‘At twelve you’ll be old enough to face the Highest Measure of Punishment.’
Senka flinched.
‘Yes, we’re talking about death. We could just keep you here for a few more months and then: bang. So sign it!’
‘I never plotted and I mustn’t sign. I didn’t do anything!’ Senka could not hold back the tears any more and started to sob.
Likhachev quivered, infuriated by this howling. It was, he decided, very frustrating working with children. ‘Pull yourself together, prisoner,’ he shouted. ‘Sign it!’
‘I won’t, I won’t! Whatever you do to me, I won’t! I know I mustn’t!’ After all he’d been through, he feared the confession could be used against his father and mother.
‘God’s breath. Everyone must sign it.’
‘Everyone?’ Senka looked up at Likhachev. Who else was here? Was Minka nearby? ‘Is my sister signing it?’
Likhachev twitched again, stretched in his chair and then bent his own fingers back so they clicked. ‘All right, come with me.’ He shoved Senka out of the room, down the corridor, opened another door and pushed him inside a room with a glass wall covered by a blind.
‘Senka!’ It was Minka, still in her smart red dress, looking thinner but very much herself.
‘Minka!’ They ran towards each other, hugged and kissed through their tears.
‘What a sweet pair,’ said Likhachev to Colonel Komarov, who was in the room with Minka.
Minka kept her arm around Senka’s narrow shoulders.
‘Have you signed anything?’she asked him.
‘No,’ he said, wiping his eyes with his suit’s sleeves. ‘I didn’t think I should.’
‘I haven’t either,’ said Minka.
‘But, Minka, you
‘Think about Mama and Papa!’ she whispered back.
‘No whispering!’ snarled Likachev. ‘Just sign. Both of you.’
‘We won’t sign,’ said Minka.
Komarov chewed on the stump of his finger and then said to his comrade Likhachev, ‘Shall we make this easier?’
Likhachev nodded and Komarov walked over to the blind and flicked a switch. ‘Who’s this, eh?’
Over the tinny speakers, they heard a woman’s voice with a distinctively light Galician accent, saying, ‘Will they be long, Genrikh? Where are they?’ It was their mother.
‘Stop, Dashka,’ replied their father’s voice. ‘It’s out of our hands. The officials of the Organs are dealing with it according to the rules of Soviet justice. So we wait.’
Komarov flicked the switch again. ‘They’re next door. Do you want to see them or not?’
‘Sign or stay in prison!’ added Likhachev.
Minka and Senka held hands.
‘We won’t sign, will we, Minka?’ said Senka, regaining a little professorial authority.
‘I’m sorry, comrade colonels,’ she said. ‘We’re sure we mustn’t sign.’
‘We’re feeling very brave,’ added Senka stoutly. ‘We won’t do it.’
Komarov glanced at Likhachev, who left the room. Then he unclicked the blind, which flicked up on its roller to reveal a waiting room. Senka and Minka saw their parents sitting awkwardly alongside Irina Titorenka and the Satinovs. No one was saying much.
‘Have the others signed?’ asked Minka. ‘George and Vlad?’
‘Of course. Everyone must confess,’ said Komarov.
‘Then why aren’t they out there?’
‘Everyone must sign. It’s orders from the top!’
‘Look!’ said Senka, shrill and frightened. ‘He’s talking to Mama! He’s telling them we’re never coming out! Should we sign?’
Colonel Likhachev was talking to their parents and their father was rising, looking at the two-way mirror and approaching it. He pointed at them and Komarov clicked the switch on the loudspeaker.
‘Children,’ said Genrikh Dorov. ‘Are you there, Minka? Senka? I can’t see you but the colonel says you can hear me. Sign now, and you come home!’
Likhachev re-entered the room, swaggering a little. ‘There, you heard it!’ he said.
Minka and Senka looked at each other.
‘I saw Mama,’ Senka said. ‘She’s in the next room…’
Minka put her arms around him and she too was crying.
THE SATINOVS HAD arrived first, at 6 a.m. When Tamara saw the room, she staggered and he caught her arm. ‘Oh Hercules, this is the room where I’ve been meeting Mariko.’
‘Patience,’ he said, steadying her. This grim grey room, smelling of stale tobacco and sweat, contained four rows of wooden chairs, their seats smoothed by years of nervous waiting families. It was empty but for them. Satinov reflected on his dinner with Stalin: he had been right. Stalin had wanted to look at him before releasing Mariko. But the children were still not home. Was Mariko already looking at them from behind that big mirror on the wall in front of them? How many hundreds of thousands of people had never got this call and had never seen their children, wives, brothers again?
‘Are they ever coming?’ burst out Tamara. ‘Hercules, they’re never coming!’
‘Hush,’ said Satinov. ‘We must wait. There is nothing further we can do.’
An hour later, Vlad’s mother, Irina Titorenka, arrived, then Andrei’s mother Inessa Kurbskaya – and then the Dorovs. When Satinov saw Dashka, his heart lurched painfully, and he looked away.
