Child 44 (5 page)

Anatoly opened his eyes and saw snow-covered boots centimetres from his face. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the man looming over him. The prongs of a pitchfork were directly above his stomach, quivering. Neither man moved. Their breath formed a mist in front of their faces which appeared and disappeared. Anatoly didn’t try to grab the pitchfork. He didn’t try to move out of the way.

They remained like this, frozen mid-frame, until a feeling of shame overcame Mikhail. He gasped as though he’d been punched in the stomach by some invisible force, dropping the pitchfork harmlessly to the ground, sinking to his knees.

—Please forgive me.

Anatoly sat up. The adrenaline had jolted him awake but his body ached. How long had he been asleep? Not long, not long enough. His voice was hoarse, his throat dry.

—I understand. I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have asked for your help. You have your family to think of. I’ve put you in danger. It is I who should be asking for your forgiveness.

Mikhail shook his head.

—I was afraid. I panicked. Forgive me.

Anatoly glanced out at the snow and darkness. He couldn’t leave now. He wouldn’t survive. Of course he couldn’t allow himself to sleep. But he did still need shelter. Mikhail was waiting for an answer, waiting for forgiveness.

—There’s nothing to forgive. You’re not to blame. I might have done the same.

—But you’re my friend.

—I’m still your friend and I’ll always be your friend. Listen to me: I want you to forget that tonight ever happened. Forget that I ever came here. Forget that I ever asked for your help. Remember us as we were. Remember us as the best of friends. Do this for me and I shall do the same for you. By first light I’ll be gone. I promise. You’ll wake up and continue your life as normal. I assure you no one will ever know I was here.

Mikhail’s head dropped: he wept. Until tonight he’d believed he would’ve done anything for his friend. That was a lie. His loyalty, bravery and friendship had all been proved paper thin–they’d ripped at the first serious test.

When Anatoly had arrived unannounced that evening Mikhail had seemed understandably surprised. Anatoly had travelled to the village without warning. All the same he’d been welcomed warmly, offered food, drink, a bed. Only once his hosts had heard the news that he was making his way north to the Finnish border did they finally understand the reason for the sudden arrival. He’d never mentioned that he was wanted by the State Security Police, the
MGB
. He didn’t need to. They understood. He was a fugitive. As that fact became clear the welcome had evaporated. The punishment for aiding and abetting a fugitive was execution. He knew this but had hoped his friend would be prepared to accept the risk. He’d even hoped his friend might travel north with him. The
MGB
weren’t looking for two people and what’s more Mikhail had acquaintances in towns all the way to Leningrad including Tver and Gorky. True, it was an enormous amount to ask, but Anatoly had once saved Mikhail’s life and though he’d never considered it a debt that ever needed to be repaid, that was only because he’d never thought he’d need to call it in.

During their discussion it had become apparent that Mikhail wasn’t prepared to take that kind of risk. In fact, he wasn’t prepared to take any kind of risk. His wife had frequently interrupted their conversation asking to speak with her husband in private. At each interruption she’d glared at Anatoly with unmasked venom. Circumstances demanded prudence and caution as a part of everyday life. And there was no denying he’d brought danger to his friend’s family, a family he loved. Lowering his expectations sharply he had told Mikhail that he wanted nothing more than a night’s sleep in their barn. He’d be gone by tomorrow morning. He’d walk to the nearest railway station, the same way he’d arrived. In addition it’d been his idea to smash the lock to the barn. In the unlikely event that he was caught the family could claim ignorance and pretend there’d been an intruder. He’d believed that these precautions had reassured his hosts.

Unable to watch his friend cry, Anatoly leaned close.

—There’s nothing to feel guilty about. We’re all just trying to survive.

Mikhail stopped crying. He looked up, wiping his tears away. Realizing that this would be the last time they would ever see each other, the two friends hugged.

Mikhail pulled back.

—You’re a better man than me.

