“We flew together, had been through a lot together, and he asked for nothing that put me on dangerous ground.”
“Tell me about the conversation.”
There no pause this time. “I told him that for secret military projects each branch of service has a committee of senior officials to screen candidates and make selections. When a project requires personnel from several branches, or when it’s of national importance, there’s a mixed group that includes the KGB and the Aviation Ministry. Marshal Malinovsky and Khrushchev co-chair this interservice group, but Shelepin of the KGB is the primary liaison and serves as its secretary.”
“You have no idea why he wanted this information?”
“Absolutely none.”
“And you never saw him again?”
“Just his obituary, but it didn’t surprise me. When I last saw him he looked terrible and seemed under considerable stress.”
Talia tapped Melko on the shoulder and the car stopped. She extended her hand to the colonel. “Thank you.”
“That’s it?”
She smiled. “I told you there was nothing to be concerned about.”
“I thought there would be trouble.”
“Over what?”
“Since when has justification been a prerequisite for causing trouble in Moscow?”
Talia opened her purse and displayed the Red Badge. “We’ll expect you to keep this conversation strictly between us,” she said.
Mandrich nodded, his eyes locked on the badge. “It never took place,” he croaked as he scrambled out of the Volga and fled down a nearby metro entrance.
“I’m surprised that the state entrusts valuable aircraft to such a nervous man,” Melko said as they drove away. “Did you get something from him?”
“Maybe,” Talia said. She had no intention of asking Petrov for help. Had Lumbas’s assignment to and transfer from Tyuratam been effected by the interservice group that Mandrich had just described? Obviously this was what Trubkin had suspected, but had he been able to confirm his suspicions?
74SATURDAY, APRIL 1, 1961, 10:00 P.M.Barvikha, Russia
On most nights Nikita Khrushchev took a brisk walk; when he was at his dacha this meant a full circuit of the grounds, with a stop here and there to investigate whatever struck his fancy. Tonight Talia walked at his side, with two alert Spetsnaz men in combat gear trailing at a respectful distance. “I like the night air when the seasons are changing,” the General Secretary confided. “It purges the mind. A man can’t live a proper life with his ass glued to a desk. What is it you want?”
“Perhaps I simply relish your company.”
He grinned. “If I were ten years younger I’d order you into the bushes to test your sincerity, but I am who I am and I understand such matters better than you. You’re here to pick my brain, so get on with it.”
“Am I that transparent?”
“That focused,” he muttered.
“You’re chairman of a committee that selects personnel for national security projects.”
“I seem to spend all my days in committee meetings,” Khrushchev complained. “A camel is a horse built by committee,” he joked, but got no reaction. “Which group are you asking about?”
“Marshal Malinovsky is the co-chairman and Shelepin is the secretary.”
Khrushchev acknowledged this with a grunt. “What about it?”
“Do you personally oversee the deliberations of this group?”
“I delegate. There are dozens of committees and just one me. Others run them on my behalf.”
“Who conducts the meetings of this group?”
“The reports and recommendations come from Shelepin. The responsibility of that group is security, so ultimately it’s the KGB’s concern.” He stopped suddenly and faced her. “You’re thinking that the Lumbas selection came from this group?”
“I’m only considering possibilities.”
He shook his head. “Malinovsky is an old cow and Shelepin is my man.”
Translation: Neither man had the imagination or the nerve to undercut the General Secretary. “I’m not interested in them.” At least not yet, she thought. “I’m more interested in the committee itself—how it works, what records it keeps, what the records show, who staffs it.”
“It won’t be easy to get you access to the records.”
He’s afraid, she thought. Technically he has the authority to do virtually anything, but he hedges. Still, she had anticipated this and was prepared. “Not all the records,” she explained. “Just those for a certain period. You could request them for review.”
“It would be unprecedented.”
“Ask for records from half a dozen committees at the same time. In this way no particular request will stand out. You can say that you’re concerned by the proliferation of committees, and that you want to evaluate their value to the state in order to consider combining or eliminating some of them. While you’re retrieving records we’ll interview the committee’s staff.”
“All committees?”
“That won’t be necessary. We’ll retrieve records from several, but interview only this one group. After a decent interval you can send the records back and declare that there is no need to change anything. This will put everyone at ease and nobody will be the wiser. All the records should be delivered to your office. You should take at least one hour a day to pretend to study them. Seal yourself away so that nobody will know exactly what you’re doing. At night you’ll bring the records we need to the dacha, where we’ll examine them.”
“And if I don’t agree to this?”
“Do you want us to find out what happened to Lumbas and Trubkin?”
The General Secretary grunted, then attempted a smile. “You’ve thought of everything.”
Talia ignored the compliment. “We’ll interrogate the people on Monday night. A location will be arranged tomorrow. They’ll be picked up at their residences and taken there. We’ll work on them individually.”
“Done,” Khrushchev said. “Now let’s finish our walk and enjoy the night’s sounds.”
