The Rocket Man (28 page)

‘Will that include me?'

‘Well, since you've been here so long, not really. We're looking mainly at people who've been accredited in recent weeks, especially for this refugee conference. We've got to contact every single newspaper and broadcasting station to check that they're known to them. What do you want anyway?'

Nihal smiled sheepishly. ‘You've just told me what I want.'

‘Cough,' said the nurse, leaning over Dmitry, putting her hand reassuringly on his chest. ‘I know it hurts, but you must cough all that stuff out of your lung or you'll get an infection… There, that's much better. You'll be much more comfortable in a day or two when we take the chest drains out. I want to lift you up a little.' She and a second nurse rearranged the pillows. ‘We might even get you sitting up a bit tomorrow. There. Are you comfortable? The police are here to see you.'

Dmitry could hear the doctor's voice: ‘Don't stay long. Just ask what is absolutely necessary.' He turned his head. The doctor, impersonal in his white coat, asked Dmitry how he was feeling. He didn't bother to reply. Two policemen, in plain clothes, stood by the bed. Finally one of them cleared his throat.

‘Herr Dr Gavrilov, I'm Fritz Altmayer, Inspector for the Austrian police, and this is my colleague Peter Doleszal. Are you happy to talk in English? We can arrange for an interpreter if you prefer.'

‘English is fine.'

‘Please tell us when you feel unable to talk any longer. We just have a few questions to ask you now.'

Dmitry nodded. They asked him to describe the assassin and to go through exactly what had happened. The inspector took it all down; the second man, Doleszal, kept his eyes on Dmitry's face and watched him intently. When Dmitry had finished Doleszal spoke for the first time.

‘How did he hold the gun? That could be important.'

‘With both hands – I don't think he used the sights – he aimed at my head but I stood up. He fired once, then two shots close together'

‘And two shots at Kulagin?'

‘Yes.' Dmitry asked, ‘Is he dead?'

‘Yes. He was shot in the head. He must have died instantly.'

Dmitry turned his head away and tried not to show the emotions that followed quickly after one another; horror, anger, guilt.

The police waited a few moments. Then Altmayer leaned forward. ‘I'm going to show you four photographs. I want you to look at each of them carefully and tell me whether one of these is the man who shot you.'

Altmayer held them up. Dmitry looked; he was given plenty of time. He said, ‘I don't know. The third one, it could be him.'

The two men exchanged glances. Altmayer said, ‘You couldn't swear to it? Look again.' He held the photograph up ‘again. Dmitry looked; he couldn't say for sure. The man looked similar, but he didn't have any certainty about it. This was strange, because when he closed his eyes he could see the man's face quite clearly in his imagination. He said, ‘I don't know.'

‘But you picked him out of these four.'

‘The others are definitely not him.'

‘Well, the man you picked is a likely candidate. He entered the building posing as a journalist for the
Chicago Tribune
. He had received his accreditation from Lopez Varga who saw him three weeks ago. He presented a letter from the editor saying he was attending the refugee conference, but the
Chicago Tribune
have never heard of him. Of course, it's easy enough to fake a letter.

‘As for this photograph, it's possible it's not him. This is a problem we often have with such security passes. You send in the photos and they check the photo on the form is the same as that on the pass, but as long as there's a passing resemblance, nobody checks if it's really the person applying. Still, this is a help. But even if it is him, which you're not certain of, I have to tell you that the chances of tracking him down are quite small.'

‘I see.'

Altmayer paused, then asked, ‘Do you have any idea who might have wanted you dead?'

Dmitry looked at them both. Altmayer had a solid, not unkindly-looking face. The other man was polite but distant, courteous; he looked like a civil servant; Dmitry thought he was from the Austrian secret service. He did not know what to say. How could he begin to explain things? What would the Austrians do with such information? Or perhaps they already knew some of it; they would surely have their eye on Richter, he had operated on their territory, his propellant at least was being manufactured in Linz. He wanted to say nothing about the Brazilians till he had spoken to Kaisler at the IAEA. An unbearable weariness overcame him; perhaps it was best to say nothing. They wouldn't press him, not at the moment. He shut his eyes. He heard Doleszal say, ‘Dr Gavrilov –' and the other man, ‘Later. Leave it till later.'

But Doleszal persisted. He said, ‘Herr Dr Gavrilov, this is very important. Two people other than yourself have been killed. Do you know of any motive? This shooting was in your office – we believe you were the prime target. This was a cold-blooded, professional assassin. These things do not happen for no reason. Do you know why? You only have to answer yes or no.'

Dmitry was confused. ‘Two?' He saw the two men look at one another.

Altmayer said, ‘A friend of this journalist you know, Nihal Senanayake. It appears to be a case of mistaken identity. Do you think this might be connected?'

‘I don't know. Nihal… Nihal is all right? Who was killed?'

‘His name was Bradman…' Altmayer couldn't pronounce the surname. ‘He was staying in Senanayake's apartment.'

‘My God.' Dmitry was distressed; he couldn't think straight. He could hear the doctor talking to them in German in a low voice.

Altmayer said, ‘One last question, please; let me repeat; do you have any idea who might have wanted you dead?'

