«And you believed her? She can make anyone feel sorry for her if she needs to.»
«Listen, I wasn’t born yesterday. I let her cry her fill, and without approval from my bosses, I offered her a full pardon. After she had acknowledged her short-term stay in Russian captivity and her mysterious release, the matter had taken an unexpected turn-the GRU does not recruit every detainee for special tasks, or let him or her go free. The excitement of the hunter seized me. When I saw that Sophia was lost and ready to grasp at any straw, I elaborated: «In exchange for your cooperation with the CIA, the US government will guarantee you protection from persecution. The price is Abdel’s head.» After a short consideration, Sophia agreed.»
«Brilliant,» I said quietly. «You did a fine job!»
When I was young, I was taught that initiative would be punished. Instead of taking measures to detain her, Gulya had taken the risk of revealing herself and pulled off this recruitment.
Gulya finished drinking her coffee, which had had time to cool, and finished her story.
«A few days had gone by for talks with Langley. The decision to liquidate Abdel al-Dawalibi had been made with the direct participation of the Director of the CIA. Once I received approval, I began to take action. At our next meeting, I provided Sophia with a flask that produced an invisible, non-removable coating when applied to the surface of an automobile. A laser beam sent by an unmanned reconnaissance plane was able to pick out its target from a great distance and issue the command to launch a rocket. According to our information, Abdel was transporting money to Baghdad to mercenaries from Arab countries who were fighting on the side of the Sunni insurgents. His liquidation was supposed to interrupt the financial support for terror. After I delivered the flask, my mission was accomplished.»
We had finished our breakfast, but we stayed seated at the table; Gulya was absorbed in her story, and I was completely captivated by what I had heard. The waiter approached and politely inquired whether everything was all right. I thanked him and asked him to bring the check.
I no longer wanted to go to Manhattan. I suggested taking a walk through Forest Hills, buying some light hors d’oeuvres and desserts for the evening, and going home. And when Timur and Natasha arrived, we would order some hot dishes from the Chinese restaurant by telephone. My proposal was accepted-Gulya had also lost her desire to go to Manhattan.
As soon as we had gone out onto the quiet side streets of Forest Hills Garden, I returned to Gulya’s story. I had saved Viktor’s information about Sophia’s illegal crossing of the Russian-Georgian border in the company of a detachment of mercenaries up until the end. I still had to clarify a few details and arrange them in order.
«When was the last time you saw her?»
«Last week.»
I sighed with relief. Viktor’s message was outdated. Thanks to the well-known conflict of intelligence services, he was unaware of the fact that Sophia had been taken under the GRU’s protection.
«You said that Sophia was going along with the Russian intelligence service,» I repeated thoughtfully. «What did they need her for? Or were they so foolish, they didn’t understand that she would promise them whatever they wanted, spinning a complex lie, and later she would easily retract her words?»
«You’ll never guess. The ‘culprit’ in this deal was your mother-in-law.»
«Klara Yakovlevna?»
«That’s the one!»
I had assumed that Gulya had finished telling her news, and I was about to share mine with her. I was wrong. Gulya had just begun.
There are not many complete scoundrels. Every monster has a sensitive spot. One may be attached to his favorite dog (or horse or cat), and another may weep during the final scene of Romeo and Juliet and keep a lock of his illegitimate son’s hair in a locket.
I decided not to say any bad words about Sophia. Despite everything, we had had a lot of sweet pages in our life together. And no matter how many stupid things she may have done later, against my desire and reason, despite my present feelings for Gulya, my recollections of our happy years held a special niche in my memory. A strange admission. Inexplicable.
Sophia was not an obedient daughter who accepted her mother’s moral teachings without question. She had distanced herself from her mother at an early age, she was impertinent and she lived life in her own way. All this changed when Klara Yakovlevna fell into the hands of bandits. In order to save her, Sophia fulfilled the orders of Abdel and his friends. When the news of her mother’s death arrived, she undertook the risky journey to Chechnya among the band of mercenaries. She was seized by an absurd goal: to get in touch with Abu al Walid, find the body, carry it away and rebury it.
«I know Sophia well,» I said thoughtfully. «She is not one of those who wouldn’t dream of revenge. Remember, Abdel told her that Abu al Walid did not have the right to decide Klara Yakovlevna’s fate by himself. He was supposedly the subordinate of an important person residing in Qatar. So…»
«You’re right,» said Gulya, cutting me off. «A certain GRU official who had the right to make independent decisions listened to Sophia’s explanations and hinted to her that the insurgent leader living in Qatar, Zelimkhan Yandarbiyev, was her personal enemy. Sophia immediately grasped at the extended straw and vowed revenge. She was lucky: the person questioning her was a specialist in liquidations. Yandarbiyev turned out to be the target to whom they would assign Sophia to fulfill her bloody revenge, and then let her go free.
Gulya fell silent. I didn’t ask her about Iraq or about the death of Hussein’s sons, or question her about whether she participated in that operation. I didn’t tell her my own news about the murders of Doroshenko and Shchekochikhin or the provocations of the Russian intelligence service (I had no plans to tell her about Alla under any circumstances). I was overwhelmed. I even forgot to ask how long she was going to stay here.
