The excellence, abundance, and variety of food in the enlisted men’s mess did not bespeak exploitation of a lower class or reflect a national scarcity of food The provision of such food — and nowhere except aboard the 747 had he tasted better — was consistent with the Air Force officer’s remark at the Air Force base about the importance of caring for people.
The admiral in his cabin opened a refrigerator and apologized that he could offer only a soft drink or fruit juice. Surely an admiral can have a drink in his own quarters if he wants? “No, I’m afraid we all have to abide by the rules.” The reply was consistent with what Father Peter had told him about the law.
Everything I’ve seen is consistent. Every time I have been able to check what the Party said it has turned out to be a lie. Every time I have been able to check what Father Peter and Anna and Gregg say it has turned out to be true. Something is very right in this country. I don’t understand what it is, how it works. But I think the Americans are much farther along toward building True Communism than the Soviet Union ever will be.
A couple of days after they flew back from the carrier, Peter recounted to Belenko all the Soviet Union had been saying about him and all it was doing to recapture him. “They realize that we will not give you up and that their only chance is to persuade you to return voluntarily. So, almost daily, they demand from us another opportunity to talk to you. They’re being rather clever, if brutal, about it. They know they can’t do anything to us directly. Therefore, they are trying to pressure us indirectly through the Japanese. They’re seizing Japanese fishing boats, threatening and harassing the Japanese in every way they can. And I’m afraid they won’t stop until we let them see you once more.”
“What do they say?”
“Oh, it’s all bullshit. They say they’re not sure the man they saw in Tokyo was you and that, in any case, they did not have long enough to determine whether you were acting voluntarily or under duress.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Only you can decide. You do not have to meet them. But the Japanese have been valiant and steadfast throughout, and it would be a big service to them if you would.”
“All right Let’s get it over. But I tell you, and you can tell them, this is the last time.”
Peter and several other CIA officers, including a couple of unfamiliar, tough-looking characters who comported with his original concept of CIA men, led Belenko to the anteroom of a conference hall at the State Department. “We will be waiting right here and will come immediately if there is trouble. We have made sure that they are in no way armed. You will be safe. Just be yourself.”
Waiting in the conference chamber were MinisterCounselor Vorontsov, the chief Soviet representative at the Belgrade conference on human rights, a Soviet physician, and a KGB officer, who posed as a diplomat at the Soviet Embassy in Washington.
As soon as Belenko entered, Vorontsov warmly clasped his hand. “It always is good to meet a man from our Mother Country.” Immediately trying to establish psychological control, he said, as if he, rather than the State Department, were in charge of the meeting, “Please sit down, and let’s talk freely and openly. Now, we know that something happened to your aircraft and that you did not land in Japan voluntarily.
“We know that in Japan you tried to protect your aircraft by firing your pistol,” Vorontsov continued. “We know that the Japanese employed force against you and clamped a bag on your head. We know that the Japanese put you in prison and drugged you with narcotics. We know that your actions and movements have not been voluntary.
“Your wife and son, all your relatives are grieving, crying, longing for you. Here, they have sent letters and photographs for you.” Vorontsov laid them on the table before Belenko, who ignored them. Vorontsov pushed them closer. Belenko looked away from them and glowered directly into Vorontsov’s eyes, provoking, he thought, a flicker of anger. But Vorontsov, a forceful man, retained his composure and went on, calmly, seductively.
“We want you to know that despite all that has happened and even if you did make some mistake, you will be forgiven completely if you return to your Mother Country, to your family, your native land, the only land where you ever can be happy. You need not be afraid. I reiterate and promise on the highest possible authority that you will be forgiven.
“Let me give you an example. A Soviet major defected to the United States and, after meeting with us, chose to return to our Mother Country. Later he went to the American Embassy in Moscow and assured the Americans that he was free and not being punished.”
At this an American, a cool young State Department official whom Belenko had not previously noticed, burst into laughter. “That is not true, Mr. Vorontsov.”
“That’s the trouble with you Americans,” Vorontsov shouted. “You never believe us.”
“Not when you lie like that”
Returning to Belenko, Vorontsov said, “My comrade, if you wish, you may leave this room with us right now, and tomorrow you will be in Moscow reunited with your family in your Mother Country. And you can continue your career as a pilot.” Here Vorontsov beamed. “In fact, I am authorized to assure you that you can become a test pilot”
Belenko stood up. “Let me speak clearly and finally. All I did, before and after I landed in Japan, I did voluntarily. The Japanese were kind to me and helped me very much, although it was very difficult for them to do that. They gave me no drags of any sort. They did not put a bag on my head. They used no force against me. They protected me. Everything I have done, I have done of my own free will. In the United States nobody is keeping me by force or against my will. It is my own wish to be in the United States. I will not return.”
Belenko turned to the presiding State Department official. “Although I understand there is a rule that only one Soviet representative may speak to me, I would like to waive that rale and invite the doctor here to ask me any questions he wants because I am absolutely healthy.”
That was obvious to the doctor, who seemed somewhat embarrassed, but he had to go through the motions.
“Do you have a headache?”
“No.”
“Have you been taking any medicine?”
“No.”
“How do you feel?”
“Great.”
The doctor looked for guidance from Vorontsov, who now began speaking heatedly. “Our foreign minister is discussing you with Secretary Kissinger and at the highest levels of the American government because we know they are using force and keeping you against your will.”
“No, they are not using force or keeping me against my will. I will not return to the Soviet Union.”
“What did happen, then? Why did you do this?”
“You can investigate and find out for yourself why.”
Vorontsov resumed his unctuous manner. “You will decide to return. When you decide, just call the Soviet Embassy, and you will be welcome back.” The KGB officer laid his card on the table.
“I have made my decision. I will not return. I will stay in the United States. There is nothing more to discuss.”
The State Department official rose. “All right, gentlemen. It seems to me that our meeting is concluded.”
As Belenko walked out, Vorontsov called to him, and there was in his tone a confidence, a sureness that slightly disquieted Belenko. “We know that you will return. We will get you back. You will come someday.”
The CIA officers waiting outside each solemnly shook hands with Belenko. “I know that was very hard for you,” Peter said. “You are a good and brave man, Viktor.”
They drove across Memorial Bridge and into Arlington National Cemetery, then slowly wended their way along narrow lanes among the graves. “What are we doing in the graveyard?” asked Belenko.