He pauses to put the glass to his lips again. After drinking, he holds it out to me. “Try it.”
“No thank you.”
“What if your friends were to be shot by my men, if you refused? I could order that, quite easily. Now drink the vodka, Agnes. Finish the glass. I want to see you lick your lips.”
I take little sips, listening as his voice goes on. “Long ago, my ancestors were the world’s most feared warriors. Modern Turks can harness the genes of our ancient ethnic origins.”
I say nothing; I just hope this meeting will soon be over. Under his watchful eyes, sip by sip, I finish the vodka. I taste the burning sensation in my throat. But strangely, my mind is miles away. I’m remembering the slogans of the Bolsheviks, their talk about creating a better world for the workers. Those ideas led to the hideous slaughter I heard in the cellar at Yekaterinburg. But this man’s notions about race and power seem even more repulsive.
Suddenly, Kılıç looks bored with his own monologue. He ask me a question, sharply.
“You saw that man, who was in the other cell, and who is now sitting in the lobby?”
“Yes.”
“What is his full name?”
“General Evgeny Aristarkhov. He’s a commander in the Bolshevik Army.”
“Was he involved in the Bolsheviks’ capture of the Tsar’s Winter Palace in St Petersburg? Did you see him there?”
“Yes, I did. He was commanding a group of the Red Guards.”
Kılıç nods, and I sense satisfaction in his face. Despite the simplicity of his questions, I have a feeling they are leading me into a trap.
“Before that, did you see General Aristarkhov at a place called Tri Tsarevny?”
“I did. He ordered me and Professor Axelson to leave.”
He nods again, and sit back in the leather chair. He lights another cigarette, blowing through pursed lips, idly watching the swirls of smoke rising. I glance at the map, its edges curled and torn, and the other papers scattered across the desk.
“I have only one more thing to ask you, Agnes. Did the general have an assistant called Vasily Bukin?”
“Yes, he did.”
“And this Mr Bukin – what were his responsibilities?”
“He told me he took care of the personal security of the Tsar’s family.”
I can’t help thinking back, again, to what happened to that family – and, indeed, the sad story of Mr Bukin himself. But Kılıç himself stands, and calls out.
“Take this woman back to the cell.”
The soldier reappears; again I notice his ragged, stained uniform. I go back into the lobby with him. I don’t bother to glance at Aristarkhov, because now I know why he is waiting there. Instead, I say to the soldier “I need the bathroom.”
“I’m taking you to the cells.”
“I need the bathroom. Only for one minute. Please. I can give you this.”
I hold up a ten ruble note. The man looks at it, and immediately says “Twenty.” I pull out another ten, and press both notes into his hand. He opens a door I’d noticed before, next to Kılıç’s office, and hisses “Be quick!”
Inside the bathroom, I press my ear to the wall, and push my finger into my other ear. I can hear the blood pumping in my head. Then, I hear Kılıç’s door opening and closing.
“Welcome back. I’ve now checked some key facts about you. Among the prisoners, I chose to question the woman. She has confirmed that you are indeed General Aristarkhov, as you claim.”
“I saw her, going into your office.”
“I chose to interrogate the woman, because I have a lot of experience of women. I know they lack the intelligence to construct effective lies. If what that woman said about you had been untrue, I would have easily spotted her attempt to deceive me.”
“And – what did she say?”
“What she said, General, matches your own account perfectly.”
“Good. So, Kılıç Pasha, do you accept that I have the seniority within the Bolshevik government to agree terms with you, for a binding treaty for Baku?”
“Yes. You and I can do business. I will also personally ensure your safe passage back to Russia, after you have signed the treaty. And of course, General, you will not be returned to the cells now. We will arrange the best temporary accommodation we can in Baku for you.”
“Thank you. That is all very satisfactory. I need only one more thing. The prisoner Captain Yuri Sirko must accompany me to Russia. He must stand trial, for the murder of a Swedish person of importance.”
“Why is that necessary?”
“You will understand, Kılıç Pasha, that our Bolshevik regime has many opponents, especially the United States and Great Britain. They are providing supplies – armaments, ammunition and food – for the counter-revolutionary White Army.
Sweden could easily allow the Allied Powers to supply the White Army via Swedish territory. That would be disastrous for Bolshevik Russia. Fortunately for us, the Swedes have declared strict neutrality – for the moment.”
There’s a pause. Through the wall, I can picture Aristarkhov explaining, Kılıç listening and nodding. I hear the general’s voice again.
“Therefore, we needs to ensure that we are on excellent terms with the Swedish government. We cannot afford to annoy them in any way.”
“I don’t follow you, General.”
“We need to show the Swedes that the Russian government properly investigated the murder of their citizen. Sirko will hang—”
Kılıç laughs. “We Ottomans can carry out the hanging, General! After all, we are going to dispose of all those persons in that cell.”
Aristarkhov interrupts. “No. Do what you like with the others. But Sirko must accompany me to Russia, as a prisoner. If I don’t have him, you don’t get my signature on that treaty.”
“I still don’t understand the importance—”
“If we take Sirko to Moscow, we can then obtain a confession from him – or write one in his name, if he is unco-operative. But either way, the Swedes will see that we treated the murder of their countrywoman very seriously, and that we put a Russian citizen on trial for the crime. Sirko’s execution will help us keep good relations with Sweden.”
“Very well, General. You want to run a show trial of the Cossack; I understand that. But it does amuse me – how you Bolsheviks are so keen to appease other countries. The true secret of strength in a nation is within, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I have no opinion on that, Kılıç Pasha. I’m a soldier, not a philosopher.”
“Just as a man’s power is within him, so is a nation’s, General. That stupid Cossack in the cells knows nothing, nothing at all! Yet the fool joked about my relationship with Talaat Pasha.”
“So you are close to Talaat, then?”
“Talaat and I are of one mind: we have worked hand-in-hand to cleanse Turkey of inferior races. Our Special Organisation took all Armenian men from their homes, under the pretext that they were needed to help with the war effort. But instead, we took them to remote places and shot them in secret. Then we destroyed the women and children through forced marches and transportation into the desert. We knew that hunger and disease would dispose of them all. Typhus, especially, was our friend and helper: it did most of our work for us. We have eliminated over one million Armenians, and many Assyrians and Greeks – leeches who were sucking the lifeblood from our Empire.”
There’s a pause, but Aristarkhov is silent. I hear Kılıç’s voice again, as if he’s giving a speech.
“Now we are beginning the second phase of cleansing. Today we are liquidating the Armenians of Baku. We will soon do the same to the remaining Armenian villages in the rest of our Empire.”
Aristarkhov can’t resist a reply. “I heard that your Empire was close to collapse, Kılıç Pasha. I also heard that a few Armenian partisans armed only with rifles defeated the Ottoman Army three times, and that they’ve carved out their own homeland and delared independence.”