Someone Else's War: A Novel of Russia and America

  ***

  Mikhail Yegorevich Kristinich moved behind Olivia and stood, arms folded, his crotch bulging within his blue jeans, almost pressed against her back. She’d discovered during her first hour of interrogation that she could discern vague reflections in the window if she concentrated. Just like Tver. Just like Tver. She concentrated now, forcing time to stop. As she did, she compelled herself to rational speculation. OK, they came in together. They’ve probably been conspiring for a long time now, planting things, making things up. Simonov was right. I should have killed Borodkin myself.

  Kristinich unfolded his arms and took his seat across from her at the small table. “It appears that these circumstances differ somewhat from our last encounter.”

  Olivia looked directly at him, then beyond him to the window. “In a normal interrogation,” she said, “there is no idle chatter. The interrogator asks the questions, the source answers.”

  Kristinich paused, long enough for Olivia to realize that this was no normal interrogation for him. He seemed distracted, almost afraid. “Yes,” he forced himself to reply calmly, but a trace of annoyance was audible in his voice. “However, before one can start asking questions, the co-operation of the prisoner must be secured. One way or another. So before we begin the questioning, we must ascertain your level of co-operation.”

  “How do you propose to do that?”

  “I propose to…”

  “Kristinich, at our last encounter, I was not the experienced prisoner I am now. You’re letting me take over the interrogation. This does not speak well for your professionalism.”

  Kristinich glared. “If you wish, I shall ask questions. Not the important questions. Not yet. Just one or two to satisfy my curiosity and provide some background. Tell me, Doctor Tolchin, what do you think of Mister Borodkin?”

  “I no longer think of Mister Borodkin.”

  “But if you were to think of Mister Borodkin, what would you think?”

  “I would think that he is a mediocre engineer, an excellent administrator although sadly disloyal, and a very weak man with a very poor choice of friends.”

  Behind the glass, Schwartz smiled. Kristinich leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “And what do you think of me? Be honest, Doctor Tolchin. Believe me, it will not affect what is going to happen, one way or another. But I am curious. What do you think of me?”

  “I think you are one of the most boring human beings I have ever encountered.”

  Kristinich looked startled. “I have been called many things, Doctor, but boring has never been among them. However, I must thank you for answering honestly my two questions. I hope for your sake that the honesty continues.” Kristinich stood, then leaned back against the wall to one side of the mirror. “I know that you consider yourself an intelligent and straightforward human being, so I won’t try to manipulate you. I will simply explain the situation and permit you to make the rational decision.” He paused. No answer came. “There are men in very senior positions who desire to dispose of this matter quickly. In order to do so, we require that you provide us with information concerning your activities on behalf of the CIA, to include a full confession and the names of your Russian and American contacts and accomplices. We suspect that there are more than a few.”

  Olivia felt herself collapsing within, as if in a dive, and she lowered her eyes to the table again, struggling to regain control.

  “In a very few moments, we will begin the process of naming names. Before we do so, I must, how would you Americans put it, inform you of your rights. That is a simple task. You no longer have any. Except for the right to answer questions. If you choose not to exercise this right, I have the right to employ whatever means I deem necessary to convince you to exercise this right.”

  Olivia… A pure voice, within her.

  Kristinich looked at his watch. “I will now give you one minute to think it over.”

  Sister…

  Olivia staggered through her mind.

  Volodya?

  Yes, sister.

  Oh, Jesus, I’m hallucinating already.

  No, sister. This is you hearing me from within yourself. We could not do this if we were not so close. Accept it. Stay with me. Listen to what you hear. Stay with me, sister.

  Stay with me, brother.

  “Time is up, Doctor Tolchin. What are you thinking?”

  Sister…I taught you to fight. This man knows nothing of fighting. He has never taken a punch. Get ready to fight him with your mind…

  “You are correct,” she said calmly. “I am Doctor Tolchin. However, I prefer to be addressed as Doctor Tolchinskaya.”

  “In a few hours,” Kristinich snarled, “no one who looks at you will even recognize a human being, let alone address you as Doctor.”

  “Then I will address myself as such.”

