She gasped and took a step backward, but a third man came out of the bathroom into the hall behind her. He was enormous, with a thick coat of dark hair over his face, neck and arms. He looked like a bear. She drew a breath of air to scream. He grabbed her hair and threw her head against the wall. There was athump. The room spun, and then . . . nothing.
9
The midnight summons had been vague, and Yevgenia Perova knew it could not be good news. As she walked the long Alexander Corridor of the Kremlin’s Hall of Palaces she tried to imagine what could have gone wrong. She scarcely noticed the doors she passed — doors bearing the nameplates of the members of the Politburo of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. She showed no awe at her proximity to the highest power in the land. Her blue eyes were thoughtful, and her head was pushed forward slightly as though she were walking into a strong wind. Her head was too big for her body, which gave her the oversize facial features associated with the Iron Perova — that, and the hair bun that lay on her head like a ball of twine. She reached an exit and went through.
Ahead, a soldier of the elite Kremlin Guard stood beside a metal detector. Beyond him was a second door that led outside. The soldier motioned for Yevgenia to pass. “He’s waiting, comrade minister.”
Yevgenia went out. The night was cold with a strong, swirling wind that stung her face. On the cobblestones, a Zil limousine idled. A man in an olive uniform pulled open the car door, and she climbed in.
A frail, old man smoking a cigarillo in a long, ivory holder sat in the back seat. The door slammed shut and the car took off at once.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Lubyanka,” he said.
“What does the KGB have to do with this?”
“There’s been a leak. An American. She may have contacted your son.”
“Impossible,” Yevgenia scoffed. “No one can get anywhere near Anton without — ”
“Not Anton. Victor.”
Yevgenia stiffened. Her defenses went on alert.
Outwardly, Anatoly Podolok was the Iron Perova’s greatest ally. He was the Politburo’s Communist party secretary for ideology, one of the most powerful men in the world. It had been his connections that had led to Yevgenia’s promotion to minister of agriculture that winter. But their alliance was one of cold convenience. There was no love, not even respect, between them.
Podolok said, “Some bonehead KGB agent over at SAPO decided to — ”
“Boris Orlov?”
“You know him?”
Yevgenia nodded. Anton’s file.
“Anyway, Orlov was running a rogue operation with your boy.” Podolok shook his head and clucked his tongue.
“You said there was a leak,” said Yevgenia. “How did Stepan Bra — ?”
“SILENCE!”
Podolok’s eyes bulged and his body trembled. “NEVER utter that name!” He took several deep breaths.
Yevgenia thought he might be having a heart attack. She smiled faintly.
Podolok caught his breath and went on. “We’ll find out everything in a few minutes. General Belov is interrogating Orlov now.”
The limousine went through the gate at Lubyanka’s eastern entrance. Yevgenia had been here only once before — after Anton was arrested for the third time. She cringed to think of that night. Before using her influence to get him released, she had gazed at her son a moment through the two-way mirror. He had let his hair grow, the way all the younguligani , “hooligans,” were doing. His beard was spotty and unkempt. He had a bruise on his left cheek, a souvenir of his tussle with the KGB agents in the Red Square. He slouched in the straight-backed chair, arm thrown over the side, and she could see clearly his impudence, his lack of respect for the sacrifices she and so many others in the Party had made. Did he care that her comrades in the Party were beginning to talk? They were snickering that the Iron Perova couldn’t control her own son! Getting him released from Lubyanka that night would be another small blow to her power; a new debt against her name on the balance sheet of favors and debts that ruled Party politics. At that moment, Yevgenia could almost hate her son.
She had no idea then how much worse things would get.
