Stetchkin put his left hand on Egorshin’s right shoulder, sending a charge through him. Stetchkin bent and spoke into Egorshin’s ear.
“Tell me, Colonel, did I say that when Zaslon needs your services you should delegate the requested services to someone else?”
Egorshin sat mute, awaiting permission to answer.
“Speak,” Stetchkin said.
“You did not.”
“That is my recollection, also.”
Stetchkin straightened and walked slowly back behind the desk. He tapped the surface with his index finger.
“Did Zaslon Unit contact you? Speak.”
“Yes.”
Stetchkin walked back around the desk and stood next to Egorshin again. Egorshin continued to stare forward.
“Did Zaslon Unit request a service? Speak.”
“They did.”
Stetchkin paced slowly back behind his desk and resumed tapping the surface with his index finger.
“Did Zaslon Unit request someone besides you to perform the service? Speak.”
“They did not request anyone specifically.”
“That answer is not responsive to the question I asked, Colonel. Did they request someone else perform the service? Speak.”
“They did not.”
Stetchkin’s tapping became progressively slower. He tapped for a full thirty seconds without uttering a word. The only other sound in the room was the ticking of the clock.
The tapping stopped. Egorshin’s heart raced.
“So,” Stetchkin said in a whisper Egorshin strained to hear, “you understood that you were to provide services to Zaslon Unit upon request. Such request was made of you. It was made of no one else. You did not provide such service.” Stetchkin paused, then paced back to Egorshin’s side and once again placed his left hand on Egorshin’s right shoulder and bent to speak into his ear. “How, then, is that not defiance? Speak.”
“It was a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding, you say.”
Egorshin did not respond.
“A misunderstanding,” Stetchkin repeated, pacing contemplatively toward his desk and then back to Egorshin. “That puzzles me. This was a simple matter. A very simple matter. I instructed that you provide services to Zaslon Unit; I instructed no one else to provide such services; yet you did not provide the requested services. You are alleged to be brilliant. You have studied at Harvard and Oxford. Clearly, such a simple matter was easily understood by you. You could not have possibly misunderstood my instructions, so the misunderstanding must have been on my part.” Stetchkin stopped pacing somewhere behind Egorshin. “Are you saying, therefore, that I am stupid?”
“Respectfully, I do not—”
Stetchkin slapped the back of Egorshin’s head sharply. “Quiet,” the tyrant whispered. “I did not direct you to speak. Or have I misunderstood our arrangement?”
Egorshin sat still, bewildered. What was this madman doing? Why was he tormenting him like this? They barely knew each other. Before now, they’d had hardly more than a couple of minutes of conversation. Why had he singled Egorshin out? What could possibly have sparked his wrath?
The voice came from behind. “Speak.”
“Respectfully, I misunderstood your initial instructions to mean that I should effectuate Zaslon Unit’s request for services. I sought to do so with the most efficient allocation of resources. Accordingly, I delegated the duty to the person within my unit charged with performing such services directly.”
“Here is my dilemma, Colonel,” Stetchkin said from somewhere behind Egorshin. “You have already defied me once. You have conceded that I gave you and no one else the instruction to accommodate Zaslon Unit. You are very bright. You do not misunderstand small things. All of that militates against this being a misunderstanding. Rather, it supports the conclusion that you intentionally disregarded my instructions out of spite. Or perhaps you thought such instruction was beneath you.” Stetchkin’s voice seemed to proceed farther behind Egorshin. “Either way,” he continued, “it was another act of defiance.”
The tyrant’s voice seemed to be coming from several feet behind Egorshin, who dared not turn around for confirmation. There was a brief sound of metal against wood. Then, for several seconds, just the ticking of the clock. When Stetchkin spoke again, his voice was louder—to project from wherever he was standing. Egorshin calculated it was the archway.
“Your behavior was not mere insubordination. I gave you a clear and unequivocal instruction, which you did not simply ignore, but which you expressly disobeyed only a short time after receiving it. It was a rebuke. A slap in the face. It was defiance.”
Egorshin heard the unmistakable sound of the slide on a semiautomatic pistol being pulled back to chamber a round. The Makarov from the credenza.
Multiple thoughts ran together in Egorshin’s mind like a high-speed pileup, too many to sort out. This was lunacy. It could not be. He’d done nothing to deserve this.
Egorshin felt a vague sensation of pressure on the back of his head, anticipating the explosion of his head caused by a 9×18mm round slamming into his cranium at 1,370 feet per second, tumbling through his brain before bursting from his forehead. He became nauseous and closed his eyes, considering the sad possibility that the bile currently in his mouth would be the last thing he’d ever taste.
“Defiance is an interesting matter,” Stetchkin said, his voice drawing nearer. “It lies on a continuum of acts. Some noble, some dishonorable. Toward the dishonorable end of the scale lies disloyalty, treachery, treason. Treason, of course, is punishable by death. Do you believe your defiance was an act of treason, Egorshin?” A pause. “Speak.”
“No.”
“It might relieve you to know that I agree with you,” Stetchkin concurred. “It was not an act of treason. Although I note that your answer conceded your defiance. Therefore, you still remain in jeopardy, for there are acts of defiance below the level of treason that may still merit death. The question is whether your latest act of defiance qualifies. Do you think it qualifies?” Stetchkin pressed the muzzle of the Makarov against the base of Egorshin’s skull. “Speak.”
The noise that came from Egorshin’s mouth was thin and raspy. It only vaguely sounded like “no.”
“Tell me why your defiance does not merit death. Speak.”
“Because, respectfully, it was not a conscious act of defiance. It was not intentional. It was not disrespectful.” Egorshin swallowed. “Respectfully, it was not an act of defiance.”
“So, it was an inadvertent act that could be perceived as defiance?”
Egorshin remained silent and motionless.
“Speak,” Stetchkin commanded with a whisper and a poke of the Makarov.
“Yes.”
“Plausible. Do you know why I consider your response plausible? Speak.”
“Because I am being truthful.”
“No. I give no credence whatsoever to your veracity. Under the circumstances, I believe you would lie about your mother’s chasteness if you thought it would benefit you. No, I believe you were not defiant because you are too much of a coward to defy me. Do you know why I am certain you are a coward? Speak.”
“No.”
“Because you believe in nothing. Other than yourself and your own brilliance and superiority, of course. Since you are aware, however, of your true frailty and mortality, you are frightened. You have nothing beyond your own wretched self to provide ballast. You are empty. No true purpose. Without purpose there can be no courage. That is why you are such a coward, Egorshin. There is nothing inside.” A pause. “You may speak if you wish.”
Egorshin didn’t know what to say. He remained silent for several moments, then: “Respectfully, I am not a coward.”