  “There will not be enough of you left for that. That is why I’m here, Doctor Tolchin. I am the choice the State now offers you.”

  “Not much of a choice.”

  Kristinich began to pace in agitation. “Call it what you wish. It is still your situation and there is no way around it. I will therefore give you one more minute to think it over.”

  Brother…

  I am here, sister.

  What do I do?

  Think of it as boxing, sister. You cannot knock him out on your own. You must force him to lose control so he defeats himself. Then you have a chance.

  How?

  Counter-punch and jab. With your words, sister. With your words. Counter-punch and jab. Keep your head a little back. Take his punches on your gloves. Never let him land a solid blow. Do you understand?

  I think so…

  “Well, Doctor Tolchin, what have you concluded?”

  “That I am bored.”

  Kristinich moved behind her again, arms at his sides, hands now clenching and unclenching. “I’m going to give you one final minute, Doctor Tolchin. But first I must explain something to you. It’s a matter of technique so I am sure you will appreciate it.” He paused long enough to raise his hands and begin softly striking his left palm with his right fist. “There is some debate, even in this country, about whether or not torture extracts accurate information. There is no simple answer to that. Everything depends on the skill of the interrogator. As the process goes on and the pain intensifies, people reach a stage, a period, just before losing consciousness or becoming incoherent, when they’ll say anything to stop the pain. We call that the Window of Truth.”

  Sister…

  Yes, brother.

  Look through the window to the other side. That is the real Window of Truth. That is where the truth is.

  There are people behind it?

  Of course. They want you to win.

  “I am experienced in bringing people to the Window of Truth. I am prepared to take you there. So I will give you one more minute to think it over.”

  Counter-punch and jab, sister. Counter-punch and jab. Make him lose control…

  “It is time,” Kristinich said, moving back to his chair. He sat down and took up a pencil and a pad that the Borises had left.

  “You will please now give me the names of your contacts.”

  “Boris and Natasha.”

  Kristinich began to write. “Their patronymics and last names?”

  “I don’t remember. It was so long ago.”

  “It can’t have been that long ago. What year?”

  “Probably around 1968.”

  Kristinich looked up. “Are you being funny?”

  “No. But they were. Very funny. I remember laughing myself silly in front of the television set. Rocky T. Squirrel and Bullwinkle J. Moose were OK. But Boris and Natasha were my faves.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s an American thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

  Kristinich threw down his pencil. “I see we are playing games. The kinds of games American prisoners played in Hanoi when they signed confessions implicating their
superiors but using the names of famous movie stars and cartoon characters. I do not play such games.”

  Counter-punch and jab…counter-punch and jab…and remember the Window of Truth…

  Olivia saw an opening. “Major Kristinich…”

  “What?”

  “I thought so. Still Major Kristinich. What games would you prefer, Major Kristinich? Everyone I was with in Chechnya has been promoted. Why not you? Major Kristinich.”

  It’s falling apart, Kristinich thought. This isn’t working. He began feeling claustrophobic and sick. “Promotions in the Army and the FSB do not move together,” he answered tautly. “My new position involves much more responsibility than sitting with some…”

  “Some brave Russian patriots? Once again, Major Kristinich, I am taking over the interrogation. Perhaps this interrogation may restart a stalled career? If you succeed, Major Kristinich.”

  “Enough!”

  Counter-punch and jab…counter-punch and jab…

  “As you wish,” she said with a small, dismissive shrug. “Major.”

  Kristinich took up his pencil again. “The names of your contacts and accomplices.”

  “I’m hungry,” she said, fixing her eyes on the window beyond him. “Do you think you might send out for an early dinner? Major.”

  Kristinich tried to look into her eyes, but turned away when he realized that she was no longer seeing him. And then he realized that he was the one who was trapped. He had promised to deliver what Schwartz had told him was wanted: Olivia’s own confession and her implication of others. He’d asked for permission to hurt her, but Schwartz had refused him with a laugh and a pat on the shoulder and a Not yet, Comrade. Now Kristinich found himself in the worst position an interrogator could be in. He had threatened. Now he either followed through or he lost all power over the subject. He had to do something. But he did not know what to do. It was one-on-one in a very small space.

