3. Pre-interview interrogation is being conducted for this agency under purchase order provisions (appropriate authorization cited below) by FACE agent Peter Brook who implemented original defection of Krylov. Narrative summary Mr. Brook’s activities in connection with this project follows in Para. 4, below, and copies of his report are attached. (See Tab B.) It was felt desirable by the Director, FACE, that Mr. Brook conduct the predebriefing because of the rapport it was claimed he has established with subject defectee; however, this agency, while submitting to the directive nominating Mr. Brook for this activity, continues not to concur in this approach for reasons cited in previous communication this matter...
The room, with its musty pine-smoke smell of old ranch houses, was at peace and beyond the open window the red willows and tamaracks stood guard in the morning light.
General Levashev sat behind the mahogany desk in one corner of the room. The curved pipe, its tobacco charred but gone out, lay before him. Near the pipe his right hand rested, to steady itself. It gripped a pistol which was aimed at the center panel of the door, about waist high to a tall man.
At the knock the General called, “Enter.”
The Filipino houseman came in. Behind the houseman loomed a broad-shouldered man with a boyish face and a smile that revealed a gap between two upper front teeth. Behind the broad-shouldered man sauntered a man who looked as if he was recovering from a fall from the Matterhorn.
“Dobroye utro, Aleksei Vassilievich,” Levashev said.
“Good morning to you, General,” Krylov replied in English. He was looking at the pistol, still smiling. “I see you take no chances, not even here.”
“Especially not here,” Levashev said with an answering smile. “Come in, gentlemen, come in. Pazha1’sta. Be seated.”
The Filipino waited for Levashev’s nod. Then the man left, shutting the door without sound. Brook deposited a tape recorder on the table, opened the case, and plugged the machine into a wall socket. Krylov lumbered to a chair, ignoring the weapon in Levashev’s fist. Only when Krylov had lowered himself into the chair did the General drop his pistol into a drawer. He reached for his pipe and relighted it.
“Well, it has been a long time since our last meeting, Aleksei Vassilievich,” Levashev said. He looked to Brook like some wrinkled leprechaun over a cookstove.
“Yes, General.” Krylov seemed uncomfortable in his new American suit. The flowered silk tie he had selected struck a wrong note against the conservative jacket.
Brook said: “Don’t let this machine bother you, gentlemen. Just talk naturally. I’ll throw in a question only if it seems important. All this is preliminary, anyway. We can get down to specifics later.”
Levashev looked annoyed. He said to Krylov: “You have been well?”
“Quite well, General. And your health?”
“Good enough for an old man.”
“I hope to reach your age with the same grace.”
Levashev showed his tired smile. “Life is fragile, Aleksei Vassilievich. Especially for people like you and me. We went through some exciting days.” He glanced at his pipe and produced a penknife, gouged the dottle, and emptied it into an ashtray. “I hear you have experienced some excitement yourself in the past few weeks, Aleksei.”
“There were difficulties,” Krylov said with a shrug. “Mr. Brook managed to overcome them. A good man, Mr. Brook. He would have made a valuable agent for us in the old days.”
Levashev turned his potato nose toward Brook, at the tape recorder. “You hear, Mr. Brook? That is a Krylov compliment. Believe me, they are rare.”
Brook said: “Alex and I got along from the start. But please ignore me, gentlemen.”
Krylov laughed. “But of course I will never know if you were making yourself agreeable, Peter, merely in the line of duty. You see? That is our trouble. We will always suspect motives. Someone comes along and says, ‘Good morning,’ and we say, ‘What is he trying to conceal from me?’”
“It is an occupational disease.” Levashev reached for his tobacco jar and a different pipe.
“The trouble we had, General,” said Krylov, crossing his legs and leaning back, “came from a not unexpected source. I am reasonably sure that at the embassy, and in Moscow, they did not know that I was going to come over, although what they — or that robot Volodya — suspected or may have suspected is another story. But it was our friends the Chinese who guessed it for a certainty.”
Levashev’s heavy brows rose. “So? They improve, our Maoist comrades.”
“Perhaps you recall, General, that after I returned from China — how long ago that seems! — I submitted a report that warned of the Chinese potential, citing what I believed to be excellent reasons. If China was a sleeping giant, as Napoleon stated, she is opening her eyes with a vengeance. I can attest to that.”
“I remember your report.” Levashev lighted his pipe. “It was the subject of two conferences at the time. We felt that your projections were too intuitive, and you know how little stock we place in anything immaterial. No precision, it was said; too little fact. I confess that I was one of those who took that view.”
Krylov waved. “It does not matter now, General.”
“It does not matter at all, I agree,” Levashev said. “For I have discovered that in America, Aleksei — the land of the free, as our new friends like to call it — the bureaucrats are almost as pigheaded as those in the Soviet Union.”
Both men laughed, glancing at Brook. He laughed back.
“Tell me about our Chinese ex-comrades, Aleksei,” said Levashev, “and how you escaped from them.”
“They attacked us from a helicopter at sea. Peter brought them down with a signal flare. It was well that he did, for they meant to kill us. Before that, they had got their hands on Peter and made things uncomfortable for him. There is one thing more that they did — if indeed they were the ones who did it. There was a woman in Tokyo, Lazar Andreivich — if I may address you familiarly?—”
“I am hardly in a position to demand protocol,” Levashev said, smiling. “Of course. Now what is this about a woman—?”
“I fell in love with her. I shall be frank, General. It was because of Kimiko that I decided to defect.” Krylov’s eyes wavered, and he swore in Russian. “I do not like that word!”
General Levashev shrugged. “A word is a word, if a man is a realist. You will have to learn to live with it, as I have. But I am interested in the Japanese girl. Tell me about her, Aleksei.”
“Beautiful. Like porcelain. But a woman to her skin. I cannot describe her. I had thought myself beyond such bourgeois antics. It was like being offered a second chance at life, Lazar Andreivich. She made me feel like a boy. There were other reasons, of course; much like yours, I suppose. But it was Kimiko who brought them to a focus.” Krylov’s tone hardened. “Before I left, she was murdered.”
“The Chinese?”
“I am not sure.”
“But why should they kill her?”
Krylov’s forehead became a terrain of ridges and valleys. “They may have reasoned that I was defecting because of her, and that by killing her they would remove my motive for going over. Who knows how the Chinese think?” Krylov suddenly got out of the armchair. He went to the window and stared out at the clean desert landscape. “If they were responsible...” He struck his left palm with his right fist. “I will take the greatest pleasure in giving any information that would hurt them.”