***
Olivia judged she had been in the holding cell for several hours when she was taken to an interrogation room, about four meters by four meters. It had two chairs, bolted to the floor so they could not be used as weapons. A table, likewise bolted. Across from where she knew she would be sitting, an opaque one-way window like the one at Tver. She sat down, folded her hands neatly on the table, nodded into the window, noticed that if she inclined her head just so, she could see her own dim, wraithlike reflection. She nodded to herself. The reflection nodded back. Then she withdrew into herself to resume her waiting.
On the other side of the window, standing beside the video recorder that would film all her sessions, Colonel Sergei Lazarevich Raduyev watched her. Normal procedure before beginning. Adjust the volume, the lens, the angles. He wanted to get a sense of how nervous she was. But this was no normal interrogation. He had read her file and he was more than a little in awe of her. He did not want Doctor Tolchinskaya to be guilty.
She was very still and after some minutes, he sensed that she was very much less nervous and frightened than ashamed. But not with the shame of contrition. He’d seen that before, seen it genuine and seen it faked. Neither moved him. This was the shame of innocence defiled. Her eyes were clear and observant, but her head was bowed. Usually, that meant despair. Here it indicated less fear than internal torment. That was not a reaction he was used to. It intrigued him. The complexity of the case intrigued him. So did the absurdity. He watched a few minutes more, then chose his approach.
The door of the room opened. A man in turtleneck and jeans entered with a uniformed guard. “Good afternoon, Doctor Tolchinskaya. My name is Colonel Raduyev. I am in charge of your interrogation. You have been correctly treated?”
She rose and inclined her head slightly to him. “Good afternoon, Colonel. I have been, thank you for asking.”
He turned to the guard. “Please bring us both some water in paper cups.”
Raduyev sat down across from her, feeling slightly afraid of her. Normally, he would have considered it a disgrace to be physically intimidated by a woman, but not this one, with her fine, scarred face and hint of a boxer’s nose, and her beautiful, strong neck and hands. Fear of what she could do, if she was pushed very hard, and it would have to be very hard because she also seemed extremely stable, was prudent, self-protective. He was glad, once again, that he stayed in shape and hadn’t gotten fat over the years. Physical intimidation mattered in such a small space and this woman would not appreciate being pressured by a slob.
He placed his hands on the table top while his right knee pressed against the button on the inside of the desk. Interrogators went in unarmed. If they used a translator, there were two of them to subdue a prisoner who suddenly panicked or attacked. One-on-one was a bit different. The button connected to a light by the guard post outside the door. When that light flashed, a guard or two went in to do whatever needed to be done. The alert could also be activated from behind the one-way window. An observer with sufficient authority could use it to stop the interrogation.
The guard returned, carrying two paper cups of water. Raduyev thanked him. The guard nodded. The alarm system worked.
“I know that you were interrogated during your in-processing. The best way for you to proceed now is to behave in a similar manner. We have some questions to ask you about your relationship to your government.”
“I understand.”
“Since you have been through this before, you will understand certain procedures that I am and am not using. You will note, for example, that unlike your intake interrogation, I am using no laptop to communicate outside this room. Nor have I even brought in paper for note-taking. If you were to assume that this session is being recorded, you would be correct. But my intention at this, our first session, is just to talk.”
“I understand.”
“I am sure you also understand that this does not fit into any of our standard categories. It is not hostile in the sense that we assume you must be broken before you will talk. But neither is it non-hostile, in the sense that we can assume your truthful co-operation. Despite the fact that you’ve worked for us, neither is this a debriefing of one of our own people. It is somewhere in between or perhaps in some other place entirely. This makes it all the more important to decide as soon as possible how this is to be classified. That will determine how we proceed. It will also be of importance to my superiors. I am sure you understand that there is interest in this case at higher levels.”
“I do.”
“Very well, Doctor Tolchinskaya. I will leave the initial determination to you. How shall we proceed? Hostile or non-hostile?”
Olivia eyes locked onto Raduyev’s and he saw neither fear nor shame now, only dignity. “Non-hostile.”
“I appreciate that. But now you must show that you mean it. Please tell me in your own words, taking all the time you wish…why do you think you are here?”
Olivia saw the ground rushing toward her. “There is very little to be said. When I was in Vienna, just before I came here, I contacted the United States embassy on what I said would be a matter of interest to them. I identified myself and asked to meet with someone who had a clue. They sent a man to meet me by the name of Jay Lyons. He did not identify which agency or department he worked with. I assume he was CIA. I identified myself to him in more detail and explained to him that I was on my way to Russia to accept an offer of employment by Russian Military Intelligence to develop tactical sensors for the Russian army. I told him that since the United States and Russia had enemies and concerns in common, perhaps what I was doing might serve as some sort of bridge between our countries. His initial response was pure sarcasm.”
“What did he say?”
“Something on the order of, ‘What do you think this is, the Central Bridge Agency?’”
“Not a particularly astute response. Go on.”
She paused. “I’d gotten off a nine-hour flight the day before and was in considerable pain from having to sit so long. I’d used morphine during the flight. I checked into my hotel and drank a bottle of wine. But I waited for my head to clear, at least I thought my head was clear, before I made the call. I kept the appointment the next day, hung-over but sober.”
