“It should be fairly simple to check personnel movement from military records, especially from a specialized unit,” said Karelin, at once. He genuinely didn’t know anything about it but it was quite likely to be the case. And if it was, it took the enquiry outside his-of FSB-containment.
Perfect, decided Natalia. “We realized that. This morning, unfortunately not in time to advise you in advance of your coming here, the Defense Ministry provided us with the names of fifteen men discharged, transferred or reassigned from Bendall’s group during the first six months of the man’s service …” She pushed the Defense file across the desk towards the intelligence chief. “The four Control names you’ve supplied are not among these. We’d like you to have Registry run a check, against the fifteen.”
Karelin hesitated, then picked up the folder. “I cannot confirm the KGB had anything to do with arranging Bendall’s army service.”
Karelin felt himself tricked, despite her effort to prevent his thinking that. “We accept that, Chairman Karelin. It’s not what we’re asking you to confirm. We are asking you to compare the fifteen names through Registry, in an attempt to discover if any KGB personnel accompanied George Bendall into his military service. That should be very easily possible, shouldn’t it? Within hours, even?”
“I would expect so,” agreed the expressionless man.
“If one of them does appear in Registry, let’s hope he’s still alive,” said Natalia.
The meeting had been convened solely because of the FSB chairman’s approach to them and Filitov and Trishin appeared surprised that Natalia didn’t move at once to suspend it until the promisedwithin-hoursresult of their new request to the man. But Natalia decided that she had sufficient excuse-if not the true reason-to argue against George Bendall’s court arraignment.
There were other more self-protective points she felt necessary to establish, too. Virtually as the door closed behind Viktor Karelin, she said, “What’s your feeling about what we’ve just been told?”
Each man looked to the other to respond first.
“Pavl Ivanovich?” pressed Natalia.
“It’s positive confirmation of the conspiracy being within the FSB,” declared the lawyer.
“Yuri Fedorovich?”
“I was surprised at the chairman’s openness,” said the presidential chief of staff.
“He has, though, taken all the enquiries away from us-kept everything internal-which we were specifically appointed to prevent,” Natalia pointed out.
“He’s undertaken to make them available to us,” said Filitov.
“Something will be made available,” qualified Natalia. “We have no independent way or method of knowing whether we are being told the truth. Or how much of any enquiry is being given to us. We’ve been very effectively and very cleverly neutered.”
Trishin shifted, uncomfortably. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Think about it,” demanded Natalia.
The silence lasted several moments before Filitov said, “What do you suggest?”
Natalia tapped Karelin’s naming dossiers. “An independent, professional militia investigation into the two most recent and violent deaths. A presidential insistence upon there being an outside militia presence or monitor on the internal FSB enquiries. And an independent militia trace upon the fifteen names we received this morning from the Defense Ministry.”
“That’s directly challenging Chairman Karelin’s integrity,” protested Filitov.
“Not to do so is directly challenging ours, and by inference that of the acting president,” insisted Natalia, acknowledging the repetition of the same argument as before but at that moment anxious to move on to what she considered the other, more important argument.“The Defense Ministry names opens the door into the conspiracy.”
“Only if one of them is on the FSB Registry,” insisted Filitov.
“No,” refused Natalia. “We’ve got last known addresses as well as names. And every legal justification for having the militia fully investigate every one, as soon and as quickly as possible. Beginning today, in fact.”
There was a pause from both men.
Filitov said, “Yes, I suppose that, specifically, would be the right course for us to take.”
“I agree,” said Trishin.
“Which surely creates something else to be considered?” suggested Natalia.
“What?” demanded Filitov.
“The court arraignment of George Bendall.”
“What consideration is that of this commission?” demanded Filitov.
“Quite separately from anything with which Chairman Karelin might return, from the Registry check, we are providing the militia with a source which could lead us to others involved in the conspiracy, could greatly affect the charges and prosecution against George Bendall,” said Natalia. Directly addressing Filitov, she said, “Surely the prosecution doesn’t know enough for an arraignment, this early? Aren’t you risking a flawed case, not giving the investigation more time.”
“The arraignment isn’t the trial,” rejected Filitov. “That’s weeks away, time enough for all the conspirators to be identified and arrested and co-joined in a prosecution upon whatever additional charges need to be proffered.”
“World attention will be upon us, for the funeral of President Yudkin,” said Trishin. “Politically it is necessary for there to be a publicly witnessed court appearance …” He hesitated. “ … And there has been some overnight communication from the Americans that make that even more essential.”
She was wasting her time, Natalia acknowledged: she didn’t have either logic or law on her side, quite apart from political necessity which more often than not wasn’t affected or influenced by either.“The order is from the Kremlin, from Okulov’s office itself!” said Zenin. He was red-faced, pacing his crumbling office, needing movement to exorcise his fury.
“Why?” asked Olga. She pushed the indignation into her own voice but was secretly glad at the instruction to resume cooperation. What little progress had been made-far too little though it was-had been through association, particularly with the Englishman. There was more professionally-by which she meant career enhancing-to be gained than sacrificed by linking up again.
“No reason was given.” Zenin slumped in his seat. “It’s a personal rebuke, to me.”
Olga had momentarily forgotten the withdrawal had been Zenin’s decision. “No it’s not. If it had been considered a mistake it would have been overruled immediately; you were actually supported. Something’s happened, to change things.”
Zenin’s smile was as brief as it was reluctant. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
She was the person who had to crawl back, Olga abruptly realized, her own anger surfacing. “Am I expected just to walk into the incident room, as if it was all a big misunderstanding!”
“I’m sorry,” said Zenin, unhelpfully.
“So am I!” It wouldn’t be as difficult with the Englishman, despite the previous day’s argument at the hospital. Her personal difficulty would be openly descending into the American embassy basement with everyone’s eyes upon her.
“Today’s hospital meeting …” Zenin started to remind but stopped at the tentative entry of his personal assistant, a uniformed major.
The man extended the package he carried and said, “It’s been couriered from the Kremlin. For immediate and personal delivery.”
Olga saw the smile, no longer reluctant, settle on Zenin’s face as he read. It remained when he looked up. “We’ve got names of people from Bendall’s unit who could have been his KGB case officer. The commission wants us to trace every one. It’s your entry back. I’ll assign the investigators, you provide the list as part of the combinedinvestigation. And we’d already decided you should be at the British interview this afternoon.”
It wouldn’t make any easier her humiliating embassy reentry, thought Olga. She said, “The militia will be directly and identifiably investigating the FSB, what we agreed would be dangerous.”