He stood up, leaving the barn and taking care to shut the door, kicking up some snow to wedge it in position. He turned his back on the wind and trudged towards the house. Killing Anatoly and reporting him as an intruder would have guaranteed the safety of his family. Now he’d have to take his chances. He’d have to pray. He’d never thought of himself as a coward, and during the war, when it had been his own life at stake, he’d never behaved as one. Some men had even called him brave. But having a family had made him fearful. He was able to imagine far worse things than his own death.

Reaching the house he took off his boots and coat and went to the bedroom. Opening the door he was startled by a figure at the window. His wife was awake, staring out at the barn. Hearing him enter she turned around. Her small frame gave no indication of her capacity to lift and carry and cut, to work twelve-hour days, to hold her family together. She didn’t care that Anatoly had once saved her husband’s life. She didn’t care about their history, their friendship. Loyalty and indebtedness were abstracts. Anatoly was a threat to their safety. That was real. She wanted him gone, as far away from her family as possible, and at this precise moment she hated him–this gentle decent friend whom she’d once loved and treasured as a guest–more than anyone else alive.

Mikhail kissed his wife. Her cheek was cold. He took her hand. She stared up at him, noticing that he’d been crying.

—What were you doing outside?

Mikhail understood her eagerness. She hoped that he’d done what was necessary. She hoped he’d put his family first and killed that man. That would be the right thing to do.

—He left the barn door open. Anyone could’ve seen it. I shut it.

He could feel his wife’s grip slacken, feeling her disappointment. She thought him weak. She was right. He had neither the strength to murder his friend nor the strength to help him. He tried to find some words of comfort.

—There’s nothing to worry about. No one knows he’s here.

Same Day

The table had been smashed, the bed turned upside down, the mattress shredded, pillows torn apart and floorboards ripped up, yet so far the search of Anatoly Brodsky’s apartment yielded no clue as to his whereabouts. Leo crouched down to examine the fireplace. Stacks of papers had been burnt. There were layers of fine ash where correspondence had been heaped and set alight. Using the muzzle of his gun he raked the remains hoping to find some fragment untouched by fire. The ashes fell apart–everything was burnt and black. The traitor had escaped. Leo was to blame. He’d given this man, a stranger, the benefit of the doubt. He’d presumed he was innocent; the kind of mistake a novice might make.

Better to let ten innocent men suffer than one spy escape.

He’d disregarded a fundamental principle of their work: the presumption of guilt.

Despite accepting responsibility, Leo couldn’t help but wonder that if he hadn’t been forced to waste the entire day dealing with the accidental death of that little boy, would Brodsky have escaped? Meeting relatives, stamping out hot-headed rumours–this wasn’t the work of a senior
MGB
officer. Instead of personally running a surveillance operation he’d agreed to sideline himself, untangling what amounted to little more than a personal affair. He should never have said yes. He’d become complacent about the threat posed by this man Brodsky. His first serious misjudgement since joining State Security. He was aware that few officers ever got an opportunity to make a second mistake.

He hadn’t thought much of the case: Brodsky was educated, with some competence in the English language, dealing with foreigners on a regular basis. This was grounds for vigilance but, as Leo had pointed out, the man was a respected vet in a city with very few trained vets. Foreign diplomats had to take their cats and dogs to someone. Furthermore this was a man who’d served in the Red Army as a field doctor. His background was impeccable. According to his military records he’d volunteered and despite not being technically qualified as a doctor, despite his expertise being injured animals, he’d worked in several field hospitals and subsequently received two commendations. The suspect must have saved hundreds of lives.

Major Kuzmin had quickly guessed the reason for his protégé’s reservations. During Leo’s own military career he’d been treated by field doctors for numerous injuries and clearly some kind of war camaraderie was holding him back. Kuzmin reminded Leo that sentimentality could blind a man to the truth. Those who appear the most trustworthy deserve the most suspicion. Leo recognized it as a play on Stalin’s well-known aphorism:

Trust but Check.

Stalin’s words had been interpreted as:

Check on Those we Trust.

Since those who weren’t trusted were scrutinized with the same vigour as those who were, it meant that there was at least a kind of equality.