“Go on.”
“When I left America, I knew that I could probably never return. I’d accepted that as the price I had to pay. I’d told no one where I was going or why, not even my father. But I could not bear to leave my country without some final attempt to get through. Colonel, when I left, I knew I was starting a new life. But I was also vanishing without a trace. Can you imagine what that’s like?”
“Yes,” he answered quietly, “I can. Please continue.”
“Mr. Lyons told me that human spies were passé. I told him I was not offering to be a spy. I told him I was offering to be a bridge.” Then she laughed. The sound was bitter and hard.
“Doctor?”
“Forgive me, Colonel. I was just realizing how many times I’ve said this over the last two and a half years, to how many people. Over and over and over. If I’d known growing up that I would become so taken with the idea of building bridges, I’d have gone into civil engineering and built them for real. It would have been simpler.”
Raduyev smiled at her gently. “The problem with being a bridge is that you spend your time hanging over empty space while people walk all over you. Please continue.”
“Mr. Lyons was contemptuous of Russia. He also told me that I was clearly emotionally unstable. However, he said that he would write a memo and maybe someday something would come of it.”
“Do you think something has come of it?”
Olivia looked down at her own hands. “Colonel, I have no definite knowledge of why I am here. I made the decision to tell you this at the beginning because it is true. I did it. I was an idiot. If I am here for some other reason, I assume that I will be told in due time. This is why I believe I am here.”
“Would you con
sider it unreasonable if I believed that you concocted this somewhat piteous tale in order to evade other possibilities?”
Olivia showed her teeth a little, raising all the hairs on the back of Raduyev’s neck. “If there are other possibilities, please tell me what they are.”
“Let us return to this Jay Lyons business. Do you believe that he wrote the memo?”
“At this point, I must assume that he did. I must also assume that, in some way or other, it came into your possession.”
“How do you think that came about?”
“You paid someone for it,” she said, her eyes now blue pits of disgust and contempt.
Raduyev chose not to respond. “If I am to believe you, this means that when you were asked during your intake interrogation at Tver, ‘Since you terminated your employment at Los Alamos, have you been in touch with your government or have they been in touch with you?’ you lied.”
“That is correct. On the plane to Moscow, I decided to pretend my meeting with Mr. Lyons had never happened and hope for the best.”
“Why did you lie to us?”
“If I had told the truth, what would have happened?”
Raduyev decided to press her. “Why did you lie to us?”
“Because I may be an idiot, but I’m a consistent idiot.”
Against all his training and experience, Raduyev laughed. “I would not dispute that.”
“Colonel…may I?”
“Continue.”
“I understand interrogation techniques. Once someone is caught in a lie, it is assumed that there are other lies to be uncovered. The process is extremely repetitive and time-consuming. I don’t suppose we can avoid it. So I would just like to summarize now. I have told you what happened in Vienna on the assumption that it’s best to come clean at the beginning. I lied in Tver out of fear, of course. I lied because I wanted my life and my work. I lied because I refused to accept the possibility of being—what is the correct terminology?—turned around and used against my own country. I lied because I was…”
“Go on.”
“I lied because I was unwilling to endanger two people who had been very kind to me.”
“Who were they?”
“The Getmanovs.”
“I see.”
“Then you also know that, in my time here, I have entered into many friendships and relationships with good people. The thought of endangering those people shames and sickens me. That is why I decided to tell my story at the start, whether or not you have such a document in your possession.”
“So that I do not misunderstand you. Two and a half years ago, you decided to pretend that your meeting with Mister Lyons did not happen. Now you are coming clean with a story that we may never have heard, a story that may itself be a lie, in order to protect Russians.”
“That is half-correct. The story is true.”
Raduyev looked at her hard. “You do understand that your story is…”
She looked hard back at him. “True.”
“The truth and, as you Americans like to brag, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”
Still hard eye contact. “Yes.”
“What else?”
“I believe,” she said finally, “that it is time to proceed to the next phase.”
Raduyev was silent for a moment. Never had he permitted a prisoner to guide an interrogation. He’d had other prisoners say much the same thing, but in a sham defiance that broke quickly enough. This was different. “Very well,” he said, calmly taking back control, “I shall now ask you a series of questions that can be answered, yes or no. We will go through the entire series before coming back to anything that might require additional attention. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Just yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“Since your meeting with Mister Lyons in Vienna, have you initiated contact with any government but the Russian?”
“No.”
“Since your meeting with Mister Lyons in Vienna, has any government but the Russian been in contact with you?”
“No.”
“Are you awaiting any such contact?”
“No.”
“Are you planning any such contact?”
“No.”
Raduyev paused, then took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Olivia.
Memorandum for the Record
From: Lyons, Jay, Deputy Assistant Chief of Station, Embassy of the United States, Vienna, Austria
Subject: Tolchin, Olivia Lathrop, US National, Possible Defector to Russia
Date: 27 May 1994
On the evening of 23 May 1994, Dr. Olivia Lathrop Tolchin, US national, telephoned the US Embassy in Vienna, Austria. Tolchin identified herself by name and nationality and hinted broadly that she would like to speak to someone who would understand a matter of intelligence interest. Tolchin suggested a lunchtime meeting at the Café Landtmann. I met her there the following day, May 24.
