End to Ordinary History

by Michael Murphy

  The gray, ascetic figure nodded. But Muhammad Khan spoke Russian well, he said. He had heard him at the meeting of Kirov’s committee.

  Smyslov turned to Karel. “Fyodor,” he asked, “what do you think of Kozin’s charges? He claims that six members of Tamerlane’s Angels are in Moscow, drawn here by Kirov’s commission. Here is a list of their names. As you can see, not one works for the religious directorates. They’re all Party bureaucrats or academics.”

  “There are two problems with his charges.” Karel frowned. “First, we have no certain evidence against these people, though two might belong to the Naqshebandi brotherhoods of Dagestan. And second, Kozin has done this before. It is his third alarm about Islamic plots, and the first two caused investigations that only proved the innocence of everyone involved. What does worry me is Kirov’s performance this year in Europe. He’s traveled erratically, producing nothing with intelligence value. And we know he has friends in Sufi groups all over Central Asia.”

  “But his group is not political,” Smyslov said. “That has been proven again and again since he won his Order of Lenin. Directorate T has sent agents to check his friends, and they have always found them opposed to Islamic separatism.”

  Karel looked as if he wanted to spit. “This is a mess!” he said. “If Kozin cannot back his claims, he must be reprimanded. To cry wolf three times is too much!”

  There was a knock on the door. “Sheik Khan and Vladimir Kirov are waiting,” said a female secretary, looking into the office.

  “Tell the sheik to come in,” said Smyslov. “We want to see him alone.”

  Muhammad Khan looked sad and tired. He seated himself carefully, as if his bones might break. “It is wearisome,” he said softly, “to answer such misguided charges. Comrade Kozin, I fear, is confused.”

  “He is not the only one with doubts,” said Karel. “It seems you have had some too—about the dangers of Kirov’s proposals. We have reviewed the comments you made before the Academy’s review committee.”

  Muhammad Khan’s gaze receded as if toward some distant horizon. “I do not question his motive,” he said. “It is only the wisdom of his ideas for Soviet Central Asia. The kind of permission he seeks for religious activity there might be welcome at another time, but not now. Not when interest in Islam is growing. New freedoms might encourage fanatics. It might bring out elements that scorn stability, elements that use religion for political change. It is simply the speed of liberalization I object to. There is a saying in Islam about not going faster than the Lord.”

  “Rumor has it that more is involved,” Smyslov said, lying to test the sheik. “Some say you think Comrade Kirov is involved in a deliberate conspiracy.”

  “No, not a conspiracy.” The sheik made a weary gesture. “These rumors are fantastic. I only said Kirov has allies interested in liberalizations like the ones he proposes. That is no secret. I was trying to answer Kozin’s accusations that we are part of Tamerlane’s Angels, a group I helped eliminate two or three years ago.”

  “Is there anything else you want to tell us?” Karel asked, his small face thrust forward intently. “Anything about Comrade Kirov we should know? You have known him for many years?”

  “I do not know him well,” the old man sighed. “We met through the religious boards, at a few committee meetings. I have nothing more to say about him.”

  Smyslov and Karel studied the tired-looking figure. Then Karel opened Kirov’s file. “Please wait,” he told the sheik.

  No one spoke while the two men studied KGB records of Kirov’s work. Smyslov reread Strelnikov’s note confirming the validity of Atabet’s maps. “Extraordinary,” he whispered to himself. “There is no doubt we should study this more, as Kirov is telling us. How can Kozin object to that?” At length he pushed a button in his office intercom and asked his secretary to show Kirov in.

  As he entered, Kirov nodded at Karel, Smyslov, and the sheik. Then he glanced at the figure bent over the recording machine, recognizing the secretary who had taken notes the day before. Had a secret benefactor seen to this?

  There was silence until Kozin came in. He seemed more sallow than ever, Kirov thought, as if his rage had turned to bile. Kozin sat down and waited for Karel to acknowledge his presence.

  “So then,” Karel said. “We will try to keep this precise. We want to hear your accusations one by one, Comrade Kozin. When you have presented them, Kirov and Sheik Khan will reply.”

