies’ maid by her surname. “Show Mr…” she peered at the card, “Eldridge in.”

  Mr Eldridge was very tall and very thin. With his hatchet-face he made Elaine think of a vulture. Even his smile as he shook hands was vulture-like. “Good of you to see me, Mrs Bolugayevski,” he said, pronouncing each syllable with great care. “May I ask how your menfolk are?”

  “My husband is doing well, Mr Eldridge, thank you. My father-in-law…not so good.”

  “But he’s going to live?”

  “They think so. As to whether he’ll ever walk again…”

  “That’s bad luck.”

  “Please sit down,” Elaine invited. “Would you like something to drink? Tea? C
offee?” Mottram was still hovering.

  “A glass of water would be very nice, thank you.”

  “A glass of water.” Elaine looked at Mottram, who nodded, and left the room.

  “Shocking affair,” Eldridge commented.

  “Have you news of my mother-in-law? Have the Russians admitted kidnapping her?”

  “We’re putting out feelers.”

  “Feelers?!”

  “These are early days, Mrs Bolugayevski. As I say, we’re putting out feelers, but there’s nothing yet.”

  “Then…” she bit her lip.

  “Why am I here? Well, I’ll tell you.” He accepted the glass of water Mottram had brought in on a silver tray. “There are some loose ends the Department feels should be cleared up. Mrs Cromb is a Russian, right?”

  “Wrong. She’s an American citizen, born and bred.”

  “But at one time she called herself the Princess of Bolugayen. That’s in Russia, right?”

  “At one time, Mr Eldridge, she was the Princess of Bolugayen. She married the Prince.”

  “Who was also her cousin.”

  “He was her uncle,” Elaine snapped, beginning to lose her temper. “He was from the Russian half of the family.”

  “Right. And after he died, she married another Russian. Mr Cromb is Russian, right?”

  “He was born there. He is now an American citizen.”

  “Right. Now both he, and Mrs Cromb, and you and your husband come to think of it, were in Russia during the War, and fought with them. Right?”

  “Yes, Mr Eldridge. They were our allies, then, you may remember.”

  “I sure do. But things have changed, although not, you might say, the Bolugayevski-Crombs.”

  Elaine’s head came up. “Just what do you mean by that?”

  “I mean, Mrs Bolugayevski, that we know your mother-in-law has maintained close contact with her Russian sister-in-law, Jennifer Ligachevna.”

  “I’m afraid that is news to me.”