  Kristinich stood and began to pace again. Olivia, eyes steady on the window, said only, “You seem nervous, Major. Shall I call the guard and have some tea sent in for you?”

  “Shut up!”

  Counter-punch and jab…counter-punch and jab…

  Olivia…

  Yes, brother.

  Do you know who is behind that window?

  No.

  Russia is behind that window.

  Counter-punch and jab…counter-punch and jab…

  “Doctor Tolchin,” he said, returning to sit, no longer sneering at her name and title. “You do realize that, once it begins, the damage to your person will be severe and probably irreversible.”

  Olivia…

  Yes, brother.

  You’ve got him in the corner now. Next jab…hit hard…

  “For that I have only your word. You seem reluctant to start. Why, Major?”

  Kristinich began to perspire. “Because…”

  “You know, Major,” Olivia said, leaning back a bit. “There’s a certain type of man, he’s always telling women how good it’s going to be. But he never gets around to doing it.”

  Jab harder now…harder…

  “I could have someone sent in here who would…”

  Harder…

  “Sent in, Major? Why? Because you can’t do it yourself?”

  Kristinich reddened and began to visibly tremble. “I’m warning you, you Jew bitch…”

  He’s losing it…now harder…

  “Jewess, Major.”

  “Shut up!”

  He’s on the ropes, sister. He’s on the ropes. Now one more time…hit hard…

  “You know, Major,” Olivia said calmly. “Every time I watched you work in Chechnya, the prisoner was restrained. I am not restrained.”

  Watching Kristinich’s face contort, Olivia continued, “I also recall that once or twice you watched me sparring with Major, now Lieutenant Colonel Malinovsky. A stunning boxer, even if a Zhid. Also an excellent instructor. Care to go a few rounds with me, Major?”

  “How dare you…?”

  Now, sister…

  “Or are you afraid that I’ll hit back?”

  Kristinich, lost in fury, stood and tried to throw his chair back behind him while pushing the table toward Olivia with the other. He’d forgotten that both were bolted to the floor and staggered a bit as nothing moved. Olivia laughed, low and expressive of the purest contempt. Kristinich’s face turned murderous and he began to lean toward her.

  Now!

  Olivia stood to confront him, stood so rapidly and then grew so motionless that Kristinich moved backwards without intending to. Olivia laughed. The chair caught him for a moment. As he moved to the side, he continued falling backwards until he hit the window with a dull thud. Olivia laughed again. Then Kristinich stood erect and started moving toward her. Olivia moved back and prepared to fight.

  No, sister…keep your arms down…let him come on…remember the Window of Truth…

  Forcing her hands to remain at her sides, struggling to control the pure white rage burning up her spine, Olivia gave ground until she felt the corner covering her back and both her flanks. Kristinich came to her and slapped her once, then again. Olivia barely registered the blows even as she tasted blood. “Is that the hardest you can hit, Major?” Genuinely surprised.

  Kristinich struck her again.

  “A little better.” Her voice objective, cold.

  It should have given him pause that she did not defend herself. He should have remembered that the session was being taped. He should have thought that other people, people well above General Schwartz, might see the tape. He should have remembered his orders. Instead, he grasped her hair with one hand, his hand on her throat, and began to force his mouth on hers.

  He’s dead already…

  The door burst open, and in the split second it took Olivia to recognize the Borises, she knew that she had won.

  So permission has been given, Kristinich thought. He jerked his head away, gave the guards a twisted smile, began to step back so that the two men could deal with Olivia.

  His smile remained fixed in place even as the impossible happened. The Borises grabbed him, one arm each, spun him around, then smashed the side of his head against the wall to stun him. They cuffed him within seconds, then turned him around to face them. Boris Number One put his hand under Kristinich’s chin, jerked it up and rammed the back of his head into the wall. Blood began to flow from Kristinich’s mouth. He had bitten down hard on his tongue.

  “Enough.” General Schwartz entered, followed by Raduyev. Kristinich, dazed and reeling, tried to stand erect but failed. The Borises supported him by holding his arms. “You were told, Major,” Schwartz said in his flat voice, “no violence.”

  “I…”

  “You disobeyed the direct order of a general officer. That is never acceptable, Major. Never.”