  The surveillance man laid a folder on Karel’s desk, removed several papers, and arranged them before him. “This will take time,” he said, “because my claims may be hard to believe. That is why I have this documentation.

  “I was assigned to follow Kirov during the sensitive study ordered by the Committee for Science and Technology. Through that surveillance I found the following alarming facts. First, Comrade Kirov took the American Darwin Fall to a mosque near Samarkand to meet members of a secret Islamic group. One of the group has told us that they discussed plans for an Islamic revival in Uzbekistan. Second, I have information that Comrade Kirov was on the verge of defection in Prague last month, and appealed to this American for help. This we know through Darwin Fall’s conversations in California, which we have monitored. Third, there is another secret group in Central Asia that goes by the name of Tamerlane’s Angels, to which Muhammad Khan and Kirov belong. Fourth, a special analyst for the Committee of Science and Technology, one Georgi Baranov, is in league with secret groups working for a religious revival, a fact we have clearly established. He and Kirov are in constant touch about their plans in this regard. And fifth, there is evidence that the American Jacob Atabet’s so-called clairvoyant guesses about our missile sites were actually obtained through Kirov, who passed them to Fall, who gave them to Atabet in an effort to mislead us. It seems they are working in concert to promote Comrade Kirov’s proposals.” Kozin paused dramatically, fixing in turn Smyslov’s gaze, then Karel’s. “So you see why I am unhappy. The final proof that something sinister is happening was my deletion from the committee appointed to review Kirov’s study. Is it possible that he has allies in the Praesidium of the Academy of Sciences? And on the State Committee for Science and Technology? It is time to find out.”

  “Are those your accusations?” Karel asked.

  “I have more,” Kozin said. “But I think I have presented enough to begin with. These transcripts contain evidence you will need to examine.”

  “Kirov,” said Karel, “would you like to answer first?”

  Despite his fear, Kirov felt power and serenity forming like an island around him. “I will answer each point,” he said quietly, “and then try to explain why Kozin has been so deluded. For I have discovered some things he hasn’t told us, things that have caused his recent erratic behavior. Let me take his five points in reverse order. First, about the American Atabet—Comrade Kozin’s accusations are wild conjecture. I do not know where our missile sites are placed, so I could not pass them on to Fall. If we fail to appreciate the American’s guesses, we will have failed as intelligence people. Kozin is undermining his own men by making this accusation, for they filmed the American as he was making his guesses. Seeing him do it was a coup. Beyond that, we have recruited these Americans for our cause. Fall said he would give us his studies before they were published in the United States. Does that sound like a plot against us? Admittedly, the entire affair is strange, but that is all the more reason to be calm about it.

  “We will have to ask Comrade Baranov to answer the second point. I can only say that Kozin’s charge is absurd on the face of it because Baranov’s record for loyalty is impeccable. It is easy to check his KGB files. His personal life has been checked again and again, given the sensitive nature of his work, and no charge of Islamic plots has ever been made against him. Comrade Kozin, I’m afraid, has sounded another false alarm about Muslim conspiracies, something he has done before.

  “And in answer to the third point, several groups might be called Tamerlane’s Angels. Tam
erlane is an Islamic hero, after all. I have not heard the name, however, since the group in Tashkent was eliminated two years ago. Perhaps Kozin’s cabals only have two or three members! I can assure you, though, that I do not belong.”

  “A soccer club in Tashkent goes by that name,” Muhammad Khan said softly. “They are angry because two other groups want to use it. And I have heard that a basketball team in Samarkand has the name printed in gold and silver on their shirts. Comrade Kozin, it seems, does not understand our Central Asian love of history.”

  “And fourth,” Kirov said, “I have not planned to defect. The conversations Kozin refers to, evidently, were recorded in California between Fall and his friends. I did tell Fall I was sympathetic to his studies and that I wanted to visit the United States. But I never told him I wanted to defect. You will find, when you study Kozin’s transcripts, that his accusations are based on conjecture.” He turned to Kozin. “What would I gain from such a course? Imprisonment and years of surveillance? Torture, possibly? Do you think the CIA would honor my work at Orly Field?” He turned back to Smyslov and Karel. “You must study the transcripts of Fall’s conversations. I think you will find that Comrade Kozin has made up a story about his remarks.

