was he one of the new generation that simply didn't care? Her daughter was one of these. The Party was something you joined to secure your position, and her father's post put her on the inside track for a comfortable job. She sat beside her mother in silence, reading a West German fashion magazine that was now sold in the Soviet Union and deciding what new Western fashions she would like to wear to classes. She would have to learn, her mother thought, remembering that at eighteen the world is a place with horizons both near and far, depending on one's mood.
About the time they finished their coffee, the flight was called. They waited. The plane wouldn't leave without them. Finally, when the last call came, the attendant brought their coats and hats, and another led them and their guards down the stairs to their car. The other passengers had already ridden out to the aircraft on a bus- the Russians haven't quite discovered jetways yet-and when their car arrived, they were able to walk right up the stairs. The stewardess guided them solicitously to their first-class seats in the forward cabin. They weren't called first class, of course, but they were wider, they had greater leg room, and they were reserved. The airliner lifted off at ten o'clock, Moscow time, stopped first at Leningrad, then proceeded to Talinn, where it landed just after one.
'So, Colonel, you have your summary of the subject's activity?' Gerasimov asked casually. He seemed preoccupied, Vatutin noted at once. He should have been more interested, particularly with a Politburo meeting only an hour away.
'Books will be written about this one, Comrade Chairman. Filitov had access to virtually all of our defense secrets. He even helped make defense policy. I needed thirty pages merely to summarize what he's done. The full interrogation will require several months.'
'Speed is less important than thoroughness,' Gerasimov said offhandedly.
Vatutin did not react. 'As you wish, Comrade Chairman.'
'If you will excuse me, the Politburo is meeting this morning.'
Colonel Vatutin came to attention, pivoted on his heels, and left. He found Golovko in the anteroom. The two knew each other casually. They'd been a year apart at the KGB Academy, and their careers had advanced at roughly the same rate.
'Colonel Golovko,' the Chairman's secretary said. 'The Chairman must leave now, and suggests that you return tomorrow morning at ten.'
'But-'
'He's leaving now,' the secretary said.
'Very well,' Golovko replied and stood. He and Vatutin left the room together.
'The Chairman is busy,' Vatutin observed on the way out.
'Aren't we all?' the other man replied after the door closed. 'I thought he wanted this. I arrived here at four to write this goddamned report! Well, I think I'll have some breakfast. How go things in 'Two,' Klementi Vladimirovich?'
'Also busy-the people do not pay us to sit on our backsides.' He'd also arrived early to complete his paperwork, and his stomach was growling audibly.
'You must be hungry, too. Care to join me?'
Vatutin nodded, and both men made for the canteen. Senior officers-colonel and above-had a separate dining room and were served by white-coated waiters. The room was never empty. The KGB worked round the clock, and odd schedules made for irregular meals. Besides, the food was good, especially for senior officers. The room was a quiet place. When people talked here, even if they were discussing sports, they did so almost in whispers.
'Aren't you attached to the arms negotiations now?' Vatutin asked as he sipped his tea.
'Yes-nursemaiding diplomats. You know, the Americans think I'm GRU.' Golovko arched his eyebrows, partly in amusement, at the Americans, partly to show his not-quite classmate how important his cover was.
'Really?' Vatutin was surprised. 'I would have thought that they were better informed-at least? well?' He shrugged to indicate that he couldn't go any further. I too have things that I cannot discuss, Sergey Nikolayevich.
'I suppose the Chairman is preoccupied by the Politburo meeting. The rumors-'
'He's not ready yet,' Vatutin said with the quiet confidence of an insider.
'You're sure?'
'Quite sure.'
'Where do you stand?' Golovko asked.
'Where do you stand?' Vatutin replied. Both traded a look of amusement, but then Golovko turned serious.
'Narmonov needs a chance. The arms agreement-if the diplomats ever get their thumbs out and execute it- will be a good thing for us.'
'You really think so?' Vatutin didn't know one way or the other.
'Yes, I do. I've had to become an expert on the arms of both camps. I know what we have, and I know what they have. Enough is enough. Once a man is dead, you do not need to shoot him again and again. There are better ways to spend the money. There are things that need changing.'
'You should be careful saying that,' Vatutin cautioned. Golovko had traveled too much. He had seen the West, and many KGB officers came back with tales of wonder-if only the Soviet Union could do this, or that, or the other thing? Vatutin sensed the truth of that, but was inherently a more cautious man. He was a 'Two' man, who looked for dangers, while Golovko, of the First Chief Directorate, looked for opportunities.
'Are we not the guardians? If we cannot speak, who can?' Golovko said, then backed off. 'Carefully, of course, with the guidance of the Party at all times-but even the Party sees the need for change.' They had to agree on that. Every Soviet newspaper proclaimed the need for a new approach, and every such article had to be approved by someone important, and of political purity. The Party was never wrong, both men knew, but it certainly did change its kollektiv mind a lot.
'A pity that the Party does not see the importance of rest for its guardians. Tired men make mistakes, Sergey Nikolayevich.'
Golovko contemplated his eggs for a moment, then lowered his voice even further. 'Klementi? let us assume for a moment I know that a senior KGB officer is meeting with a senior CIA officer.'
'How senior?'
'Higher than directorate head,' Golovko replied, telling Vatutin exactly who it was without using a name or a title. 'Let us assume that I arrange the meetings, and that he tells me I do not need to know what the meetings are about. Finally, let us assume that this senior officer is acting? strangely. What am I to do?' he asked, and was rewarded with an answer right from the book:
'You should write up a report for the Second Directorate, of course.'
Golovko nearly choked on his breakfast. 'A fine idea. Immediately afterward I can slash my throat with a razor and save everyone the time and trouble of an interrogation. Some people are above suspicion-or have ens(?)
'Sergey, if there is anything I have learned in the past few weeks, it is that there is no such thing as 'above suspicion.' We've been working a case so high in the Defense Ministry? you would not believe it. I scarcely do.' Vatutin waved for a waiter to bring a fresh pot of tea. The pause gave the other man a chance to think. Golovko had intimate knowledge of that ministry because of his work on strategic arms. Who could it be? There were not many men whom the KGB was unable to suspect-that was hardly a condition the agency encouraged-and fewer still high in the Ministry of Defense, which the KGB is supposed to regard with the utmost suspicion. But? 'Filitov?'
Vatutin blanched, and made a mistake: 'Who told you?'
'My God, he briefed me last year on intermediate arms. I heard he was sick. You're not joking, are you?'
'There is nothing the least bit amusing about this. I cannot say much, and it may not go beyond this table, but-yes, Filitov was working for? for someone outside our borders. He's confessed, and the first phase of the interrogation is complete.'
'But he knows everything! The arms-negotiation team should know of this. It alters the whole basis for the talks,' Golovko said.
Vatutin hadn't considered that, but it wasn't his place to make policy decisions. He was, after all, nothing more than a policeman with a very special beat. Golovko might have been right in his assessment, but rules were rules.