75MONDAY, APRIL 3, 1961, 11:50 P.M.Nagatino, Russia
Nagatino was ten kilometers southeast of the Kremlin; here the Moscow River had been redirected, dammed and reshaped to create a domestic seaport that teemed with traffic. The area was packed with ancient warehouses in dire need of repair, crumbling wharves and jetties, fleets of dark barges and small cargo ships lashed side by side six deep, and all sorts of abandoned and rusting equipment. The river itself was filthy, a mixture of human waste and industrial sludge under a multicolored oil slick.
In an abandoned warehouse in the middle of all this Melko and Ezdovo had rigged a series of spotlights under which one man and four women from Shelepin’s office sat together in silence. None of the five had resisted when they were picked up at their homes, but all of them were visibly shaken as they sat under the lights. As in the old days Bailov took the lead in asking questions while Gnedin looked on. Talia waited in a separate area, and from time to time her colleagues reported their progress to her.
When Katya Dirikova’s turn came to be shown into the battered office that served as the interrogation room, she was so frightened that she collapsed, and they were forced to carry her the last few meters.
“You know why you’re here?” Bailov began.
Dirikova shook her head and avoided eye contact.
“There may have been certain irregularities in your branch,” Bailov said. “The law mandates punishment for those who sabotage the work of the state.”
“I’m just a stenographer,” she said in a wavering voice.
“No position is less important than another,” Bailov said. “A stenographer is no less accountable than the director general of the KGB.”
Katya’s mind raced. Was Shelepin under investigation? Or had he initiated this? If he was the focus, then she had nothing to fear because she had done nothing wrong. If not, then she had to be careful and evaluate her circumstances. I
f only there had been a moment to talk to Velak; he would have been able to advise her. She decided to remain silent; if you didn’t talk, nothing could be twisted, and she was not very good with words even under ideal conditions.
Bailov placed a photograph of Roman Trubkin on a stool in front of her and saw her stiffen.
Her mind raced to find an appropriate response. She had seen Trubkin’s obituary and had attempted to talk to Velak about her former lover’s sudden death, but he had simply said that men with drinking problems often met with untimely, violent deaths. Several days passed before it had occurred to her that she had never told Velak that Roman had a drinking problem; in fact, she had not known of it. From then on she had avoided Velak, fearing that he would want to collect on the favor he had done her. It would be stupid to refuse him, she had decided, but she would not put her heart into it and perhaps that would limit his demands. But he had never bothered her and never mentioned the incident. Now she was faced with Roman’s death again. Since she had seen the obituary she had suffered pangs of guilt that were now transformed into terror. Should she acknowledge having known Trubkin or play dumb? Why did life force so many difficult choices?
“I knew him,” she admitted. “I read about his accident.”
“He was murdered,” Bailov said.
The color drained out of her, the room spun and she looked as if she would faint, but neither man stepped forward to help her. “Velak,” she gasped.
Bailov glanced at Gnedin. “What about Velak?”
She told them about Trubkin and her suspicions, how she had confided in Velak and been told not to worry, and to see Roman no more. They seemed uninterested in Velak but intensely interested in her relationship with Trubkin. They threw questions at her for three hours; always the focus was Trubkin and his interests and how he had methodically tried to wheedle information about the committee from her. With each question and answer she felt more lost, until suddenly the two men stopped and left the room.
Talia was directly across the hall. “Trubkin asked Mandrich about the committee, then apparently took up with the girl, who was one of three people responsible for transcribing the minutes of the meetings,” Bailov said.
“She identified Trubkin?” Talia asked.
“They were lovers. If she’s telling the truth he was her first. She’s a plain girl and never expected romance, much less from the likes of Trubkin. Then she began to suspect his motives and, fearing for her position, confessed to Velak. He told her she had acted responsibly, and a couple of days later Trubkin was dead. She didn’t draw the conclusion for us, but it’s obvious: she believes that Velak had something to do with Trubkin’s death.”
“How long after she told Velak did Trubkin die?”
“Forty-eight hours.”
“Which makes it an unlikely coincidence,” Talia said. “Was Velak the focus of Trubkin’s questions?”
Dirikova had related her conversations with Trubkin in detail. “It’s not certain who he suspected,” Bailov said, “but it probably wasn’t Velak. It might have been Shelepin, or perhaps Perevertkin. She went to Velak only because he seemed sympathetic.”
“Trubkin was careful,” Gnedin chimed in. “Apparently his questions were circumspect. The girl is high-strung, so he probably didn’t want to alarm or focus her on any single area; most of his interest seemed directed at the disposition of committee minutes.”
“We’ll see those soon,” Talia said.
“What do we do with our guests?” Bailov asked. “We can’t hold them indefinitely.”
“Hold Dirikova to protect her,” Talia instructed, “and let the others go. I’ll put someone on Velak. It’s possible that the timing of Trubkin’s death is coincidence, but if not let’s see where Comrade Velak leads us.”
“He’ll probably become suspicious when he learns that five of his co-workers were picked up,” Bailov said.
“I doubt that Velak himself killed Trubkin,” Talia said. “If he’s involved it’s more likely he acted as a go-between. The KGB has too many specialists in wet matters to use someone like him. It’s also unlikely that a decision to kill Trubkin would be his alone.”
“He’s close to Shelepin,” Gnedin pointed out.