Tolchin was provocatively dressed, obviously hung-over, and in a drug-induced stupor. Tolchin claimed to hold a Ph.D. from MIT; to have worked at Los Alamos National Laboratory; to hold TS/SCI clearances whose names I did not recognize (except for the standard Q clearance, denoting nuclear access); and to be on her way to Russia to accept an offer of employment from Russian Military Intelligence. Tolchin claimed that her assignment was to stand up a facility to develop tactical battlefield ground sensors, particularly for use in Chechnya. I did not believe her.
Tolchin told me that she wanted to be a bridge of some sort between Russia and America, stating that despite Russia’s obvious weakness, corruption, and decay, she, in her words, did not believe a weak and hostile Russia was in best interests of America, Russia, or our world. I asked if she was offering to serve as a spy, and she emphatically said that she was not. I explained that we did not need some kind of international free-lance military do-gooder who was obviously very troubled emotionally and into some very bad habits. At that point, Tolchin became very distraught, drinking heavily and lecturing me on international relations. Tolchin drew very close to me physically. I drew back and indicated again that I was not interested in whatever she had in mind. When I suggested that she abandon this ludicrous project (if it existed), go home and get her life in order, she became personally abusive and insulting.
Upon my return to the embassy, on the off-chance that Tolchin might be who she said she was, I contacted Los Alamos. They responded several hours later, indicating that she did indeed hold a Ph.D. from MIT; had worked for them; held the clearances she had told me she held; and did have considerable expertise in sensor technology. They indicated their awareness that Tolchin used a number of controlled substances by prescription, including valium, codeine and morphine, following injuries sustained in a light plane crash. They also informed me that Tolchin had resigned her position; had successfully completed her out-processing, including exit polygraph; and had asked for and obtained permission to attend a conference in Vienna, IAW standard post-employment procedures and current interdict and travel policies and guidelines. Los Alamos did not appear to be unhappy over her resignation and expressed no further interest in Tolchin.
Since Tolchin had worked on classified projects and held code word clearances, I initiated standard detention procedures for US nationals attempting to defect. These were unsuccessful. Apparently, Tolchin had already left for Russia or wherever she was going next.
Conclusion: Tolchin, Olivia is alcoholic, drug-addicted, probably promiscuous, given to grandiosity, more than a little delusional, and therefore utterly unreliable. If Tolchin did indeed go to Russia, they are welcome to her.
Recommendation: No further action required. File.
As Olivia read the memo, a slow wave of pure rage crept up her spine. It was the same rage she’d felt as the plane hit the ground, as she fought the men who’d killed Simonov, as she’d faced down Kristinich, as she’d lived whenever it became essential to take action. A
ll of it, now suffused with shame. But shame was all she had left. There was no action she could take now, in this place, no action that could redeem her, save death.
Olivia handed him back the memo in silence, breathing hard, her eyes and mouth white around the corners, her hand shaking a little. Raduyev gave her a solid minute to regain her self-control. “Tell me your thoughts.”
“I have only two,” she answered calmly.
“What are they?”
“That my idiocy and dishonesty may have endangered the innocent, whose only crime has been to know me.”
“And the other thought?”
She laughed. “The part of that memo about my becoming abusive. He’d said to me, ‘Take care of yourself, babe.’ I really didn’t care for the babe.”
“And you replied?”
“‘Take care of yourself, gelding.’”
Her Russian was very fluent, but he wished to be clear. “Gelding?”
“A castrated stallion. I’d watched the morning work of the Spanish Riding School and was thinking about their stallions. After reading that memo, I realize now what an insult that comment was to every gelding on the planet.”
“An interesting combination of thoughts. Now, Doctor Tolchinskaya, I ask you this. Do you repent of what you did in Vienna?”
“I repent of nothing that I did for the right reasons. I repent of my stupidity. I repent of endangering the innocent.”
“Would you do it again?”
“Knowing what I know now…never. If my country ever again wants anything of me, first they’ll have to…”
“Have to…what?”
“Get a life.”
“I understand.”
“Do you believe that, apart from Vienna and Tver, I am what I say I am?”
“Doctor Tolchinskaya,” he said slowly, intrigued once again at her ability to turn things around in this room, “that is a conclusion that I will not share with you. Not until I reach it and perhaps not even then. I would remind you that my conclusion will be only one conclusion in a series, and not the conclusion that determines your disposition.” He wondered what kind of report he would make in a few minutes. She had co-operated. She had confessed. But she hadn’t broken. Far from it. Still, there was a procedure to be followed for co-operative prisoners. Small rewards, immediate and tangible. “I’m going to have some tea sent in. Have you had anything to eat today?”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t have kept anything down.”
“Can you now?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll have some food sent in as well. Try to eat it. Do you smoke?”
“No, Colonel. You do.”
“How can you tell?”
“My nose is very sensitive. It tells me many things.”
“I’ll return shortly.”
“Thank you.”