The duty of an investigator was to scratch away at innocence until guilt was uncovered. If no guilt was uncovered then they hadn’t scratched deep enough. In the case of Brodsky the question wasn’t whether foreign diplomats met him because he was a vet but rather had this suspect become a vet in order that foreign diplomats could openly meet him. Why did he establish his practice within walking distance of the American Embassy? And why–shortly after he opened this practice–did several employees from the American Embassy obtain pets? Finally, why was it that the pets of foreign diplomats seemed to require more frequent attention than pets belonging to a typical citizen? Kuzmin had been the first to agree that there was a comical aspect to all of this and it was precisely this disarming quality which had made him uneasy. The innocence of the circumstances felt like a brilliant disguise. It felt like the
MGB
was being laughed at. There were few more serious crimes than that.

Having considered the case and noted his mentor’s observations, Leo made the decision that instead of arresting the suspect outright they would have him followed, reasoning that if this citizen was working as a spy then it was an opportunity to discover who he was working with and arrest them all in one swoop. Though he never said as much, he was uncomfortable making an arrest without more evidence. Of course that was a qualm he’d lived with throughout his professional life. He’d made many arrests knowing only the citizen’s name and address and the fact that someone mistrusted them. A suspect’s guilt became real as soon as they became a suspect. As for evidence, that would be acquired during their interrogation. But Leo was no longer a lackey who merely followed orders, and he’d decided to make use of his authority and do things a little differently. He was an investigator. He’d wanted to investigate. He had little doubt that he’d eventually arrest Anatoly Brodsky, he just wanted proof; some sign of guilt other than mere conjecture. In short, he wanted to feel OK about arresting him.

As part of the surveillance operation, Leo had taken the day shift, following the suspect during the hours of eight in the morning through to eight in the evening. For three days he’d observed nothing out of the ordinary. The suspect worked, ate lunch out and went home. In short he seemed a good citizen. Perhaps it had been this innocuous appearance which had dulled Leo’s senses. When, this morning, he’d been pulled aside by an irate Kuzmin, briefed on the Fyodor Andreev situation–the dead boy, the hysterical reaction–and ordered to fix it immediately, he didn’t protest. Instead of putting his foot down and pointing out that he had far more important things to do he’d acquiesced. With hindsight how ridiculous it all seemed. How frustrating that he was conversing with relatives, coaxing children, whilst this suspect, this traitor, was making his escape, making a mockery of Leo. The agent delegated to maintain watch had idiotically thought nothing of the fact that there hadn’t been a single customer at the veterinary practice all day. It wasn’t until dusk that the agent had become suspicious and entered, intending to pose as a customer. He’d found the premises empty. A back window had been prised open. The suspect could’ve escaped at any time, most probably in the morning, soon after he’d arrived.

Brodsky is gone.

When Leo had heard those words he’d felt sick: he’d called an emergency meeting with Major Kuzmin at his home address. Leo now had the proof of guilt he’d been looking for but he no longer had the suspect. To his surprise his mentor had seemed gratified. The traitor’s behaviour validated his theory: their business was mistrust. If an allegation contained only one per cent truth it was better to consider the entire allegation true than to dismiss it. Leo was instructed to catch this traitor at all costs. He was not to sleep, eat, rest, he was not to do anything until that man was in their custody, where–as Kuzmin had smugly pointed out–he should have been three days ago.

Leo rubbed his eyes. He could feel a knot in his stomach. At best he seemed naive, at worst incompetent. He’d underestimated an opponent and feeling a sudden, uncharacteristic burst of anger he considered kicking the upturned table. He decided against it. He had trained himself to keep his feelings locked out of view. A junior officer hurried into the room, probably keen to help, to prove his dedication. Leo waved him away, wanting to be alone. He took a moment to calm down, staring out of the window at the snow which had begun to fall over the city. He lit a cigarette, blowing smoke on a pane of glass. What had gone wrong? The suspect must have sighted the agents tailing him and planned his escape. If he was burning documents that meant he was keen to conceal material relating to his espionage or his current destination. Leo was sure that Brodsky had an escape plan, a way to get out of the country. He had to find some fragment of this plan.