The driver parked in an underground garage and jumped out to help Podolok. Yevgenia watched with contempt as the old man labored to get out of the car. At seventy-two years old, time had been no kinder to Podolok than it had been to doddering old Leonid Brezhnev, his life-long friend and protégé. But Brezhnev was dead a year and a half already, replaced by Yuri Andropov, whom Podolok had despised, now two months in his grave. The current Soviet leader, Konstantin Chernenko, was more to Podolok’s liking, though Chernenko might as well have been dead for all the life that was left in him. Things had reached such a state that Podolok had personally banned radio stations from playing organ music; one bar of organs could send the whole world into speculation about the death of another Soviet leader.
Podolok got to his feet and leaned heavily on the car as the driver closed the door. Yevgenia shook her head. Time ages men differently, and it was Podolok’s fate to wither. Every day, no matter how much he ate, he lost a little more weight. It was as though he were fading away, rising each morning to find himself a little more translucent. There was no telling how long this could go on, but to those who knew him it seemed certain that someday he would disappear completely and all that would be left was one of his brown cigarillos, still burning in an ashtray.
Under Podolok’s coat, Yevgenia spied a round medal on a short ribbon pinned to his pocket. It was the Order of Lenin, presented to Podolok by Josef Stalin, after Podolok had returned from Berlin a war hero.
Yevgenia glared at the medal. “I thought I told you to not wear that medal in my presence.”
“You forget yourself, comrade,” Podolok hissed.
“I know the truth, don’t you ever forget it.”
“How could I?” Podolok pinched his jaw. “Damn that stub-nose mongrel! Damn him for staying alive all those years! Damn him for bringing the likes of you and General Belov into my life!”
A KGB officer led them to an elevator and inserted a key. They began to descend into the infamous Lubyanka prison. When the door finally opened, General Yuri Belov was there to greet them. He was an enormous man with sagging jowls that prompted some men to call him “the hound,” though Belov himself would attribute the nickname to his keen senses. Belov was perpetually drenched in sweat (a gland problem, he once explained), and even in the dim lights of the basement, his face glistened with perspiration.
Belov led them up the new corridor. Dim bulbs cast flickering shadows on the cement floor. Yevgenia’s heels echoed loudly. As they moved deeper into the prison, Belov briefed them on Boris Orlov’s interrogation, and Yevgenia heard for the first time the extent of her danger — Victor’s message to Katherine Sears in Helsinki, Katherine’s contact with Lena Ryzhkova in Moscow, the botched meeting in the Moskva Restaurant and Victor’s strange disappearance shortly afterward. Yevgenia listened with a mixture of horror and outrage. She kept her eyes straight ahead and allowed herself to betray no emotion. She was a woman in a man’s world, and Podolok and Belov would be looking for signs of weakness now. She could show none. Whatever conclusions were to be drawn, whatever actions were to be taken, she had to take the lead.
Belov finished and Yevgenia said, “We must assume the American knows everything.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, comrade,” said Podolok.
“Where is she now?” asked Yevgenia.
“In a dacha outside Moscow,” said Belov. “It was too dangerous to bring her here.”
“Good,” said Yevgenia. “The main thing now is containment.”
“Absolutely,” breathed Podolok.
“Remember, Boris Orlov knows nothing,” said Yevgenia. “He thinks Anton died in Afghanistan; he saw the same bogus file I gave Victor. And we’ve got the American.”
“Which leaves Victor,” said Podolok.
Belov and Podolok s
tudied her for a reaction. She shrugged.
At that moment, they stopped at a heavy door.
“Shall we go in?” asked Belov.
Podolok nodded and Belov put a key into the lock.
“Comrade secretary, you can’t go in there? said Yevgenia. “He’ll — ”
“See me?” Podolok sneered. “Let him.”
Yevgenia froze. She looked at Belov. His face was stone.
No weakness.
They went in.
Behind a table in the center of a small room sat Boris Orlov. He was dressed in the same suit he had worn that evening at the Moskva Restaurant. His tie was pulled loose and his eyes darted about nervously.
Boris jumped to his feet. “Comrade Perova? You didn’t have to — ” He saw Podolok and stopped. “What the hell?”
