Brian Freemantle - Kings of Many Castles

“We hope you can,” said Natalia, more positively. Nudge him off the prepared path, she thought. “Was the FSB actively involved in the attempted assassination of the Russian and American presidents?”

Karelin gave no facial or physical reaction whatsoever. Neither did he artificially hesitate, as if surprised or offended by the question. “No.”

Not a hard enough push, Natalia decided, remembering the telephone call from Leonid Zenin. “Has the FSB any assets within the Burdenko Hospital?”

“I don’t understand that question,” said Karelin, again without hesitation. He’d demanded briefings on every possible question but the hospital hadn’t been mentioned.

“It’s a very simple one,” said Natalia. “Is there someone on the medical staff of the Burdenko Hospital who is an informant or operative of the FSB?” There would have been, when the organization was the KGB. There hadn’t been a government body, civilian institution or supposed independent organization that hadn’t been infiltrated.

“Not to my knowledge.”

“You are the chairman, Viktor Ivanovich. Such awareness would be far below your personal knowledge, wouldn’t it?”

Karelin’s concentration was absolute, the two men either side of Natalia non existent. “Yes.”

“This is a presidential commission. We have the highest security clearance.”

Karelin was churning inwardly, bewildered by the questioning. “I acknowledge that.”

“The FSB has taken over the responsibilities of the KGB?” Beside her Natalia was conscious of Pavl Filitov shifting, noisily, and decided the Federal Prosecutor was communicating with Karelin in sympathetic body language. It was going to be a surprise for him and Trishin when she stopped allowing both to hide behind her skirts. Knowing as they did of Okulov’s congratulatory letter, both men were noticeably deferential.

“In a greatly reduced and publicly accountable way.”

Natalia could not have anticipated that response and for a moment she needed to recompose herself-adjust her mind-to the maximum benefit. “Does the Fifth Chief Directorate still exist?”

“I had forgotten you were once a KGB officer,” said Karelin.

A weak response-weak threat-Natalia decided. “Does the Fifth Chief Directorate still exist?”

“With greatly reduced functions. And no longer under that designation.”

She had to be careful not to demean the man. “Will you undertake to have the former Fifth Chief Directorate, whose responsibility was to emplace KGB agents and informants in all public services, checked to see if your succeeding organization has an asset within Burdenko Hospital?

“Not without knowing the reason for such an enquiry.” Karelinlistened expressionlessly, still physically unmoving, to Natalia’s explanation and didn’t speak for several moments after she’d finished. When he did he said, “I will have that search made.”

“We appreciate your cooperation,” smiled Natalia. She gave herself pause, to anticipate the moment. Then she said, “I’ll now hand the inquiry over to my colleagues.”

There was a deafening silence, more disconcerting for both Filitov and Trishin by the way the FSB chairman visibly moved his head between them, in expectation. It was the federal prosecutor who finally verbally stumbled into the exchange and almost at once Natalia was conscious of Karelin relaxing, settling more obviously-comfortably-into his chair. Filitov-and occasionally Trishin-recited their questions never once pressing the man. Nor did they pick up from the concessions that had been prised out of the previous day’s witnesses after their dismissal of Gennardi Mittel. Karelin was clearly a professional, so he would be reading the encounter-particularly Trishin’s part in it-as she was. The presidential chief of staff was nervous, deferring to the other man. So he was uncertain of the current political situation, according the organization Karelin represented-and Karelin himself-the respect of fear Russia’s intelligence apparatus had always commanded. There was another, more personal-and disconcerting-conclusion to be drawn. She hadn’t properly succeeded in including either Trishin or Filitov in the difficult questioning so she was very obviously isolated. It would be wrong for her to show the unease of the men sitting on either side of her.

Natalia chose a hesitant gap from Filitov and said, “We yesterday took evidence from four officials of the Registry and Achives department, which appears to have remained unchanged in the reorganization?”

“That is so.”

“It was agreed that the records of Peter Bendall-and those upon his family-would have been specially assigned to be retained, not disposed of.”

“That is so,” repeated Karelin.

“None of the witnesses we questioned yesterday could accountfor their disappearance. Can you help us about what might have happened to them?”

“There was clearly an unauthorized removal.”

“Stolen, you mean?” pressed Natalia.

“Yes,” confirmed Karelin. “The reorganization since the early nineties has been substantial: something in the region of 22,500 personnel have been released. Ill feeling was inevitable. The Bendall dossier is not the only instance of interference and tampering, of sabotage. Is it the wish of this commission that I have investigated every one of the 22,500 people who have been dismissed?”

Condescension invited by the deference of Filitov and Trishin, recognized Natalia. “I’m sure we can bring that down to manageable proportions. Registry would have the names of every Control under whom Peter Bendall operated after his arrival here, people who would know the existence of everything involving the family. They’d also know which, if any, officer associated with the Bendalls is among those discharged from the service and likely to be disaffected …”

“That’s a very constructive suggestion,” said Karelin.

“It would help all of us involved now to be able to talk to the officer described by the mother as having spoken specifically to George Bendall when he was being disruptive at home,” pressed Natalia.

“It’s noted.”

“It was suggested by the mother that during that disruptive period the KGB arranged psychiatric counselling for George Bendall. Registry would have the identity of that psychiatrist?”

“Wasn’t that put to Registry personnel yesterday?” queried the man.

“They said they were not aware of the treatment. We’d like the question reemphasized, with your authority.”

“It will be.”

“And I think we can even more tightly confine the search for officers who removed material from your archives,” said Natalia. “It was only positively decided in the last four months that the American president was actually coming here for the summit, so it was only in the last four months that the conspirators would have hadany need for the Bendall files. No one to whom we talked yesterday from Registry and Archives was seemingly able to help but if called upon by you, personally, I would have hoped they could have even remembered people showing an interest in the material, wouldn’t you?”

Karelin’s smile could only have been of admiration, for her laserlike paring of possibilities, but it was still glacial. “I would have hopes so, too.”

“I think we might have made considerable progress today, chairman Karelin.”

“I trust that we have.”

“We can look forward to hearing from you very soon then?”

“You will hear from me,” promised Karelin. The smile was glacial again.

Guerguen Agayan limited the attempt to fifteen minutes but Bendall’s response to every question either Zenin or Olga put to him was to hum the wailing tune and Zenin gave up after only ten. They withdrew to the cluttered office of Nicholai Badim.