Dead Men Living

“I understand no records exist in Yakutsk.”

“Mosow’s the most likely,” suggested Dean. “Trial and deportation documents, even.”

“I would think so.”

“How much of what you’ve told me-written in your report-do the American and the Russians have or know?” demanded the director-general.

“The local autopsy reports, detailing all the body marks, were shared,” recounted Charlie. “So were the lists of belongings found on each body, but there was a mistake I didn’t correct. The inscription in the cigarette case is copperplate, all swirls and curlicues. The initials were copied down wrongly: the sweeping old English F-representing an S-was taken really to be F so it’s inaccurate. The Russian forensic scientist has full and undistorted photographs of all three faces, which we should get copies of. We can get our own from our own body. The two nine-millimeter bullets are common knowledge. And the.38 and the shrapnel from the grenades that made the grave. I’m sure neither have the waistband label ….” He hesitated. “That’s all, I think. They would have seen the marks where the ring was missing on our lieutenant, as I saw that things had been snatched or ripped from the other two bodies.”

“You haven’t mentioned Gulag 98.”

“I’m going to need the Russians to trace records,” said Charlie. “I don’t think the Americans have it.”

“We’re supposed to be in tandem with Washington,” reminded Dean.

“Tell Washington that.”

“You think they’re holding back?”

“I think for a situation involving so many people, agencies and government departments there’s an echoing lack of reciprocal information.”

“The same has occurred to me,” said Dean.

“Until we start getting a little back, it might be an idea to keep our hand covered.”

“You didn’t offer anything: interpret the fact they weren’t armed, anything like that?”

“No,” assured Charlie.

“You got a lot, Charlie-concluded a lot,” praised Dean. “And you’re right. We should be able to find a name, this end. But until we do-and get an idea of what our dead man was doing-I agree we should keep a tight lid on things.”

How difficult might it be following that instruction and resolvingNatalia’s new, as yet unknown problem? Everything had to be adjustable, as long as it was in his favor. He said, “The people at the embassy here will want an explanation.”

Sir Rupert Dean was silent for several moments. “And we’ve got to maintain a working relationship there,” he agreed. There was another silence. “Keep it all general, without positively lying. Particularly test out Gallaway. When this first broke, I expected it to be a military investigation, but the Defense Ministry ran a mile, not wanting to dirty their hands. Maybe they know something they’re not telling us.”

“Will they tell us, ever?” questioned Charlie, more to gauge the other man’s thinking than for the answer. He was pleased at the director-general’s acceptance of what had, until now, only been a suspicion.

“Not if they don’t want to. Or can’t,” said Dean, simply. “It’s not just identifiable responsibility everyone’s running from. The publicity is hysterical. Questions are being asked in the House. Daily demands for a statement from the prime minister. It’s all getting out of hand.”

“I’ll have whoever’s job it is get the body and belongings back today,” promised Charlie.

There was another silence. Then Dean said, “I might bring you back: continue here what you’ve started there. Be ready, if I do.”

That would leave Natalia-and Sasha-alone. Which he couldn’t do, not immediately-not until he’d sorted out whatever it was that was worrying her. Quickly Charlie said, “Shouldn’t I first see what the Americans and Russians are prepared to share? There seems to be some anxiety in the American embassy about people flying in from Washington.”

“This has waited more than fifty years. I’m not counting in days,” said Dean.

He was, thought Charlie, if there was any danger to his Moscow appointment. Or to Natalia. And apart from the voice mail impatience and the director-general’s initial greeting, there hadn’t been any rebuke. Praise, even. Probingly he said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to say more from Yakutsk. If it caused any problems.”

“Nothing serious,” dismissed the director-general. “Certainly nothing that needs to be discussed after this conversation.”

“I got the impression of a lot of angst in London.”

“Your only concern is my support. And you have it.”

Charlie celebrated the moment of satisfaction by picking up the airplane with the separate tail section and on impulse tried a test flight at the moment Colonel John Gallaway flustered into the room. The plane crashed at the military attache’s feet. The immaculate, cologne-smelling man frowned at the bristle-chinned, crumpled Charlie and said, “What in God’s name is going on?”

“Just seeing if it would fly as well as my ideas,” said Charlie.

“It didn’t,” said Gallaway.

They gathered in Gallaway’s office because that was where the six surviving wartime photographs had been assembled. Charlie carried with him the lieutenant’s uniform, which he decided smelled only slightly worse than he did, and everything it had contained. While McDowell, Gallaway, and Cartright prodded and poked among it all, Charlie took the pictures to the window, where the sun’s early promise had been fulfilled with a brilliantly bright day. The glare made him feel gravel-eyed, from tiredness.

The photographs were grainy and sepia-faded from age. Among the recommendations he’d already sent to London-carefully retrieved from the cipher room, with everything else, on his way to Gallaway’s suite-was that a Foreign Office and Defense Ministry archive search be made there for wartime pictures and Charlie decided to ship Gallaway’s trove back with the body of the dead man, despite there being no one in the prints even vaguely resembling the long-dead man in the basement refrigerator.

He didn’t hurry providing a greatly edited account of Yakutsk to the other three men. He omitted completely his belief of there being a second British officer involved.

“So!” he finished, looking at the military attache. “That’s my story. What’s yours, from the Ministry of Defense files about an intelligence operation?”

“Absolutely nothing!” declared Gallaway, glibly. “There wasn’t one.”

Charlie let the silence settle, until the others began to stir uncomfortably, not understanding. “Okay,” sighed Charlie. “The body of an English officer, wearing an English officer’s uniform, is in agrenade-created grave in a part of Siberia no one fifty years ago could get to. The Defense Ministry, which inherited the War Office, has no record of any lieutenant being there. Or here ….” Charlie paused, feeling another snatch of tiredness. “You tell me, John … you don’t mind me calling you John, do you? I’d like you to call me Charlie.”

Unable to anticipate what was coming, Gallaway shook his head.

“Thank you, John,” Charlie resumed. “So you tell me, John, what our man was doing there unless he was on a covert operation? And then you try to convince me-with the amount of publicity that this is getting-that your ministry hasn’t gone through every bus ticket and postage stamp receipt of its archives of fifty years ago to find out why a British army lieutenant was where he was. But before you do all that-John-you tell me what your brief is from London right now.’Cause if you don’t, I’m not going to share with you any more than I’m going to share with anyone else. And the loser-John-will be you. You think about it ….” Charlie looked sideways to Cartright. “And I’d like you to take that on board, too, Richard. Strikes me I’m doing all the work, being stung to buggery possibly in more ways than were obvious in Yakutsk, and getting very little back in return.”

“I shall most definitely report everything about this conversation to London!” said Gallaway. His face was puce but not totally: there were isolated white blotches, making him lizard-skinned.

“I obviously will, too,” said Cartright. “I’ve done everything I could think of to help. You can read my cable traffic if you like.”

“I want all of you to do that,” encouraged Charlie but ignoring the offer. “Just as I want you all to know I’m