Podolok went to a chair in the corner and sat down. Boris’s eyes followed him.
Yevgenia and Belov sat opposite Boris at the table.
“You know my guests?” asked Belov.
Boris swallowed hard and nodded.
Yevgenia said, “General Belov has apprised us of your statement, comrade major. There is one point to which I must return.”
“Yes?”
“Did this American . . . Katherine Sears . . . speak to Victor Perov?”
Boris shook his head vigorously. “No.”
“You’re certain.”
“Yes. I mean . . . I don’t see how.”
“But Victor did send Oksana Filipova to warn the American,” said Belov. “They met in the monastery chapel.”
“That’s my theory, yes,” said Boris. He looked miserable. He shot a fearful glance at Podolok. The old man smoked a cigarillo in his ivory holder.
“Victor should be commended for refusing to cooperate with this ill-considered fishing expedition,” said Yevgenia.
I only wish he had come to me.But even as she thought it, she knew he could not have done that. Victor was trying to protect her. But he only made matters worse. For a brilliant man, Victor could be incredibly naive about his own country. He was so much his father’s son, always accommodating, while Anton had inherited her own headstrong nature. Too bad he couldn’t have put it to better use.
“Victor has behaved exactly as I would expect,” said Yevgenia. “He felt responsible, and he found a way to save Lena, the American and himself.”
“And then he disappeared,” Podolok pointed out.
Yevgenia bit her lip. She must not appear to be making a case for her son.
Boris came to her rescue. “That doesn’t mean they met. He could be at the dacha in Petrovka. He could be at Oksana Filipova’s. Why would he risk everything to meet this woman? It doesn’t make sense.”
Yevgenia and Podolok exchanged glances. Podolok nodded at Belov.
“That’s all for now, comrade,” said Belov. “Someone will be along for you shortly.”
They went out and locked the door.
“He’s useless,” said Yevgenia. “Only Victor and Katherine know if they met today.”
“You must confront Victor,” said Podolok.
“How do I ask about a meeting that may never have taken place?” said Yevgenia. “No. Asking him would only tip him off.”
“What do you suggest?” asked Podolok.
“We have Katherine Sears in custody. Let her tell me.”
“Tellyou ?”
“Who else?”
Podolok thought about that and nodded. “General Belov will go with you. Take my car. You must leave at once.”
Yevgenia understood the need for Belov to accompany her — Podolok didn’t trust her. Yevgenia paused to consider the two men who had become her closest allies, and she suffered a rare attack of doubt. Belov was a pig who had spent his life putting men like her son Anton into prison camps. While Yevgenia didn’t agree with Anton’s actions, she believed the KGB’s behavior toward her son — and others like him — was a national paranoia. It was simply unworthy of a great nation like the U.S.S.R. And as for Podolok — he was a rat. And just howmuch of a rat was something only two other living people knew. One of them was with her now. The other . . . she couldn’t permit herself to think about him. She had a job to do. Victor’s life was at stake.
“Let’s go,” she said to Belov. “We have no time to lose.”
Downstairs in the interrogation room, Boris Orlov paced anxiously. How had General Belov found out about Katherine Sears? The answer was obvious: Oleg.
Damn the ungrateful rat. When Boris got out he would . . .
What?
For once in his life, Boris Orlov found himself devoid of plans. To be summoned to Lubyanka like this had been unnerving to say the least. And to see comrade secretary Anatoly Podolok — it made no sense. How was he involved in this?
Boris knew one thing for sure: He was way out of his element. All he wanted now was to get home to his wife and son. Raisa was redecorating the kitchen, and she was counting on him to hang the wallpaper. Next month, Dima would graduate from the university. In the fall, he would start at the KGB Academy. Boris had pulled some strings.
The lock rattled and a guard came in.
“Come with me.”
The guard led Boris along a dark corridor. It didn’t seem to Boris that it was the same way they had come in. But how could he know? The damn place was a maze.
