Overthrow, subvert, or weaken the Soviet Power.

And that was more or less it: an elastic set of words stretching to accommodate anyone from top-ranking Party officials to ballet dancers to musicians to retired cobblers. Not even those who worked within the Lubyanka's walls, not even those who kept this machinery of fear ticking could be certain that the system they sustained would not one day swallow them too.

Despite the fact that Leo was indoors he was still wearing his outdoor attire, including leather gloves and a long woollen overcoat. He was shivering. When he stood still the floor seemed to rock from side to side. Dizzy spells came over him, lasting for several seconds. He felt as if he was going to collapse. He hadn't eaten in two days yet the thought of food made him sick. Even so he stubbornly refused to consider the possibility he was ill: he was a little cold certainly, tired perhaps, but that would pa.s.s. In the post-amphetamine crash, he just needed to sleep. There was no way he could take a day off. Not today, not when there was the matter of Anatoly Brodsky's interrogation.

Interrogations were technically not part of his duties. The MGB had specialists who did nothing but interview suspects, moving from cell to cell, extracting confessions with professional indifference and personal pride. They were motivated, like most employees, by simple things such as the prospect of a performance-related-pay bonus, rewarded if the suspect signed promptly and unconditionally without amendments. Leo knew a little of their methods. He knew none of them personally. Interrogators formed something of a clique, working as a team, often sharing the same suspects, combining their particular gifts to attack resilience from a variety of different angles. Brutal, articulate, disarming: all of these qualities had their place. Outside of work these men and women ate together, walked together, shared stories and compared methods. Though they looked more or less like anyone else it was for some reason relatively easy for Leo to point them out. Many of their more extreme operations were confined to the bas.e.m.e.nt, where they were able to control environmental elements such as heat and light. In contrast, Leo's role as investigator meant he spent most of his time either upstairs or outside. The bas.e.m.e.nt was a world he rarely descended to, a world he'd closed his eyes to, a world he preferred to keep under his feet.

After a short wait Leo was called in. Unsteady, he entered Major Kuzmin's office. Nothing in this room was accidental: everything had been meticulously planned and positioned. The walls were decorated with framed black-and-white photos, including one in which Stalin was shaking Kuzmin's hand, a photo taken at the Leader's seventieth birthday. Surrounding these were a selection of framed propaganda posters collected from different decades. Leo supposed the age range was intended to suggest that Kuzmin had always occupied this office even during the purges of the 1930s, which was not the case, he had been in army intelligence. There was a poster of a plump white rabbit in a cage. EAT MORE RABBIT MEAT! EAT MORE RABBIT MEAT! There were three powerful red figures smashing their red hammers against the heads of sulky-looking unshaven men. There were three powerful red figures smashing their red hammers against the heads of sulky-looking unshaven men. FIGHT LAZY WORKERS! FIGHT LAZY WORKERS! There were three smiling women heading into a factory. There were three smiling women heading into a factory. TRUST YOUR SAVINGS TO US! TRUST YOUR SAVINGS TO US! The The US US in the last poster didn't refer to the three smiling women but rather to the national savings account. There was a poster of a bulbous man dressed in a suit and top hat carrying two bags br.i.m.m.i.n.g with money. in the last poster didn't refer to the three smiling women but rather to the national savings account. There was a poster of a bulbous man dressed in a suit and top hat carrying two bags br.i.m.m.i.n.g with money. CAPITALIST CLOWNS! CAPITALIST CLOWNS! There were blocky images of docks, ship-building, railways, smiling workers, angry workers and a fleet of locomotives all in honour of Lenin. There were blocky images of docks, ship-building, railways, smiling workers, angry workers and a fleet of locomotives all in honour of Lenin. BUILD! BUILD! These posters were rotated regularly and Kuzmin was fastidious about showing off his extensive collection. Equal care was spent on his book collection. His shelves were stocked with all the appropriate t.i.tles whilst his copy of These posters were rotated regularly and Kuzmin was fastidious about showing off his extensive collection. Equal care was spent on his book collection. His shelves were stocked with all the appropriate t.i.tles whilst his copy of The History of the All-Union Communist Party: Short Course, The History of the All-Union Communist Party: Short Course, the text ushered in by Stalin himself, rarely left his desk. Even the waste-paper basket contained only rigorously selected items. Everyone from the lowliest clerk to the highest-ranking officer understood that if you genuinely wanted to dispose of something you sneaked it out, discreetly getting rid of it on the way home. the text ushered in by Stalin himself, rarely left his desk. Even the waste-paper basket contained only rigorously selected items. Everyone from the lowliest clerk to the highest-ranking officer understood that if you genuinely wanted to dispose of something you sneaked it out, discreetly getting rid of it on the way home.