  And then Kristinich understood. “You…you set this up as a trap! A trap for me!”

  “I do not tolerate insubordination.”

  Kristinich began to struggle against the Borises. “Restrain him,” Raduyev ordered in a tone that would have been appropriate, had he said only, Please squash that bug.

  Kristinich struggled pointlessly for a few seconds, blood dripping from his mouth onto his shirt. Then his head rose. “This is only for today. Do you know…do you know how many there are like me in this building?”

  “One fewer than a minute ago,” Olivia said in a taut voice.

  Mikhail Yegorevich Kristinich looked at her and began to rant. “I have knives and pincers and boiling water. I have electricity. I have fire. You know about fire. One day I’ll use fire on you after I’ve broken your arms and legs. I have fire…I have fire…I have fire…”

  Well done, sister.

  Thank you, brother.

  “Remove him,” Raduyev said to the Borises.

  “With pleasure!”

  “And bring the good doctor some vodka.”

  As they left, the Getmanovs entered. In the echoing horror of Kr
istinich’s words, Olivia wondered again if she was hallucinating. Then Madame Getmanova embraced her and Olivia allowed herself to lean on her for real support, shaking violently as she let the adrenaline dissipate into her blood, which became just blood again, not molten lava, grateful for the woman’s warm strength. Lyudmila held her and stroked her hair, supporting her until Olivia’s legs could bear her full weight. The Borises returned, one with a glass full of clear liquid. General Getmanov took it, gently separated the two women, and said, “Drink, Doctor Tolchinskaya.”

  She drank the vodka down quickly, wanting a barrier between herself and the memory. She started to speak.

  General Schwartz raised a cautioning hand. “Silence, please. We are all aware of your instinct to master your environment and this is not the proper moment.” Politely, Olivia inclined her head to him. “Thank you,” he went on. “I am Lieutenant General Georgii Genrikovich Schwartz, head of the counter-intelligence directorate of the FSB. Your interrogation is over. Your case has come to the attention of the highest levels of our government. There will be a meeting tonight to determine your disposition.” His eyes on hers were very hard and also very honest. “We will know in the morning.”

  Between the vodka and the shock, Olivia was detaching from the event but she understood what he was saying. This is still in play. Her death was still possible.

  “I will tell you this,” Schwartz went on. “I have been asked for my opinion. It is written and ready for delivery by secure courier. My opinion is that, for what you did in Vienna, you deserve a stern lecture and perhaps a goodly thump on the head, but nothing more. Except for one understandable lie at Tver, you are completely without guilt and to be honored and rewarded, not punished. My recommendation is that you be set free immediately and that this not prejudice your future with us, should you wish to remain among us. My recommendation will be accompanied by…” he turned to Raduyev, “Colonel, please take possession of the video of this last interrogation. Edit it so that Major Kristinich’s comment about a trap does not appear, but do leave Doctor Tolchinskaya’s final words and his own. Then make a good copy and bring it to Colonel Zhuralev for inclusion with my letter.”

  “Yes, Comrade General.”

  Schwartz turned back to Olivia. “It always helps when people see such things with their own eyes. It will no doubt improve their decision-making. As you may surmise, you have a friend here who will keep you company. Madame Getmanova tells me that there is a proverb in America. Tend to your knitting. That is what the two of you will do in one of our senior staff rooms. There will be a guard present but no other restraints. There will be decent food. Please eat it.”

  Lyudmila took Olivia’s arm. “Come along, my dear. I have some opinions about what I hope will be your wedding dress.”

  “One more thing,” Schwartz interrupted.

  “Comrade General?”

  “Would somebody please inform me—what is all this Boris and Natasha nonsense?”

  The Borises immediately pricked up their ears. Olivia looked to Getmanova, who looked to her husband.

  “Oh, Boris,” she said in happy adoration. “You’re so evil.”

  Getmanov beamed back. “Why, thank you, Natasha.”

  “What are earth are you two talking about?” Schwartz demanded.

  “It’s an American thing,” Getmanov said. “Perhaps Olivia will explain.”

  “Perhaps,” Olivia said. “Maybe later.”