They went down a flight of stairs.
Down?
“Where are we going?”
The guard pointed to a door. “That way, comrade.”
Boris found himself in a narrow, dimly lit room with a concrete wall at one end. It was chipped and pockmarked, and he realized with horror that they were bullet holes. He spun around. The guard was closing the door.
Now Boris understood.
“There must be some mistake,” he said. His voice cracked.
The guard raised his pistol. His face was expressionless. “No mistake.”
10
Katherine Sears had been trying for a long time to open her eyes when she realized suddenly that her eyeswere open. The images before her were blurry, and she tried to force them to take shape. The effort only made her nauseated. She shut her eyes.
The room buzzed like a hive of bees. Her head hurt. She tried to raise her hand, and that’s when she realized she was seated in a chair with her hands tied behind her.
The recognition shocked her, and she tried again to see. A man’s face came into focus — a huge man, the bearlike man from her hotel room. Then it came back to her: the strange men, the big man behind her, him grabbing her hair, her head striking the wall . . .
“Where am I?” she said. Her voice surprised her. It sounded composed.
“Ona prosnulas,” said the big man, the bear.
“Ya pozovu vracha,” said another voice. She turned. A man left through a doorway.
The language was Russian. Katherine played it back in her head and struggled to translate. The first man had said, “She’s awake.” The second man had said something about calling the doctor.
Adoctor ?
Katherine was in what looked like a hunter’s cabin. A piece of dirty plywood was nailed over the place where a window should have been. She saw two doors— the one the man had just left through and the exit straight ahead of her. The room reeked of cigarettes and body odor. It was cold, and she could see her breath in front of her. Two electric space heaters offered the only heat. The bear wore a suede coat; she shivered in her blouse.
Two men entered the room to her left. The first was the man she had seen leave a moment earlier. He was of average build, with dark, oriental-shaped eyes. A Tatar, she guessed. The second was short and frail-looking with thick lips and beady eyes that looked anywhere but straight ahead. He came beside her and sat down. He pulled back her eyelids and shone a light into her eyes. He felt her throat and took her pulse.
He nodded and said, “Ona gotova.”
She’s ready.
Forwhat?
The big man said something she didn’
t understand. The Tatar laughed. The Tatar was the boss, Katherine guessed. She considered speaking to him in Russian, but decided to keep her knowledge of the language, such as it was, a secret.
The doctor opened a small, black bag at his feet and pulled out a syringe and a small medicine bottle. He plunged the needle into a bottle and drew out a clear liquid.
Katherine tugged at the ropes on her wrists. He barked at her in Russian. When she kept struggling, he jabbed the needle roughly into her arm. He rammed his thumb on the plunger and the fluid rushed into Katherine’s bloodstream so quickly that her arm froze in that spot. She became still. He pulled out the needle, and she said in English, “Bastards!”
The Tatar slapped her. “Listen to me,” he said in English. “We not hurt you. We have for you some questions. We give to you, uh,narkotika , to help. Understand?”
Katherine nodded. Something was happening to her. The buzzing in her ears became a ringing.
“Now,” he said. “Tell me please, what is your name?”
“Katherine Sears,” she said. Strangely, her own voice sounded farther away than the Tatar’s. It was as though he had supplanted her will with his own. So be it.
“Why did you come to Moscow?”
“To see Victor Perov.”
“Why?”
“To tell him something.”
“What?”
So Katherine told him. The drug made herwant to tell him. She told him about Titus Waal and Koos van der Laan. She told him about Soviet Psychiatry Watch. She told him that Sigmund had learned that Anton Perov was being held in a psychiatric hospital. She even offered Sigmund’s telephone number.
Time passed. She dozed off. When she awoke, a hood was over her head. There was a new person in the room; she sensed the presence. The voice spoke in a whisper. The Tatar spoke again.
The Forbidden Zone Page 10