Kuzmin stood by the window overlooking Lubyanka Square. He was squat and wearing, as he tended to do, a uniform one size too small for his frame. His gla.s.ses were thick and often slid down his nose. In short he was a ridiculous-looking man and not even the supreme power of life and death had bestowed upon him any gravitas. Although, as far as Leo was aware, Kuzmin no longer took part in interrogations it was rumoured that in his day he'd been something of an expert, preferring to use his small, fat hands. Looking at him now, it was hard to believe.

Leo sat down. Kuzmin remained standing by the window. He preferred to pose questions whilst looking outside. This was because he believed, and often reminded Leo, that outward displays of emotion should be treated with extreme scepticism unless the person was unaware that he or she was being observed. He'd become adept at appearing to gaze out at the view whilst actually watching people in the reflection. The usefulness of this trick was significantly reduced by the fact that almost everyone, including Leo, was aware they were being watched. And anyway very few people lowered their guard inside the Lubyanka.

-Congratulations, Leo. I knew you'd get him. The experience was a valuable lesson for you.

Leo nodded.

-Are you ill?

Leo paused. Evidently he looked worse than he imagined.

-It's nothing. A cold perhaps but it will pa.s.s.

-My guess is that you're annoyed with me for having taken you off the Brodsky case to make you deal with Fyodor Andreev. Am I correct? You think Fyodor was an irrelevance and I should've left you to continue the operation against Brodsky.

He was smiling, something amused him. Leo concentrated, sensing danger.

-No, Major, I'm not annoyed. I should've arrested Brodsky immediately. It was my fault.

-Yes, but you did not arrest him immediately. So, in those circ.u.mstances, was I wrong to take you off the case of the spy and make you speak to a grieving father? That is my question.

-I had only thought about my own failure to arrest Brodsky immediately.

-That's evasive of you. My point is simply this: Fyodor's family wasn't a trivial issue. It was a corruption within the very MGB itself. One of your men had become twisted by grief and unwittingly made himself and his family enemies of the State. While I'm pleased you caught Brodsky, I considered your work with Fyodor the more important.

-I understand.

-Then we come to the matter of Vasili Nikiyin.

It was inevitable that his actions would be reported. Vasili wouldn't hesitate to try and use them against him. Leo couldn't presume on Kuzmin's support or guess which aspect of the incident concerned him the most.

-You pointed a gun at him? And then you hit him? He says you were out of control. He says you were taking narcotics. They've made you irrational. He's pushing for your suspension. He's upset, you understand.

Leo understood perfectly: the executions were not the issue here.

-I was ranking officer and I gave an order. Vasili disobeyed. How can I maintain the line of command, how can any of us maintain command, if orders are ignored? The system collapses. Perhaps it's my military background. In military operations disobedience and insubordination are punishable by death.

Kuzmin nodded. Leo had chosen his defence wiselythe principles of military decorum.

-You're right, of course. Vasili is hot-headed. He admits as much. He disobeyed an order. This is true. But he was enraged by the family's collaboration. I'm not condoning what he did, you understand. We have a system in place for such violations. They should've been brought here. And Vasili has been appropriately reprimanded. As for the drugs- -I hadn't slept in twenty-four hours. And they are supplied to me by the doctors here.

-They don't concern me in the least. I told you to do whatever it takes, which I suppose extends to taking whatever it takes. But I wish to give you a word of warning. Hitting a fellow officer gets you noticed. People will quickly forget that your reasons were sound. As soon as Vasili lowered his gun that should've been the end of it. If you wished to punish him further you should have reported his insubordination to me. You took justice into your own hands. That is not acceptable. That is never acceptable.

-I apologize.

Kuzmin moved away from the window. Standing by Leo's side, he put a hand on his shoulder.

-Enough of all that. Consider the matter closed. I have a different challenge for you: Brodsky's interrogation. I want you to handle it personally. You may call on whoever you like to a.s.sist youa specialist interrogatorbut I want you to be present when he cracks. It's important that you see this man for who he really is, particularly since you were duped by his apparent innocence.