Dmitry made a great effort. ‘Look. I understand the situation perfectly, I know you have to go through the motions.' He turned to Doleszal. ‘Are you from the Austrian secret service?'

Doleszal made a gesture which could have been either denial or acceptance.

‘I am sure you will already know some of what is involved – please don't come here asking me to exhaust myself answering your questions. This may involve a foreign government. Ask the Director General of the IAEA. I have not been able to speak to him.'

‘The IAEA have issued a statement saying that this is nothing to do with your work there. I have just seen the Director General and he has confirmed this to me himself.'

‘Please, is this an interrogation?'

But the doctor had already stepped in. He ushered the police out and Dmitry was left alone. After a few minutes a nurse came in and touched his arm. She said, ‘A Mrs Haynes is here to see you. I have asked her to wait. Would you like to see her for a few minutes, or shall I ask her to come back later?'

Dmitry hesitated. He felt exhausted, he wanted to sleep; he hated Katie to see him in this state; yet he could imagine her distress if they told her she couldn't see him. He said, ‘Yes, I'll see her.'

Katie had been kept waiting for something like two hours. She had asked repeatedly for information but they had told her nothing. Sitting there brought home to her the truth about her position; the doctors did not feel they had to consult her about Dmitry's health, or inform her of what they might be doing; she didn't have even the right to see him; her feelings, their relationship, might as well not exist. The dinginess and smell of the hospital brought back to her the agony of last night and filled her with depression. Finally, just as she was beginning to be anxious that there might be something wrong, the nurse came and took her up to the ward.

Dmitry lay awkwardly in the bed, his limbs seeming too long for it, half propped up on pillows, still attached to various tubes. He was unshaven and his face looked colourless, almost grey. He lay with his eyes closed; his breathing seemed shallow, with a slight catch in it as if it pained him. Katie sat down on the chair by the bed, and said quietly, so as not to disturb him if he was sleeping, ‘Mitya?'

He opened his eyes at once; He looked at her for a few seconds and then, as if even this was too much effort, he closed them again.

‘I had trouble getting in to see you,' said Katie, trying not to cry and to keep up some semblance of normality. ‘Usually they only allow close relatives.'

Dmitry didn't reply. He opened his eyes and looked at her without expression, cold, detached. She felt as if he had crossed over some thin line that separated the living from the dead and was having trouble stepping back again. She had never felt more distant from him than she did at that moment.

She said, alarmed by this feeling, wanting to provoke some response, ‘Bob knows about us.'

‘Does he?' It seemed of no importance to him.

‘Well, perhaps it's a relief. It doesn't seem to matter much just now.' She wanted to take his hand but something prevented her from doing so; she was afraid he wouldn't want her to. After a few moments Dmitry turned his head slightly towards her and asked, ‘Can you do something for me, Katie? Can you make two phone calls for me?'

She said, ‘Yes, of course. Who to?'

‘Can you ring Kaisler? I want to talk to him. It's important. Do it from the payphone here.'

‘Yes, I will.'

‘And can you ring my sister for me? I'll give you her number in Moscow. She will go crazy when she sees the papers.'

‘Yes, of course.' Katie took the number down. She asked, ‘Is there anything else?'

‘No.' He shut his eyes.

Katie reached out to him suddenly and touched him, unable to hold back. ‘Mitya, I love you; I thought you would die.'

He said, in an almost agonised voice, ‘I know.'

‘What is it all about? You must tell me; I am frightened.'

He looked at her again with that blank look. ‘I'm sorry, Katie. Look at me, I can't help you.' He closed his eyes. It was like a dismissal; Katie thought perhaps she should go, but she could not bear to, so she stayed there for a little longer, till she realised he was sleeping. She got up, handed her white coat to the nurse, and went downstairs. As she walked down the stairs she heard footsteps behind her; it was one of the Russians who had been at the hospital last night. She walked down faster; the man followed her.

‘Mrs Haynes,' he said, ‘Just a moment, I want to ask you… ‘

‘No,' said Katie. He touched her arm. She stopped and turned around; although he had spoken politely, she found his manner threatening. He said, ‘They are not being very informative. How is he? Is he conscious? Has he said anything to you yet?'

‘No.' Katie started to walk downstairs again; the man fell in behind her. She went straight to the payphone near the main entrance and picked up the handset; her hand fumbled with the purse. She dropped the change on the floor; he picked it up and handed it to her. She glared at him. He smiled and moved away a few paces, turned his back to her. She turned back and dialled the IAEA's number and asked for the DG's office.

The Russian came back. He reached across and put his hand on the phone, cutting off the line. He said, ‘May I say something to you?'

Katie turned on him with violence. She didn't understand; she was frightened, but also angry. She said, ‘How dare you? Leave me alone.'

‘Did he ask you to make this phone call?'

‘No.'

‘Because if he did, he has put your life in danger as well. Do you realise this?'

The soft voice was menacing. Katie said, ‘I shall call the police.'

‘There is a policeman round the comer, if you want one. But you won't get much joy out of them. I assure you that I have your interests at heart. I will take you up to the UN if you like. The car is outside… ‘

Katie was shaking with fear. She wondered whether to run for the door; surely he couldn't do anything to her in a public place. All her worst fears and suspicions seemed to be true; wild thoughts raced through her head. She said, ‘Get away from me.'