“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
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.
Zenin said, “So he’s worse?”
“I don’t think there’s an actual deterioration,” said the psychiatrist. “I think that was today’s game.”
“Has he spoken coherently to you?” asked Olga. There hadn’t been a chance to listen to the permanently maintained recording.
“Barely. But he understands what I’m asking him.”
“What’s he say about the injection?”
“He can’t remember it being done. Whether or not it was the Americans.”
“I’m surprised he’s out of bed?” said Zenin, turning to Badim.
The surgeon said, “Physically he’s healing remarkably well. I didn’t want any lung congestion from his being kept in bed.”
“How long will he be confined to a wheelchair?” pressed Olga.
“The problem is the conflicting injuries,” said Badim. “His shoulder isn’t strong enough to support his weight on crutches and he can’t use his fractured leg unsupported.”
“So how long?” insisted Zenin.
“Several weeks; three at least,” said the surgeon.
“But he’s recovering well?”
“Very well,” said Badim, although doubtfully, knowing there was a point to the questioning.
“And he understands what’s being said to him?” demanded Zenin, of the psychiatrist.
“I believe so,” said Agayan.
“So there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be arraigned in court, in a wheelchair-appear in public and be formally charged?”
Badim looked uncertainly to the psychiatrist and then back to Zenin. “No medical reason,” allowed the doctor.
“The public don’t know what’s going on,” Zenin said to Olga. “So it’s the militia who are getting all the media criticism for the investigation making no progress. I’m going to move for a court appearance.”
The British Airways flight began its descent over Moscow’s flat, firdotted western plain towards Sheremet’yevo and obediently Charlie and Anne secured their seat belts.
“It’s been a trip of discovery,” declared Anne. Her legal briefing had been as Jeremy Simpson anticipated but she was excited at the drama of the defense to murder.
“In all sorts of ways,” agreed Charlie.
The wheels snatched at the ground and they were pushed back in their seats by the reverse thrust of the engines.
“Thanks for showing me Liberace’s piano.”
“It’s a must on every cultural visit.”
“Readjustment of friendship now that we’re back on home territory?” she suggested.
“It might be an idea.”
“Let’s see.”
The impatient embassy chauffeur on the arrival concourse said Charlie was to contact Donald Morrison as quickly as possible, so Charlie used the car phone.
Morrison said, “President Yudkin died an hour ago.”
18
The death of Lev Maksimovich Yudkin ratcheted up by varying degrees the pressure upon everyone and marked the beginning-although at the time unrealized-of eventual awareness of a few of them.
Sir Michael Parnell personally, unavoidably, reinvolved himself and was waiting with Richard Brooking when Charlie and Anne Abbott reached the embassy. The premature relief of both diplomats to their overeager, overinterpretative acceptance of the ballistics information was abruptly tempered by Anne’s explanation that there still appeared a
Charlie used the same need-to-bring-myself-up-to-date escape finally to end the empty encounter, which he did with a hopefully self-benefiting assurance to both knicker-wetting-or perhaps more distastefully knicker-fouling-
