‘Blagodariu,’ muttered the loon.
‘Nyezachto.’ I put the cigarette into his mouth and he smoked it automatically. ‘These lucid periods. Can they be predicted?’
‘Unfortunately not. It’s possible I might be able to bring him out of it temporarily with therapeutic chemical shock – perhaps methylamphetamine, or thiopental if I could get some. But there’s no telling what permanent effect that might have on what’s left of his mind.’
‘Let’s not tell that to the ministry,’ I said. ‘I doubt they’d be much interested in an NKVD lieutenant’s future welfare.’
‘No, indeed.’
‘I suppose we could film him being questioned, when he is being lucid,’ I said, thoughtfully. ‘But it’s hardly ideal for what’s required here.’ I shook my head. ‘And besides, the people I work for – they’re judges. Generally speaking they like a witness to look like he knows what day it is. I doubt this fellow knows his arse from his earhole.’
Batov did not look perturbed by my scepticism.
‘I’m not saying that we can’t use this fellow,’ I added. ‘It’s just that it might be said by our critics that being feeble-minded he just repeats what we want him to say. Like a puppet.’
‘I said I had proof,’ said Batov. ‘I didn’t say he was it. Rudakov’s only the cherry on the cake. The real proof is something else.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘Ya-veh paryatkeh, spasiba.’
‘When Rudakov turned up here he had some bags,’ said Batov. ‘In the bags were some ledgers and an FED – a camera – and in the camera was a roll of exposed film. The ledgers contained a list of names: yes, it was about four thousand names.’ He let that revelation hang in the air for a moment.
‘I see.’
‘After Rudakov had been here for a while I had the film developed. The NKVD – they took pictures. Like they were on some sort of hunting trip or safari. Trophy pictures of them actually shooting Poles. Like they were actually proud of what they’d done. Men with their wrists bound together with wire and kneeling on the edge of a trench while Rudakov and his friends shot them in the back of the head.’ Batov looked apologetic. ‘It’s hard to believe that anyone would want to commemorate such acts, but they did.’
‘The SS does this sort of thing, too,’ I said. ‘It’s hardly peculiar to the NKVD.’
‘I still have the ledgers and I still have the enlargements I made. Together they are all the evidence anyone could need of exactly what happened in Katyn Wood. Even for the exactingly high standards of your German judges.’
‘Sounds like the blue-hats had themselves quite a holiday. Could I see these pictures? And the ledgers?’
Batov looked evasive. ‘I can only show you one picture just now,’ he said. ‘I keep it here, with Arkady, and from time to time I show it to him in order to try to stimulate what’s left of his memory about who he was.’
Dr Batov lifted the picture of Stalin and unpeeled a 210x297 mm black and white photograph.
‘I keep this hidden for obvious reasons,’ he added, handing me the picture.
In the photograph were three NKVD officers who appeared to be relaxing for the camera. They were wearing their traditional gymnasterka tunics with crossbelts and riding breeches with high boots; one man was seated in a wicker basket chair, with another on the arm; Rudakov was standing beside them; each man was holding a Nagant revolver in his right hand and making the same curious hand sign – I suppose you’d call it the cuckold’s horns – with his left. Behind them was a building that I recognized immediately as Dnieper Castle, where the 537th signals was now based.
‘The man in the centre is Blokhin,’ said Batov. ‘The major I was telling you about – the one who was dead drunk. The man sitting on the arm of the chair is the blue-hat NCO who drove them both here.’
‘The hand sign,’ I remarked. ‘What does it mean?’
‘I think it’s a freemason sign,’ said Batov. ‘I’m not sure. I’ve heard that a lot of NKVD are freemasons – lots of people are in Russia, even today. But I’m not sure.’
‘And this was on the same roll of film as what? I mean what’s in these other pictures?’
‘Polish officers being shot by Blokhin and Rudakov. Piles of bodies. These three drinking. More buddy shots. The rest of the material – the pictures and the ledgers – are somewhere safe. When my daughter and I have travel documents to get us to Berlin I will give you everything. You have my word on it. You understand it’s Germans I don’t trust, Captain Gunther, not you.’
‘Kind of you to say so.’
‘I expect you will have to speak to your superiors about all of this,’ said Batov. He sat down on the bed and wiped his forehead with a loud sigh. ‘I’m really drunk.’
‘I doubt that.’ I grinned at him. ‘You were right what you said back in the marketplace when I was just a kraut buying brewski. For a clever man I’m also a stupid one. I rather imagine you planned this touching little scene, Doctor Batov. I might not have had my balls cut off by partisans, nonetheless you did a swell job of bringing me here to your parlour so you could put a tattoo on my chest like a drunken Cossack in one of your oversized novels. I don’t blame you. Really I don’t. Blame is for people with clearer consciences than mine. But don’t overplay your part, doctor. The audience doesn’t like it. That’s lesson one in the Stanislavski book of acting like someone who’s on the level.’
Batov grinned back at me. ‘You’re right, of course. I might not have been selling vodka or brewski but I’ve got something to sell just like anyone else who goes to the market. When you showed up here at the hospital the first time with that Polish intelligence report it was obvious to me where you must have got it from. I wanted to tell you about the lieutenant then, but I didn’t quite have the guts. Then you left and I figured my chance was gone. That is, until I spotted you in the market this afternoon. When I saw you it seemed too good to be true that you should be back here in Smolensk.’
‘I get a lot of that.’
‘So. Do we have a deal?’
‘I think so. Only it might take a little while. You’ll have to be patient.’
‘I’m Russian. Patience is something we’re born with.’
‘Sure, sure. That’s out of the same book as not putting any empties on the table. You don’t believe that shit any more than I do. But here’s something that you can believe. And this comes straight from the shoulder-holster. When you made that crack about not trusting Germans you implied you know what you’re doing, but I still wonder if you do. You tell me you’ve got evidence of what happened in Katyn Wood and I tell you I’m prepared to buy your story. But I’m not the one who owns the store. You’ll be making a deal with the devil here, not me. You appreciate that, don’t you? Once you’re out in the open with this I can’t protect you. Unlike me, you see, the Nazis are not the kind of people who can handle much disappointment. If they think for a minute you’re holding out on them in any way, they’re liable to reach for their pistols. The Gestapo is just as likely to put a bullet in your head as your own secret police. At that point I’ll be looking out for myself, see? Generally speaking it’s what I do best. I won’t have time or even the inclination to do any special pleading for you and your daughter’s ballet lessons.’
‘I know what I’m doing,’ he insisted. ‘I’ve thought about the risks. Really, I have. And I don’t think I have anything to lose.’
‘When people say that kind of thing, mostly I don’t believe them, or I think they haven’t thought things through. But I imagine you really do know what you’re doing. You’re right, I don’t think you have anything to lose. Just your life. And what’s that worth in the current market? In my case it’s not much and in yours it’s nothing at all. And in between there’s probably just a lot of misplaced optimism. Mine, mostly.’