19
Snug against the Polish border, Brest stood at the convergence of several key highways, including the Moscow-Warsaw international route. It was one of those luckless Russian cities that had been a frequent battleground throughout its long history. The most celebrated encounter took place in June of 1941, when Hitler's forces crossed the border here to begin their destructive march through the Soviet Union. The town's lightly defended fortress was bombed and shelled with all the relentless savagery the Luftwaffe and the German army could muster, but the soldiers withdrew underground into fortified chambers and held out for almost six weeks as the Nazi juggernaut rolled eastward.
While searching for the vacuum cleaner company where Vadim Trishin was employed, Yuri Shumakov drove down Moskovskaya Street to a point near the confluence of the Mukhavets and Bug rivers where the large Brest Fortress memorial complex was located. A tribute to the valor of the soldiers who had fought against the Nazis, its entrance was a star-shaped archway cut through a huge chunk of concrete. If he had the time, he decided, he would return later for a closer inspection. But at the moment he had more crucial matters on his mind. After stopping once for directions, he arrived at the Brest Vacuum Works around eleven o'clock.
He parked in the lot beside the warehouse-looking structure and went inside. Recalling his experience in the U.S., he could see the American influence in the neat, brightly colored reception area and the attractive receptionist who greeted him with a friendly smile.
"I'm Yuri Shumakov from Minsk," he said by way of introduction. "I'm looking for Vadim Trishin. I believe he works here."
"Oh, yes, Mr. Shumakov. He's in our Sales Department. You're lucky. Most of the time he's out making calls, but this is report day for our sales staff. If you will just have a seat over there, I will find him for you."
Yuri took one of the well-padded, bright yellow chairs and checked out the magazines on the low, glass-topped table. He had just begun to leaf through a National Geographic when Trishin appeared in the lobby with a quizzical look.
"This is a surprise. I didn't expect to see you again so soon."
"Nor did I," said Shumakov. "But I've come across some new information about the explosion that killed my brother."
Trishin frowned. "Really?"
"Yes. I've been to Kiev. I have a few questions for you."
Vadim Trishin twisted his mouth back and forth in an unhappy grimace. "I'll be frank with you, Shumakov, I've had to deal with more than enough tragedy the past year. Both of my parents died of cancer, the result of a visit just downwind of Chernobyl at the time of the reactor accident. I don't enjoy reliving that tragic morning in the Ukraine."
"I'm sorry to hear about your parents, but this is really important to me."
Trishin glanced at his watch. "I shouldn't complain. It was me who steered you onto this business. I'm in a sales meeting that I need to get back to right away. If we need to talk, maybe you could meet me for lunch."
"I'd appreciate it."
Trishin wrote an address on a card and handed it to him. "I have to go by my apartment. Why don't we just meet there. "Say around one?"
Yuri thought of making that visit to the Brest Fortress but decided there would be hardly enough time. He headed instead for the downtown area. After a short drive, he came to a park with lush green lawns and neat beds of red, yellow and white roses. He found a quiet, shady spot with a bench and opened his briefcase. He took out the material gathered in Kiev, including copies of key portions of the Defense Ministry file. He studied the transcript of Trishin's interrogation and the pathologist's report on Anatoli Shumakov.
As he was leaving the park, he noticed a late model black Chaika parked about a hundred meters behind his weary Zhiguli. Two men sat in the front seat. He got the impression that they launched an animated conversation the moment he looked toward them. Was it just his imagination, or had there been a similar car parked near the Brest Vacuum Works when he came out?
He climbed behind the wheel and shook his head. Was he really getting as paranoid as Larisa had suggested? Why would anyone want to follow him? He dismissed the thought as absurd. Consulting his Brest map, he found a thoroughfare that would take him to the address on the card.
Trishin lived in a drab-looking, four-story building next to a food processing plant. The structures looked so much alike the apartment might have been called a people processing plant. A dark, musty stairwell led up to the second floor. Just as he located Trishin's flat, he encountered an emaciated neighbor, a tottering old man with vodka on his breath and remnants of his last meal on the front of his faded blue shirt.
"You a friend of young Vadim?" he rasped.
Yuri shrugged. "An acquaintance."
"He don't come home usually in the middle of the day."
"That's all right. I'll wait out front."
Trishin arrived shortly and suggested they walk to a nearby restaurant. More out of curiosity than anything, Yuri looked around to see if he could spot a black Chaika nearby. He couldn't. But as they were walking to the restaurant, two men appeared back down the street walking in the same direction on the opposite side.
The restaurant offered a luncheon special of beef heart, mashed potatoes, slaw and a bowl of borscht, solid fare which both Shumakov and Trishin ordered, although Yuri was really more interested in talking than eating. He promptly launched into a description of his visit to the Ukrainian Defense Ministry, barely aware of the two men who had entered the restaurant and taken a table across the room.
"Frankly, I found part of your statement somewhat troubling," Yuri confided.
"Which part?"
"About the KGB team that left just before the explosion."
Trishin frowned uneasily. "You really intend to push this, don't you?"
"I intend to find out if there was any foul play involved in Anatoli's death."
"You're not concerned about fallout from the theft investigation I mentioned?"
"Frankly, I haven't given it a lot of thought. He was exonerated. What can you tell me about this KGB group?"
Trishin shrugged. "They must have been doing an inspection of some kind. But it couldn't have been much of one."
"Why do you say that?'
"They didn't stay long enough."
"What did they do when they arrived?"
"This general in the limousine wanted to know where to find Captain Shumakov. Then they drove up to the ammunition storage building."
"Did you see what they did then?"
Trishin rolled his eyes slowly, remembering. "Seems they got out and went into the building. There were two officers and a driver in the limousine, and three others, I believe, in the truck. I didn't notice anything else in particular until they drove back down to leave."
"All of them went into the building?"
"Yes… no, I think one stayed out front talking to the guard there."
Recalling the interrogation report, Yuri knew that was a point Trishin had not mentioned earlier. Probably because the question had not been raised. Why had one of the KGB men remained outside? To occupy the guard, keep him from being aware of what was taking place inside? He had no way of knowing.
"Do you remember anything else about it? How long were they there?"
"Fifteen minutes at the most."
Only fifteen minutes? Trishin was right, Yuri thought. That was hardly long enough for an inspection of any consequence. But if they were not inspectors, who were they and what were they doing at the weapons compound?