Suddenly it began to rain-the weather in New York is as changeable as a capricious woman. More precisely, a capricious woman who changes her hairstyle five times a day is more constant than the weather in New York.
During the five minutes it took us to run to Gulya’s house, buckets of waters poured on our heads. We undressed, took a shower, hung our things to dry and lay down to rest. Strange as it seemed, neither of us experienced the expected emotions. I was depressed. Gulya looked tired. The difficult flight, the quirky weather… She quickly fell asleep. I found a bottle of cognac in the bar, drank a glass and lay down weakly beside her. I fell asleep unnoticeably…
I woke up an hour later. My mood was painful. I should have been happy: the woman I loved, whom I hadn’t seen in four months, and with whom I was planning to start a family, was sleeping serenely next to me. She had returned from the war alive and unharmed, although I didn’t know for how long, and this was just the time to talk about love. But I felt devastated. Despite the fact that I hadn’t seen Gulya in several months, at this moment I felt like dried fruit, good only for compote.
It was not because of Alla. Even though she had spent the previous night with me, the sex spy was now consigned to the back of my mind. What remained was a sense of guilt and a need to get myself out of the situation.
Careful not to wake up Gulya, I got up and went to the kitchen. I tried to read the paper but set it aside; the letters didn’t seem to come together as words. I put the teapot on the stove and went to the living room. I turned on the television and took a nap on the sofa. I didn’t hear the teapot boil. The annoying whistle woke up Gulya. She rushed to the kitchen, turned off the stove and stormed into the living room.
«Didn’t you hear that the teapot was about to burst?!»
«Sorry, I was dozing.»
Her anger evaporated. Gulya came up to me, massaged the back of my head and ordered me:
«Wake up. It’s time to set the table; the children will be here soon.»
With four hands, the job was done quickly. We had an hour to spare. I sat on the sofa. Gulya settled next to me and rested her head on my shoulde
r. I embraced her, and then I asked her out of the blue:
«I still don’t understand how the GRU planned to use Sophia for Yandarbiyev’s liquidation.»
«You’ll never guess. When their plan became known to us, the order for Abdel’s assassination was cancelled.»
«Don’t keep me in suspense.»
«And don’t you keep interrupting.»
I played a pardonable physiognomy and pressed my arms against my chest as a sign of repentance. Gulya appreciated my acting talent and began singing:
«Have mercy on God’s servant Yevgeny…»
«Who suffers innocently…» I joined in recitative.
«OK, OK, absolution is granted for your sins. What did you want me to tell you?»
«The story of Sophia’s instigation against Yandarbiyev.»
«Is that all? You went through all that suffering just for this?»
«Would you see this in any detective story? An innocent child (in quotation marks, of course) simultaneously becomes an accomplice of Chechen and Arab terrorists, and later, also almost simultaneously, is recruited by both the Russian and the American intelligence services.»
«OK, if you’re so impatient to gossip about your former wife.»
«I’m dying with impatience.»
Gulya flicked me in the forehead-«That’s your punishment!»-and I wasn’t able to defend myself. Satisfied with the success of her corporal punishment, she continued.
«During Sophia’s questioning by the GRU, they asked her who was involved in organizing the border crossing. She named Abdel al Dawalibi. They presented several photographs to her for identification. It turned out that the Syrian had also become «famous» in Chechnya. They had been chasing him for a long time. And here was a stroke of luck-the opportunity to carry out their plans by someone else’s hands. The GRU decided to kill two birds with one stone,» she smiled and added ironically, «and play along with the CIA.»
I didn’t move, fearful of interrupting her. Gulya continued to speak candidly.
«The very next day after our meeting, in violation of all the rules of conspiracy, Sophia called the American embassy and asked for an immediate meeting. I had to change my plans and rush from the airport to meet her. She was agitated. That morning an operative from the GRU had met with her, reminded her of their previous agreements, and proposed a fiendish plan. She would devise a pretext, naturally one having to do with her mother, in order to talk personally with Yandarbiyev. Since he would not want to meet with her under any circumstances, she would convince al-Dawalibi to take on the role of intermediary. He would set off for Qatar, and during his meeting with Yandarbiyev, he would call Sophia on his mobile telephone. When she answered, Abel would give the phone to Yandarbiyev. Once Sophia was sure that she was talking with Yandarbiyev, she would press the remote control button that would activate the explosive device. The explosion would hardly be enough to kill al-Dawalibi, unless the GRU had come up with something extraordinary, but Yandarbiyev would have half his head blown off. In this way, the operative had explained to her, she would avenge the death of her mother. Sophia was very frightened-she understood what she was risking. So she asked for help.»
«Yes, she was taking quite a risk. She was doomed no matter what the result.»
«She understood that as well as we do. That’s why she was hysterical-she didn’t know where to run.»
«At first glance the plan looks crazy. I don’t know the details, but it’s possible that Sophia might have gotten something wrong in her fright. I don’t understand how they intended to place the explosive device in al-Dawalibi’s cell phone. They would not tell her the whole truth-her assignment was to press the button of the radio detonator when the victim was talking to her on the telephone.»
