Stuart Kaminsky: The Man Who Walked Like a Bear

“What other reason might there be?” asked Morchov.

“He must be left alone,” the doctor said. “He’s lost quite a bit of blood.”

“I would like my daughter and her friend to accompany me if they wish,” Morchov said, looking at the two KGB men huddled over his daughter and Yuri. Jalna’s eyes met her father’s.

“Yes,” she said.

The KGB men hesitated for an instant, and Karpo stepped back to let the boy and girl pass.

Less than six minutes after Vasily Kotsis hung up the receiver in the small grocery beyond the Outer Ring, the first car containing KGB men arrived. There were two men inside, both in dark blue suits, both quite solemn, and both carrying weapons when they stepped out.

The old woman watching from the window was named Bella Vitz. Because her ankles were always swollen, Bella spent most of her days in the window of the store. Her customers, all local farmers and the people who worked for farmers, took their merchandise, brought it to her, and she collected. Bella was known throughout the community as the Queen of England because she claimed to be related to the British royal family in some strange way she would gladly relate.

“I’m a loyal Soviet citizen,” she would begin. “And I’m ashamed to admit this, but I am a second cousin to the British Queen Elizabeth.”

As a member of a royal family, Bella had lofty opinions on many matters. At the moment, watching the armed men get out of the car and approach her shop, Bella had opinions about weapons. Everyone seemed to have a gun now. People were shooting people like American cowboys. She heard about it, even read about it with greater frequency in Pravda. That crazy young man who threatened her. He had a gun. These men, obviously KGB, had guns. She knew five farmers within six miles who had guns.

The two KGB men with the guns came through the doorway carefully, like in a movie Bella saw years ago. The first one had his gun high, in two hands. The second one crouched low. One aimed his gun to the left. The other to the right.

“He’s gone,” said Bella, sitting as erect as she could upon her high-backed chair and pulling her sweater around her.

The two men stepped in cautiously, and the shorter of the two spoke.

“The person who made the phone call?” he asked.

“Gone. There was a girl with him. Chinese. Tatar. Who knows?” said Bella.

“Where did they go?”

Now the men were inside, and another car was arriving outside. There were five men in this one. Three of them, she could see when they got out, were in uniform. All of them were carrying weapons.

“He said he would tear off my ear and eat my brain if I told you,” she said. “He was just trying to frighten me. People like that don’t have time to go back and kill everyone they meet.”

The five new men rushed in now with guns waving. One of the new ones not wearing a uniform stepped forward, and the man who had been talking to Bella moved off.

“Where is he?” the new man said.

“They,” she corrected. “A young man and a girl. The young man’s name is Vasily. I heard the girl call him that. He had bushy yellow hair and crazy eyes and was wearing American jeans and a gray jacket made out of … who knows?”

Bella watched all the men scrambling around her store and outside. She wondered if any of them would buy anything.

“Where are they?”

“Who knows?” said Bella. “I’ve got some thoughts.”

“Share them,” said the new KGB man, who had a rather large Rumanian-looking nose.

“I’m a loyal citizen of the Soviet Union,” she said. “And I am ashamed to admit it, but I am second cousin to the Queen of England.”

“What did she look like?” the man asked as the first duo who had entered Bella’s shop returned and gave the new leader a negative nod.

And more KGB men arrived. A small truck screeched up in front of the store with eight armed and uniformed men in back. They jumped out.

“She has a round German face. Very sad, very dignified,” said Bella. “People say there is a resemblance.”

“Not the Queen of England,” the man said. “The girl who was with the young man who made the phone call.”

“Chinese,” said Bella with a sigh. “They said they would fry my intestines and give my liver to the crows if I told about them.”

“You are a loyal citizen, Comrade …”

“Vitz,” she said. “Yes, I am loyal, as was my husband, who worked as a gardener for four years once on a dacha owned by one of Brezhnev’s deputies. I am loyal but I am, unfortunately, tainted with royal blood.”

The store was swarming with clomping, nodding men with guns. Some were at the phone in the back; others were climbing the steps to her room. Some were still outside. And yet a new leader emerged to stand next to the man with the nose who had been talking to Bella.

“You said you have some thoughts,” the KGB man with the nose said.

“Too many guns,” said Bella, nodding her head wisely. “In England, the police do not have guns.”

“They do now,” the latest KGB man corrected her.

“Terrible,” said Bella.

“Do you have any thoughts about where this Vasily and the girl might be?” the KGB man with the nose said with infinite patience.

“Yes,” said Bella, watching one of the young uniformed men fingering a box of crackers.

“Would you share that information with us?”

“The old Chustoy farm,” said Bella. “Three miles north on this road, turn right just past a broken tree, and it’s a few hundred yards. Siminov, who has a farm not far from there, saw a city bus drive into the Chustoy place on Monday. That’s where I think they are.”

The KGB man in charge shouted an order, and seconds later the store and the driveway in front of it were empty. They had purchased nothing, not even thanked her.

The world, Bella thought, is getting to be a very strange and dangerous place. Perhaps she should buy a gun.

The KGB had been just as efficient earlier that morning when Zelach called following the incident in Sonia Kotsis’s rooms. Rostnikov, Tkach, and Zelach had all explained what had taken place to the investigator in charge.

“And,” the man questioning them had said, “you believed this was all about a missing bus driver?”

“Who,” Rostnikov said, “had gotten drunk and stolen his bus.”

“And the girl was …?” the man probed.

“Someone told me she knew the driver,” said Tkach.

The KGB man smiled and shook his head in disbelief.

“I know you, Rostnikov,” he said. “You’ve stepped on too many tails. Why did you come here with guns if you thought this was just about a drunken bus driver?”

“We expected no trouble,” Rostnikov explained.

“No trouble,” Zelach added a bit too emphatically.

“I arrived first,” said Tkach. “And was surprised to hear the woman, Sonia Kotsis, confess that this case involved terrorist activity. I had asked Inspector Rostnikov to join me here. He came. She opened the door, and this man came out with a gun.”

“Officer Zelach responded instinctively and saved our lives,” said Rostnikov.

“Rostnikov,” the KGB man said, leaning forward, “you are stepping on tails again. Who is going to believe this story?”

“I’ve kept Colonel Snitkonoy informed about every step of this investigation,” Rostnikov said. “And I plan to report to him directly after leaving here.”

The KGB man sighed and told the three policemen to put their reports in writing, to make no copies, and to hand-deliver the originals to KGB headquarters at Lubyanka as soon as possible. They were then dismissed.

On the way down the stairs from the apartment, Tkach stopped.