  “Regarding the final point, we will have to hear from the man at the mosque. If anyone has made the accusations Kozin claims, he might be trying to undermine my position. I did take Fall to see the place, as part of our work together. He is a student of religious history and was excited by the trip. His assistance has been worth the effort, it seems.” He turned to Kozin. “You must produce this man and let us question him. No Islamic revivals are being planned in that place, and you know it. The people who care for it are peasants, with no education or political aspirations of any kind. Do you think they can mount a threat to the Soviet State?

  “None of these accusations has any substance whatsoever. But they do tell me something about you.” He tried to hold Kozin’s gaze, but the sallow figure looked ahead resolutely. “Strelnikov tells me that you’re threatened by this study. Why? Is it because you failed to give credence to Lester Boone’s work in Europe with his German friends? Or to the successes of Project Elefant? From the beginning you have opposed parapsychology, even when some of your people warned us that American and German and French and British and Dutch researchers were providing information about these things to their own intelligence people. Are you trying to cover your bad judgment?” He turned to Smyslov and Karel. “I leave it to you to decide. To make his accusation understandable, you should review his long opposition to psychic research. His bad judgment has impeded our recognition of Western work in these fields for many years.”

  Kozin started to laugh—a flat, sinister laugh, full of confidence. “Ah, Kirov,” he said, looking at the ceiling. “What a spectacle you are! Do you realize that you are the butt of jokes among academicians and intelligence people? The laughingstock of scientists all across the Soviet Union? Do you realize that I only take you seriously because of your Islamic plots?” He came forward on his chair to face Karel and Smyslov directly. “Comrade Kirov is not dangerous because he advocates parapsychology. He is dangerous in his advocacy of religious freedoms. We know that interest in Islam is a catalyst for political unrest. He would be harmless if there weren’t trouble in Central Asia from groups like the Naqshebandi. Don’t you agree, Sheik Khan? You have already told the Academy’s review committee that you feared his innocent plans. Perhaps you should repeat your statements here.”

  Muhammad Khan adjusted his robes, his long, gnarled fingers playing with a string of beads. For a moment he gathered himself, then laughed with surprising pleasure. Kozin’s anger and contempt, it seemed, did not faze him at all. “This reminds me of an ancient saying among our people,” he said. “Angels work in ignorance. It means a number of things, among them this: that in the mysteries of human governance we are groping, beating our wings in the faces of friends and allies, confusing each other as we confuse our enemies.”

  The words ran through Kirov like a knife. “Angels work in ignorance” was a password of the Sufi Way. Had the sheik delivered another signal to him?

  “We should not fight,” Muhammad Khan said. “The remarks that you, Comrade Kozin, refer to—my remarks before the review committee—were given in the spirit of friendship. Kirov is the most able intelligence man working with religious groups in Central Asia. He is an intelligence genius. There is nothing to be upset about, though there is counsel to be given.” He touched Kozin’s shoulder with a kindly look. “And I can tell you with complete certainty that no Islamic revivals, conspiracies, or soccer teams can rendezvous in that dusty old mosque. It is the least-frequented place in Uzbekistan.”

  For a moment no one spoke. Then Smyslov asked Kozin if he wanted to answer. Kozin glanced at Kirov, then at the sheik. Finally he threw up his hands as if to say any answer would be futile.

  “We shall investigate the mosque,” Karel said impassively. “That will be easy to check on. And we shall study each of your charges carefully. Now you all may go.”

  Kirov was startled by this abrupt end to the hearing, but the sheik stood up at once. Bowing with dignity, he turned to leave the room. Kozin watched him, while Karel and Smyslov arranged their files. Kirov waited for Kozin to stand. It would not be wise to leave first, for there was no telling what story he might fabricate next. Finally Smyslov looked up. “You both may go now,” he said. “Unless either of you has something more to say.”