It was an unusual request. Kuzmin noted Leo's surprise.

-It will be good for you. We should measure a man by what they're prepared to do themselves. Not by what they're prepared to have others do for them. Do you have any objection?

-None.

Leo stood up, straightening his jacket.

-I'll begin immediately.

-One last thing: I want you and Vasili to work together on this.

There were three types of cell. There were the holding cells: square rooms, a floor covered with straw, with enough s.p.a.ce for three adult men to lie side by side. There were always five men in any one cell, packed so tightly that one man couldn't scratch himself without the others also moving, a human jigsaw of limbs. Since there was no latrine, s.p.a.ce also had to be made for the bucket which the men were obliged to use in each other's company. Once it was br.i.m.m.i.n.g prisoners were made to carry it to the nearest drain and told that if they spilled even the smallest drop they would be shot. Leo had listened to the guards discussing the prisoners' comical expressions of concentration as they stared at the quivering level of faeces and urine, a level which decided whether they lived or died. Barbarity, certainly, but barbarity for a reason, barbarity for the greater good.

Greater Good the Greater Good

It was necessary to repeat it, to carve it onto every thought, so that it ran like ticker tape across the bottom of your mind.

After the holding cells, there were punishment cells of various designs. Some were ankle deep in freezing water, the walls covered in mould and slime. A five-day stretch was sufficient to ensure the body never recovered, sickness permanently st.i.tched into a prisoner's lungs. There were narrow closets, like wooden coffins, where bedbugs had been left to multiply and in which a prisoner would remain, naked, feasted upon, until ready to sign a confession. There were cork-lined rooms where prisoners were heated, cooked by the building's ventilation system, until blood seeped out of their pores. There were rooms with hooks and chains and electric wires. There were all kinds of punishments for all kinds of people. The imagination was the only barrier and not much of one at that. All these horrors seemed small when placed beside the size and magnitude of the greater good.

Greater Good the Greater Good the Greater Good

The justification of such methods was simple and persuasive and needed constant repeating: these people were enemies. Had Leo not seen equally extreme measures during war? Yes, and worse. Had that war not won them freedom? Was this not the same, a war against a different kind of enemy, an enemy within but an enemy all the same? Was it necessary? Yes, it was. The survival of their political system justified anything. The promise of a golden age where none of this brutality would exist, where everything would be in plenty and poverty would be a memory, justified anything. These methods were not desirable, they were not to be celebrated and the officers who took pleasure from their work were incomprehensible. Yet Leo was no fool. Within this polished and practised sequence of self-justification there was a small amount of denial, denial which sat dormant in the pit of his stomach like an undigested seed pod.

Finally, the last type of cells, were the interrogation cells. Leo had arrived at one such cell where they were holding the traitor: a plate-steel door with a viewing hole. He knocked, wondering what he would find inside. The door was unlocked by a boy barely seventeen years old. The cell itself was small and rectangular with stark concrete walls and stark concrete floors but so brightly lit that Leo squinted as he entered. Five powerful bulbs hung from the ceiling. Against the back wall, incongruous in the bleak setting, was a sofa. Anatoly Brodsky was sitting on it, his wrists and ankles tied with rope. The young officer proudly explained: -He keeps shutting his eyes, keeps trying to sleep. But me, I keep hitting him. He hasn't had a moment's rest, I promise you. That sofa's the best part. All he wants to do is sit back and doze off. It's comfortable, really soft. I've sat on it. But I won't let him sleep. It's like putting food just out of reach of a starving man.

Leo nodded and could see the young officer was a little disappointed not to receive more gushing praise of his dedication. The officer took up position in the corner of the room, armed with his black wooden baton. Rigid, earnest, with red cheeks, he looked like a toy soldier.

Brodsky was sat on the edge of the sofa, hunched forward, his eyes half closed. There were no other chairs and Leo sat on the sofa beside him. It was a preposterous arrangement. The sofa was indeed very soft and Leo sank back, appreciating the peculiar torture of this room. But he didn't have time to waste, he had to work quickly. Vasili would be here any minute and Leo hoped that Anatoly could be persuaded to cooperate before he arrived.

