But a deeper instinct told me that this wasn’t the real root of my anxiety. This instinct was a feeling that Patrushev’s interest in Finn and me wasn’t over just yet and that I didn’t know where it was leading.
He was now full of courtesy, which only put me further on my guard, opening doors and offering his arm to me. When we came to the restaurant in the Forest’s recreation block, the staff and the other people still working in the building were wide-eyed that Patrushev, the FSB chief and Putin’s close friend, should be here at all, let alone at this hour. I felt my status rising as we walked down the corridors and took the lift down.
Patrushev ordered a bottle of wine and from somewhere that certainly wasn’t the staff restaurant, sushi was produced for us.
It was as I took a mouthful from the tray in front of me that he asked a seemingly casual question.
‘Do you sometimes wonder about that conversation on New Year’s Eve, Anna? When Finn talked about Schmidtke? You remember?’
I nodded.
‘It’s strange that he never talked about it again, never, ever alluded to it, don’t you think?’
My pulse quickened as I thought of that night, of the look in Finn’s eyes when he stared at me as he told the story of Schmidtke; of how there was a deeper meaning in the story that was somehow meant for me personally, unseen, of course, by any of the microphones that recorded every word.
‘I believe he said it in relation to the President,’ I said. ‘It seemed to be some sort of back bearing that Finn was taking from the moment he first heard that Vladimir Vladimirovich had been appointed Acting President. The back bearing was East Germany, the end of the eighties, the President’s former years of service over there.’
‘Yes, of course. In a sense it was part of his obsession with the President,’ Patrushev said. ‘But I think the connection he was making was more than just a back bearing to those days and to the President alone. He seemed to be making some kind of link, not just of the personalities, but of the nature of their work, of a policy perhaps that connected Schmidtke to the President. On what basis is he trying to link Schmidtke to the President? Why does he think there is such a link?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ I said. ‘He said nothing more.’
‘And then you both left the house, didn’t you?’ Patrushev pressed me now. ‘You talked intensely by the pond in the forest. At least, he did and you listened. You’re sure you remembered everything he was saying in that twenty minutes or so in your reports?’
‘I think so. It was late. So much had happened that night already. Finn spoke in a wild way—I remember thinking he seemed almost possessed.’
‘Possessed?’
‘Yes. I remember wondering at the time what the General and the others would think of his words; that Finn was mad, perhaps.’
‘But we agree that Finn isn’t mad, that he doesn’t ramble unnecessarily. Yes?’
‘Yes. Yes, I suppose so, but everyone has their moments when they don’t make much sense.’
‘Do they?’ Patrushev said coldly. ‘Tell me again what was possessing him.’
‘He was talking about history and the remaking of it, over and over again. He seemed obsessed by the recurrence of the same themes. This link between Schmidtke and the President seemed to be one of those themes.’
‘So he believed that what Schmidtke was doing in Germany back then involved the President too?’ Patrushev said. ‘Finn is trying to change the good opinion the President enjoys in the West. He’s looking for evidence. And then…Beware of Vladimir Putin…is that it?’
‘I don’t know. He wasn’t specific.’
‘Oh, I think so,’ Patrushev replied quickly. ‘Finn sees a connection somewhere between those times and the present. He believes he can make trouble from the President’s past.’
I thought of Finn then, in the forest at Barvikha, of how he had seemed infused by some external power. And I thought of my question to him, that he hadn’t answered. What plan was he talking about?
He had mentioned the Plan again at our last meeting at the Baltschug, just once before he clammed up as he had done before in the forest. But perhaps from some instinct, I hadn’t included it in my last report after our Baltschug meeting, and now Patrushev was really close to this omission.
Suddenly I felt very alert. The tiredness that had been washing over me for some time, and which Patrushev seemed to be enjoying, evaporated. I wondered why he was asking me this, after the other three had been dismissed. It seemed somehow to have a crucial importance because of that. Even the General and his case officers weren’t to hear this line of questioning. I felt we were approaching the centre of power.
‘I thought he was slightly crazy that night,’ I said. ‘As I said, I remember thinking then, what will my superiors think of Finn’s great theme of history and so on? Will they think it fiction, bathos or madness?’
‘I don’t think it is any of those,’ Patrushev said. ‘Do you, Anna?’
‘Finn believes in a theme,’ I replied. ‘That theme, which runs from the days of the Soviet Union right up to today, is that the KGB never wholly lost control and has now regained it in a way that is perhaps more dangerous to the West than ever before. He believes that perestroika was managed by the KGB.’
‘Yes,’ Patrushev said, ignoring the old initials of our great organisation. But I didn’t know whether he was agreeing with what Finn believed or with the fact itself.
‘Schmidtke, the President, Russia’s reviving fortunes, our new stronger security service…what did he call this theme that night?’
‘He talked about a plan…’
‘A plan, yes. Have the General or your case officers ever picked up that comment of his from your reports? About a plan?’
‘No. No, they haven’t,’ I said.
‘So what is this plan?’ Patrushev asked.
‘Finn asked me if I knew what it was,’ I said. ‘But I didn’t know what he was talking about.’
I had the uncomfortable feeling that Finn’s monologue existed somewhere in our archives, recorded, though I knew that this couldn’t be possible. Nevertheless, the fear drove me to be truthful.
Patrushev leaned in so that I felt the smell of alcohol on his breath.
‘He said a plan. Is that exactly what he said?’
I recalled exactly what Finn had said that night.
‘I think he said the Plan, actually, but I may be wrong.’
‘He said the Plan,’ Patrushev replied, more as a statement. ‘He used the English pronoun, yes?’
‘Yes, I think he did,’ I said.
I began to realise that this simple change of pronoun explained the presence of Patrushev that day at the Forest. It was what he had come for, in fact. It told him that Finn knew something, or suspected something, however little, that was known only to a very small group of individuals. Certainly Kerchenko and the case officers didn’t know anything, and neither did I.
‘What is it?’ I asked him. ‘The Plan. What does it mean?’
Patrushev stared at me and I knew I shouldn’t have asked the question. Eventually, he took his stare away and flicked his hand for a waiter to remove the empty plates. When the man had gone, Patrushev held me with his gaze again.
‘I’ll walk you to your car,’ he said.
We left the restaurant and Patrushev waved away the staff who offered him help. We walked out into a dark, moonless night and strolled across the car park which was the size of a parade ground.
‘Do you know why MI6 has kept Finn in Moscow for so long?’ Patrushev asked when we were far away from the buildings.
‘No, I don’t.’
‘I believe you don’t,’ he said.