“Only as a servant,” Bailov said. “If he had the qualities for direct action he wouldn’t be where he is.”
“I agree,” Talia said. “Bring him back here, but don’t share what Dirikova gave you. Go hard on him, then let him loose around midday. By then I’ll have surveillance arranged.”
“My men?” Bailov asked.
“No,” she said. “I have in mind someone with different qualifications.” She guessed that Melko would know where to find the sort of individual she had in mind.
76TUESDAY, APRIL 4, 1961, 5:20 A.M.Moscow
Leonid “Lenya” Sarnov was a man of many accomplishments and faces: pickpocket, enforcer, forger, counterfeiter, black-marketeer and pimp. But it was just this range of interests that made Moscow’s hard-core criminals wary of him. Everyone agreed that he had courage and imagination, but he was also unpredictable and too much of a loner to trust. Worse, it was rumored that he had unusual political beliefs and a link to the Russian Orthodox Church; if either was true, he had too high a profile to risk associating with him. About his talents, however, there was no question. Lenya could do just about anything. He had once stolen a Red Army tank, stripped it and shipped the parts to some Armenians; it was said that there was no better man in a fight, especially with a knife; he had a tremendous network of informants to help him liberate government supplies; he could make a virgin beg him to undress her in Red Square; and if you needed somebody tailed, he could slide into his quarry’s shadow and never be seen. When Talia explained her need, Melko thought immediately of Lenya, and hoped he was alive and in Moscow.
Finding Sarnov was not difficult; for years he had operated out of a metro station in southwest Moscow; where he lived was uncertain, but if you were the sort who needed his services you had only to go to his station and wait. With his unerring instincts for people wanting to do business, he would find you.
It was not yet 5:00 A.M. when Melko rode the nearly vertical escalator into the underground. The station had several levels, most of them empty at this hour, but he found a bench on the third level and took a seat. Thirty minutes later a tall man with a black cape swooped down beside him. Lenya was now about forty and as strange-looking as ever. For some reason he had never been able to grow any hair other than a narrow scalp lock that hung in a braid down the back of his skull. His pointed head was shiny, and the lack of eyebrows and his pale skin gave him a ghostlike appearance. “I heard that the great Melko had returned from the dead,” he said. “And suddenly here he is in Lenya’s place of business. What brings you here? The last I knew they had given you life, an oxymoron of the first magnitude.”
“Debt,” Melko said.
Sarnov had light brown eyes that were almost yellow; now they seemed to darken. “A man who doesn’t honor his debts is not a man,” he said, “but not all debts are collectible to infinity.”
“Some are.”
The two men had met in a penal camp east of the Urals. Lenya had been scheduled for release, but had made too many enemies, and with his release at hand they had tried to set him up. A fight ensued, and during it Lenya had killed a man. Melko had taken a liking to Lenya; as a thirty-year man, he had nothing to lose by stepping forward to take responsibility for the death, so he did. Lenya had gone free, while Melko’s sentence had been increased to life and landed him in Camp Nine. Such an act put Lenya in his debt, but it was clear now from his expression that he had expected this to be one debt that would never be collected. Lifers didn’t come out of the gulags.
“What is it you want?” Lenya asked.
“A straightforward matter,” Melko told him. “I want you to follow a man and report his movements to me.”
Sarnov seemed to think about this for a long time. “One doesn’t equal the other,” he said.
“It’s not an even transaction.”
“The one who is owed decides equity.”
“Bullshit,” Lenya snapped. “Were it not for you I’d still be in the camps. Or worse.”
“Later we can discuss any further balance due,” Melko said. “The mark’s name is Velak. He works for Shelepin.”
“You want me to tail a KGB man?” An infectious grin covered Lenya’s thin face.
“Do you think you’re up to it?”
“Lenya could strip the condom off a mark while he’s using it, but since he’s KGB I don’t feel so bad about the exchange of favors. Where do I find this Velak?”
Melko gave him the address. “He’ll come out around noon. From then on, he’s yours.”
“I’ll count the hairs on his ass for you.”
“That’s why I came to you.”
By the time Melko had crossed the corridor and looked back, Lenya was gone. He bought a small flower from an old woman, stuck it in his lapel and caught the escalator up to the street. It was going to be a pleasant morning; the bite of winter was fading from the air.
77TUESDAY, APRIL 4, 1961, 5:30 A.M.Stuyvesant Falls, New York
Stuyvesant Falls was a two-hundred-year-old village in Columbia County a hundred miles north of New York City. In the nineteenth century there had been a cloth mill on the lower falls of Kinderhook Creek, but now the old mill was owned by a New Jersey chemical company and the river was filled with yellow froth that left the area reeking of sulfur. The village itself was built on a gentle incline and consisted of a dozen houses, an old stagecoach inn, a general store-barbershop and a walk-in post office. People kept chickens, ducks and goats, all of which ranged freely. Though it was in upstate New York, Valentine saw immediately that Stuyvesant Falls was like a hundred Texas towns where women worked two jobs and raised broods of dull-witted kids while their menfolk whiled away their lives drinking warm beer and jack-lighting corn-fed deer.
The Domino Conspiracy Page 31