  Kozin stood and looked dumbly at Kirov, his expression strangely vacant. Then he started for the door. Smyslov seemed embarrassed by his behavior, but Karel was irritated. Kirov saw that both of them sensed his instability. But would they dismiss his charges?

  31

  AFTER LEAVING THE HEARING with Karel and Smyslov, Kirov went out into Dzerzhinsky Square. Muhammad Khan stood waiting for a car. Among the plainly dressed people coming and going from the KGB Center, he seemed a regal figure in his Uzbek robes.

  Kirov greeted him.

  “Kozin has no friends,” said the sheik. “Not a single friend in the world. Is it possible for you to make peace with him?”

  “It will be difficult,” Kirov answered. “But I can try. Angels work in ignorance.”

  The sheik signaled toward a Volga sedan coming down the street. “You read thoughts well,” he said. “You must have had good teachers. Try to befriend him. Otherwise there will be another battle.” He opened the sedan door, said something to the driver, then turned to touch Kirov’s arm. “With patience, we will see an end to ordinary history.”

  An end to ordinary history—Kirov was stunned to hear the phrase. How could the sheik have known it? There must be conspiracies he knew nothing about, conspiracies that could provide a sheik from Uzbekistan with some of his most intimate thoughts. He started to walk down the street, trying to compose himself. In the growing confusion, clarity was all-important . . .

  “Volodya!” a voice called. “Come here!”

  Startled, Kirov turned to see a small sedan parked beside the curb. Behind the wheel sat Baranov.

  Kirov took a seat by his side, and they drove out of Dzerzhinsky Square. Baranov’s large, dimpled face was pale and unshaven. “Rozhnov just talked to me,” he said, glancing into the rearview mirror. “He is helping dispel Kozin’s stories. But we have other problems. Muhammad Khan, it seems, is trying to undermine our proposals.”

  “But he was a friend just now in the hearing,” Kirov said with a sinking sensation. “He called me the best intelligence man in Central Asia.”

  “Rozhnov knows him. They met in Tashkent forty years ago. Now, listen. We don’t have very much time. Rozhnov said five or six Islamic leaders are in Moscow this week trying to discredit us. They are very tough people, he says, well hidden in the Party and government, with a long-range plan for Muslim independence. They think there will be more Soviet Muslims than Russians by the end of the century, and they don’t want them seduced from Islam. Our proposals look danger
ous to them because so many Islamic young people are drifting away from the faith, some influenced by subjects our proposals encourage.”

  “But they can’t turn back the clock.”

  “Rozhnov says they are old and tough and determined. They want a separate Islamic nation.”

  But what is Rozhnov’s role in this? Is he part of some secret group?”

  “I don’t know, he hasn’t given me a single clue. His information about the Islamic leaders came from the Moscow militia.”

  “From the Moscow militia!” Kirov said with disbelief. “How would they know about it?”

  “I don’t know. Everything’s confusing now. I am worried, Volodya. Did Kozin say anything about me to Karel and Smyslov?”

  “Yes, but his stories sound crazy. They will dismiss his charges.”

  “Unfortunately, his charges have already reached my staff. We are having a meeting in my office to review them. But you should go back to the Praesidium now and wait for Rozhnov’s call. He wants to talk to you.” Baranov’s large eyes, magnified by his thick glasses, looked frightened. “There are too many plots, Volodya. This is getting to be a mess.”

  Baranov drove off, and Kirov walked toward Leninskii Prospekt. Everything looked desolate. For every ally in their work, it seemed, there were new enemies. Was their project finally hopeless? Half-closing his eyes, he struggled to control his dejection. “Al-Allah, al-Allah” he whispered. “It is up to God.”

  All the way to the Praesidium he prayed for help, but his discouragement only deepened. By now, Kozin’s stories about him were being passed from office to office through Academy headquarters. It would be best, he thought, to avoid more confrontations with Kozin and wait for Rozhnov’s call. Maybe Rozhnov knew a way out of the growing confusion.