‘Esteemed Comrade Satinov,’ she heard Rimm declare in his breathless soprano. ‘I’m delighted as acting director to greet you at the gates of our school! Long Live Comrade Stalin!’
It was early morning but the good humour of the Chekists, even though their eyes were tired and their chins covered in stubble, showed Andrei Kurbsky that they were making progress, and that meant someone had sung. Andrei knew he was the only outsider amongst the children, and he simply could not bear to go backwards, to exile, to penury. He was determined to survive this. I still have cards to play, he reminded himself. I can still get out of here.
Andrei knew that Colonel Likhachev would beat him but in that knowledge lay strength, for violence is at its most potent when it is unexpected. Andrei distilled all his fears down to two concerns: first was his mother. She would know by now where he was. She might even have been to the prison, having queued outside so many jails for his father. While the other parents could probably ring Comrade Beria himself, she alone had no one to turn to.
The bullystick struck him so hard in the face that it did not hurt. He felt a blackness with a heartbeat and pumping blood that turned the light into a night sky speckled with red sparks instead of stars. He was on his back on the concrete floor when Likhachev and another guard picked him up.
‘That’s just to wake you up, scum. To show you that here you’re nothing. Whatever you say, you might never see the streets of Moscow or your mother again.’ Andrei could feel his face pulsating as if it was a creature with its own life. He tried to wipe away the blood.
Be calm, he told himself, return to your mother, protect those you love. Above all, Andryusha, survive this to reforge yourself. Play chess with these brutes, even if your eyes are blind with blood.
Likhachev placed the truncheon glistening with Andrei’s blood beside his notebook and pen: ‘Nikolasha Blagov’s conspiracy against the Party was inspired by a mentor known as NV
‘I don’t think so,’ Andrei said quickly. A smirk crossed Likhachev’s face. ‘No one was close to her.’
‘Even after a smack in the chops, you jump when she’s mentioned,’ said Likhachev. ‘Perhaps
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ But Andrei did, because protecting Serafima was his second priority.
‘We know how you followed her around like a puppy, and that you conspired avidly to overthrow the Soviet Government.’
‘Not true.’
‘That’s not what your friends say.’
‘Did they also tell you that I was working for the Organs?’ There. He’d said it. Played his ace card. Now the question was: How would it be picked up?
Likhachev twitched. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I offered to work with the Organs.’ Andrei made himself speak slowly. ‘When I read the Velvet Book I was worried by these potentially dangerous views. Given my background, I wanted to show my loyalty. I informed them that Nikolasha Blagov was propagating anti-Soviet ideas. I met my controller in a safe apartment. My codename was “Teacher’s Pet”. I am proud of my work with the Cheka.’
Likhachev’s red face had turned a sickly grey. This was something he should have known.
‘We will check your claims. Did you inform your controller that Nikolasha was planning a coup?’
‘I didn’t realize he had gone that far.’
‘You were concealing evidence from the Organs?’
‘No, he didn’t show us his scribblings.’
He saw Likhachev sit forward as he tried a different tack. ‘Serafima Romashkina. You think you knew her well? The one thing we Chekists know is that no one knows anyone well. You can be married to a woman for twenty years and not realize that she is an Enemy, a traitor, a whore. Since you’re one of us, let me share with you that we know from Nikolasha Blagov’s notebook that Serafima Romashkina was central to the conspiracy.’
‘I know that’s not true because I was watching her on behalf of the Organs.’
Likhachev smiled. ‘Your friends have already told us name after name of her lovers. All were devoted to her. Young and old. What was her trick? Who taught her? The geishas of Japan? She must be quite a girl.’
Andrei was trying to keep his footing in a landslide. He church-steepled his fingers to concentrate. Save yourself, your mother and Serafima, he repeated. He had to give them someone else. But who?
‘Serafima’s a decent, honourable Soviet patriot,’ said Andrei. ‘She didn’t have a lover. I reported on her movements, her routine, I saw who she met. Yes, she met people like anyone does. Maybe she had mentors like we all do. But no lover. Read my reports.’
Likhachev was caressing his bullystick. ‘Now you’re fucking boring me. You mentioned a mentor, did you not?’
