Brian Freemantle - Kings of Many Castles

The Federal prosecutor said at once, “We were not consulted about the summoning of the FSB chairman himself!”

“Do you have a problem with it?” Natalia was glad she hadn’t discussed it.

“Of course I do.”

“Why ‘of course’?”

“Yesterday you talked of premature reactions,” reminded the lawyer. “This is inappropriately premature until we’ve had the opportunity to judge the compliance.”

“Do you feel it’s inappropriately premature?” she asked Trishin.

The chief of staff looked uncertainly towards the recording bank. “I think prior discussion would have been advisable.”

Now Natalia indicated the silently turning apparatus. “Your dissent has been noted.”

“I didn’t say I dissented,” Trishin quickly insisted. “If we are to reach a combined opinion, which is in the terms of reference, we’ve got to come to combined decisions upon the conduct of the enquiry.”

Perfect politico-speak, Natalia recognized. “Combined decisions? Or majority decisions?”

Their exchanged looks answered Natalia’s question before Filitov did. The lawyer said, “Our primary term of reference is speed. Which requires majority opinions, in my judgment.” The man paused, to establish the mockery. “Dissent can always be noted.”

After politoco-speak, legal-speak, acknowledged Natalia. And each-rarely-as illuminating as the other. She hadn’t expected to benefit so much-be warned so quickly-from this pre-session encounter. She was glad she’d orchestrated it as precisely as she had. She hoped she could continue the momentum, although again she didn’t foresee the quickness with which that would come about.

There was still ten minutes to go before the official opening when their registration clerk reentered the chamber and initially bent to Natalia’s ear with his copy of the witness list.

“We all need to hear,” demanded Filitov.

“An unscheduled witness whom we’ll hear at once,” announced Natalia. “First Deputy Director Gennardi Nikolaevich Mittel.”

“I don’t understand,” protested Trishin, his frowned confusion matching the other man’s.

“It won’t take long,” promised Natalia, at Mittel came confidently into the room. The FSB deputy was a young man with an indented scar grooving the left side of an otherwise unlined face. His deeply black hair was helmeted directly back from his forehead in greased perfection and his civilian, uncreased gray suit was just as immaculate. The smile, as confident as his easy entry, showed sculptured dentistry. He took the fronting chair Natalia indicated and crossed one razor-sharp leg across the other.

“You are not on the list of witnesses whom this commission has asked to help it, Gennardi Nikolaevich?” invited Natalia. It was predictable, she supposed, but she’d thought there would have been a written protest, not a patronizing emissary.

“You summoned my chairman,” said Mittel, as if in reminder. He remained smiling.

“Viktor Ivanovich Karelin is indeed among those whom we wish to question,” agreed Natalia. Beside her she was conscious of Trishin and Filitov shifting, in belated understanding.

“Whom you will understand is an extremely busy man,” said Mittel. “I am here to represent him. I am sure I shall be able to help you with any questions you might have.”

Natalia let a silence chill the room. “Viktor Ivanovich fully understands that this is a presidential commission?”

The smile faltered. “Of course.”

“As you do?”

“Yes.”

“You have discussed it with Viktor Ivanovich?”

“He personally-officially-appointed me to represent him.”

“Tell us, for the record, what you and Viktor Ivanovich understand a commission established by the acting president to be?”

The man was no longer smiling. He unfolded his legs. “It is an enquiry into some irregularities that appear to have arisen in the Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti, an organization that no longer exists.”

In her former chief interrogator’s role within Special Service 11 of the KGB’s First Chief Directorate, Natalia had invariably found conceit-condescension-the easiest shell to crack. She wondered if the man knew how much of the FSB’s defense he’d given away in that one reply. “That wasn’t an answer to my question. So I’ll make it easier for you. Do you-and your chairman-understand the authority of this commission?”

“Of course.” Mittel was wary now, his hands forward on tighttogether legs.

“An authority not lessened by the fact that Aleksandr Mikhailevich Okulov is at the moment acting president?”

“It is the authority of the office,” said Mittel.

“An authority and an office that your chairman is too busy to observe?”

“I can assure this commission that no disrespect was intended to it or to the acting president.”

“I think that is important to be established on the record,” said Natalia, indicating the secretariat. “Let’s see what else can be established. You have been deputed as the highest official of the FSB to help this enquiry?”

“Yes.”

“So help us.”

Mittel gazed back at her, blankly. “I’m sorry … I don’t …”

“Where are the complete files of Peter Bendall, a British physicist who defected to the Soviet Union in 1972, the corollary details that would have been maintained upon his family, after they joined him in Moscow, the information that would have been kept separately upon the son, George Bendall-also known as Georgi Gugin-and everything that was taken from the family apartment at Hutorskaya Ulitza upon Peter Bendall’s death and again upon the seizure of George Bendall, nine days ago?” Natalia wondered how long it would be before Trishin or Filitov came into the exchange. Or were they remaining gratefully quiet, leaving what was clearly an immediate and dangerous confrontation entirely to her?

Mittel remained unmoving for several moments. There was the faintest hint of the earlier smile, quickly gone. “As I pointed out a few moments ago, the KGB no longer exists as an organization. It has been largely disbanded, its functions, manpower and archives greatly reduced. What remained was absorbed by the FSB, which I represent here today on behave of its chairman. And on behalf of its chairman I have to assure this enquiry that the most rigorous search has been made, among archives that the FSB inherited, to locate the material you’ve asked for. I regret to say-regret to tell this commission-that nothing has been found.”

“Which is what we are going to be told by everyone else from the FSB whom we have called here today?”

“I am afraid so.” One leg was crossed easily over the other again.

The reforms and supposed new democracy were still fragile, the more so in the uncertainty of the rapidly growing communist strength. And the FSB remained a megalith, waiting in the wings to reemerge as an unchallenged government within a government. To protect herself there had to be provable discussion, with the other two on the panel. Even that might not be as protective as she hoped. “Would you retire, Gennardi Nikolaevich? But don’t leave the anteroom. We’ll need to call you back.”

“The intention is to reduce us-and by inference the acting president-to a laughing stock!” insisted Natalia. “The man’s actuallytold us what each and every witness we’ve called is going to say!”

“We need to consult,” said Trishin.

“We are consulting, right now!”

“I meant with the president.”

The president, noted Natalia: not Aleksandr Mikhailevich or acting president. “If we do that, we’re making a laughing stock of ourselves: proving ourselves totally inadequate for the function for which we were appointed.”