Anatoly looked up, his eyes widening a fraction. It took him a moment before his sleep-deprived brain recognized the man seated beside him. This was the man who'd caught him. This was the man who'd saved his life. Drowsy, his words slurred, he said as though he'd been drugged.

-The children? Mikhail's daughters? Where are they now?

-They've been placed in an orphanage. They're safe.

An orphanagewas that meant as a joke, was that part of this punishment? No, this man wouldn't make a joke. He was a believer.

-Have you ever been to an orphanage?

-No.

-The girls would've had a better chance of surviving if you'd left them on their own.

-The State is looking after them now.

To Leo's surprise the prisoner reached up and, with his wrists still bound, felt his brow. The junior officer sprang forward, raising the wooden baton, ready to crack a blow across the prisoner's knees. Leo waved him away and the officer reluctantly stepped back.

-You have a fever. You should be at home. You men have a home? Where you sleep and eat and do all the things normal men do?

Leo wondered at this man. He was still a doctor, even now. He was still irreverent, even now. He was brave, rude and Leo couldn't help but like him.

Leo pulled back, wiping his clammy forehead with the sleeve of his jacket.

-You can save yourself unnecessary suffering by talking to me. There's not a person we've questioned who didn't wish they'd admitted everything straightaway. What will you gain by silence?

-I will gain nothing.

-Then will you tell me the truth?

-Yes.

-Who are you working for?

-Anna Vladislovovna. Her cat is going blind. Dora Andreyeva. Her dog refuses to eat. Arkadi Maslow. His dog has broken its front leg. Matthias Rakosi. He has a collection of rare birds.

-If you're innocent, why did you run?

-I ran because you were following me. There was no other reason.

-That doesn't make sense.

-I agree but it's true all the same. Once you're followed you're always arrested. Once you're arrested you're always guilty. No innocent people are ever brought here.

-Which officials from the American Emba.s.sy are you working with and what information have you been pa.s.sing them?

At last Anatoly understood. Several weeks ago a junior clerk working for the American Emba.s.sy had brought his dog in for examination. The dog was suffering from an infected cut. It needed a course of antibiotics but since the antibiotics were unavailable he'd cleaned the animal carefully, sterilized the injury and kept it in under observation. Not long after that he'd spotted a man loitering outside his home. He hadn't slept that night, unable to figure out what he'd done wrong. The next morning he'd been followed into work and followed home again. This continued for three days. After the fourth sleepless night he'd decided to run. Now, finally, here were the details of his crime. He'd treated a foreigner's dog.

-I have no doubt that I will eventually say whatever it is you want me to say but right now I will say this: IAnatoly Tarasovich Brodskyam a vet. Soon your records will say that I was a spy. You will have my signature and my confession. You will force me to give you names. There will be more arrests, more signatures and more confessions. But whatever I eventually tell you will be a lie because I am a vet.

-You're not the first guilty man to claim that he's innocent.

-Do you really believe I'm a spy?

-From this conversation alone I have enough to convict you for subversion. You've already made it quite clear that you hate this country.

-I don't hate this country. You hate this country. You hate the people of this country. Why else would you arrest so many of them?

Leo grew impatient.

-Are you aware of what will happen to you if you don't talk to me?

-Even children are aware of what goes on in here.

-But you still refuse to confess?

-I will not make this easy for you. If you want me to say I'm a spy you will have to torture me.

-I'd hoped this could be avoided.

-You think you can remain honourable down here? Go get your knives. Get your tool kit. When your hands are covered in my blood then let's hear you sound reasonable.

-All I need is a list of names.

-There's nothing more stubborn than a fact. That is why you hate them so much. They offend you. That is why I can upset you simply by saying that IAnatoly Tarasovich Brodskyam a vet. My innocence offends you because you wish me to be guilty. You wish me to be guilty because you've arrested me.

There was a knock on the door. Vasili had arrived. Leo stood up, muttering: -You should have taken my offer.

-Perhaps one day you'll understand why I could not.

The young officer unlocked the door. Vasili entered. He was wearing a sterilized dressing at the point where he'd been hit, which Leo suspected was of no practical value, intended only to trigger conversation and enable him to describe the incident to as many people as possible. Vasili was accompanied by a middle-aged man with thinning hair and dressed in a crumpled suit. Seeing Leo and Anatoly together, Vasili seemed concerned.

-Has he confessed?

-No.