Gulya agreed.
«If the GRU were planning to carry out the rocket launch from an unmanned plane, this version would work well in an open area. You remember how the FSB took out General Dudayev using a satellite communication. And the Israelis used a precision rocket strike against the windows of the office of the «People’s Front for the Liberation of Palestine» to kill its leader, Abu-Ali Mustafa.»
I thought for a while. As we knew, Dudayev’s killing had been accomplished through the use of Turkish secret agents of the GRU. When they were assembling the satellite telephone, they inserted a sensor that identified the location of the caller. The rest was a matter of technology. Identifying the moment the general started calling-Dunayev’s contacts with the Moscow entrepreneur Konstantin Borovoy proved to be as opportune as ever-and giving the signal to launch the rocket. But how was the GRU planning to take out Yandarbiyev? Suppose the signal went to a satellite, and then some executor activated the explosive device. Who would place the device? I thought about Doroshenko. Was this why she needed him in Syria? The time frame made sense. Everything else was lunacy. He could not have gotten closer to Yandarbiyev than a cannon shot. Something didn’t make sense here…
Gulya couldn’t stand the long pause. «Why are you so quiet?»
«What’s there to say? Forcing her to commit a murder! Her telephone calls were being monitored. Within an hour the Quatar special services would know who had called and from where.»
Gulya confirmed:
«She understood this. As the person who was being sought by Interpol, and who had also been involved with Chechen insurgents, she would suffer the consequences. After she had fulfilled her assignment, they would quickly get rid of her. There would be no hint that the Russian special services had been involved. They would say there had been a falling out among the bandits. They wouldn’t share the money.»
«Wasn’t there any way to save her?»
«What? I just told my bosses about my conversation with her. Anything else is outside my jurisdiction.»
The shrill sound of the doorbell interrupted our conversation. Gulya yelled: «The children!» She jumped up and ran headlong out of the room.
A second later, happy cries were heard in the entryway. There were ardent embraces, kisses, presentation of flowers. Standing at some distance, I greeted the children, letting them enjoy their meeting with their mother. In these moments I was superfluous.
Timur had matured, and his shoulders were broader. Twenty-four was an age when one could do anything. I silently admired him and remembered myself at his age.
Nineteen eighty. What was memorable about that year? The boycott of the Moscow Olympics, Vysotsky’s death, my marriage to Sophia.
Natasha was almost twenty-two. At her age, Sophia had placed the wedding ring on my finger. Most of the people my age had gotten married immediately after graduating from the institute. At the age of twenty-five, about fifty percent had gone through the rite of marriage. By the age of thirty, with rare exceptions, my generation had married and started families.
People who fell outside these statistics were regarded by those around them as candidates for old maids or eternal bachelors. Society sympathized with them and felt for them. People suspected that there were some homosexuals and lesbians in the world, but if there were individuals of different sexual orientations among them, they were unnoticed.
Yevgeny Rivlis was twenty years old (it was useful to look myself up and down and mock a little), and he was a student at Novosibirsk University. Not far from his dorm he ran into Dr. Balakin, who worked as an eye doctor at the student polyclinic. In an insinuating voice, the doctor intoned:
«How did the session go?»
«Very well, thank you.»
«If I were a woman, I would cover you with kisses.»
Yevgeny vacillated, not sure how to respond to such a proposal, made in jest, of course-at that time he had not yet been spoiled by girls, and he blushed at the sound of certain words. Dr. Balakin urged him:
«You have a hairy chest. You must be a temperamental man.»
Yevgeny averted his eyes, and to be on the safe side, he babbled: «Yes.»
Balakin began talking about the cognac he had at home and said he could offer
him some. Yevgeny was lost. If Balakin had said «beer» or «Rkatsiteli,» it could mean anything, but «cognac»?! This word surely implied a dirty trick. Yevgeny muttered that he was in a hurry-the dean of the department was waiting for him in his office-and he slipped away. His instinct of self-preservation had kicked in-to flee from the incomprehensible. The strange conversation stuck in his memory. Yevgeny shared it with his neighbors in the dormitory, and in exchange he received a brief lecture about the history of sexual nonconformity. He didn’t believe it; he was young and uneducated. People say all kinds of things about worthy people, and Balakin had an alibi: a wife and two daughters.
Furthermore, the nature of lesbians playing men’s role was not totally clear in Yevgeny’s head. He imagined that women had an additional organ but one that was not developed enough to be genital. To this day it was a pity that nature had denied Yevgeny the talent of an artist. What subjects had been lost! If Salvador Dali had seen them, he would have shot himself out of envy.
We had looked into the well of youth-that was enough! It was a sin to laugh at modest youth. What do we have in America? An enlightened age, an enlightened generation.
Early marriages are held in honor only among religious Jews, Arabs, African and Latin Americans, fulfilling the sacred commandment to be fruitful and multiply. However, selected representatives of the categories listed above choose to make their careers first; they do not settle down to family life until the age of thirty, and they do not start thinking about children until they have passed the thirty-five year marker.
Napoleon Great-Great-Grandson Speaks Page 24