***
Behind the closed doors of the dacha’s small library the next morning, FSB Lieutenant Colonel Vladislav Stepanovich Marianenko pondered. He’d been receiving telephone reports on Olivia’s behavior from Aunt Maria and the guards. They had found Olivia, so far, both dignified and purposeful. That was positive, insofar as it spoke of a self-disciplined woman. It was not so positive, insofar as it spoke of someone who might have been trained against this eventuality. Still, there was no need to make a decision on that yet. Not before that which he was about to begin, was completed. And he preferred that the decision, when made, be the correct one.
By ethnicity, Marianenko was a Ukrainian who had pledged his allegiance to Russia as heir to the Soviet Union when Boris Yeltsin dissolved it. Marianenko understood that while Ukrainians might enjoy some period of intoxicating freedom, a nasty hangover would follow, then an even nastier sobriety. They would then proceed to fuck up the place as badly as the Russians had done, since they had no other experience to guide them and all those preposterous American-provided economic and political advisers and their models and theories would simply accelerate the implosion. He preferred to stay with Russia. And he had been right to do so, as a matter of self-interest and common sense, and because he understood how little the hare-brained schemes of Americans related to Russian or Ukrainian realities. In the long run, Russia would survive their benevolence better than they were likely to. In any event, Ukraine was not about to invade Russia. If someday Russia regained Ukraine, he wouldn’t object.
Still, the matter at hand concerned Americans, not Ukrainians. Marianenko did not dislike Americans, so long as they stayed in their place. Their place was definitely not the Ukraine. Nor was it Russia, although for the present he was prepared to defer judgment in one case.
Marianenko glanced at the two women standing before him, then nodded to one, an FSB major in civilian clothing with the extreme elegance of a rapier, an elegance that was as much internal as external. Irina Borisovna Suslova nodded back, then turned to the housekeeper. “You say she picked up the glass, Comrade. How?”
“Barehanded, Comrade Major.”
“What happened to the pieces?”
“She put them in the garbage herself.”
“Did you see her do that?”
“No. I had gone to the pantry for a broom and dustpan.”
Suslova looked at her strangely. “Did you later check to see if all the pieces were there?”
Both the housekeeper and Lieutenant Colonel Marianenko stared at Suslova. “No Comrade,” the housekeeper whispered, now worried. She understood that Lieutenant Colonel Marianenko bore no responsibility for the evil memories he provoked in her and for which she feared and hated him. But Major Suslova, invariably civilized, quiet, courteous—always addressing her as Comrade, as if she had never done time in the camps, where prisoners were addressed as Citizen—terrified her well beyond hate. All dense bone, sinew and compact, whipcord muscle, fine ivory skin, green, slanting Tartar eyes, and deep chestnut hair. She fused exotic beauty with obvious physical strength, an equally obvious capacity for extreme violence, and a complete self-assurance that could be accepted in a man but was deeply disturbing in a woman. “Should I have?”
“Yes, although it is perhaps understandable that you didn’t, given the unusual nature of the guest,” Major Suslova said gently. “Tell me, what’s happened to the rubbish?”
“It was collected this morning,” the housekeeper said timidly.
“In the future, Comrade, bear in mind that this woman regards the world as her toolbox, and that we have not yet fully verified her loyalties and intentions. Now, please, take a few minutes to rest and refresh yourself before going back on duty.”
She waited until Aunt Maria had left before making tea for Marianenko and herself.
“What you mean is that routine precautions are useless,” he said calmly.
“We know what she’s done in the past when she sets her mind to it. Intellectually, physically—morally.”
“Do we then search her and her room, Major?” He had known Suslova a long time, since Afghanistan, and trusted her absolutely. Debriefing defectors was not her normal line of work. By career choice and assignment, she worked at the nexus between transnational crime and international terrorism, with a particular focus on trying to keep old Soviet nuclear, chemical and biological materials off the black or other markets. But then, debriefing defectors was no one’s normal line of work anymore. He himself had not done it in years. Suslova was a skilled interrogator in her own right, in addition to her natural curiosity about the woman, and an additional, personal curiosity she’d explained to him when she requested this assignment. He was very glad to have her as his assistant. The nature of her additional curiosity, after the interrogation period had ended, would not concern him.
“We could. Of course, while we’re at it, we’d have to remove the mirrors in the bedroom and bathroom. They’re glass. So are the windows. And I don’t think we’ve inventoried the rocks down at the creek, which is deep enough for drowning if you choose to lie face down. We took her embroidery snips from her, but we left the circular needles, some of which are long enough to use as a garrote. Straight needles, even if they are wood or plastic, will get it done if you have a mind to use them so.”
“Right,” he replied. “We might have avoided all this by simply confining her in the Lubyanka. Comfortably, of course. Of course, that would be no way to elicit her fullest cooperation. Why do you think she would want glass?”
“Two reasons. Perhaps to use against one of us. More likely, a personal way out, should it come to that. She can go nowhere without money and papers. Not to mention that her knowledge of Russian is totally inadequate to the task of escape and evasion.”
“As though she had anywhere to go. So if she changes her mind, her only real option is suicide,” Marianenko said.
“I am assuming so. Of course, I have broken glasses myself, and also picked up the pieces barehanded. It is not difficult, even drunk.”
“It does not seem like her to drink so much, let alone of vodka, and she knows she is being evaluated and observed. Very well. Let’s observe her a bit more. Join us for breakfast, then. Once we begin, I want you behind the one-way window.”
“Armed?”
“Yes. In an emergency, how long would it take you to unlock the glass and fire?”
“A few seconds. I believe for now you should have a guard in the room.”
“Unarmed, in case she panics,” Marianenko agreed. They both knew how quickly panicked people could move.
“Make sure there’s enough space between you that you can get clear if she does panic and go for you,” Suslova said. “I want a clear shot if I absolutely have to take it.”
“I do not think it will come to that, but you’re right to grant her qualities. None of us have dealt with anyone remotely like this. A bought defector would be easier. You’re a woman, so tell me. How much should I pressure her?”
“I think you can pressure her quite a lot, so long as you maintain your dignity.”
“And hers.”
“Yes. Nothing sexual or physical humiliation. As for verbal, we shall see. Well then.” Suslova shrugged. “Let the games begin.”