***
Eight men stood in the observation room: Schwartz, Raduyev, Kristinich, Borodkin, four Borises. Schwartz was calm, Raduyev alert. Borodkin trembled. The Borises stood rigid and hostile. Only Kristinich seemed eager. But his was a strained and fearful eagerness, a scenting of danger, a whiff of This is not how it should be. But he had no choice, save to remain.
“Comrades,” Schwartz addressed the group. “As you know, the American media seem to be taking an interest in this case. Our government desires that it be resolved as quickly and cleanly as possible, so that it not interfere with more important matters of state. An admission of guilt by the prisoner is preferred. Time is short and I have had no choice but to bring in Major Kristinich. Mister Borodkin will provide such services and information as Major Kristinich may require during the course of the interrogation. Major Kristinich is authorized to take a more aggressive approach than previously. Harsh and abusive language and direct threats of violence are permissible. However,” he faced Kristinich, “at this point, there will be no physical contact of any kind. None whatsoever. Not yet. Is that clear, Comrade Major?”
“Yes, Comrade General.”
“Very well. Comrade Major, Comrade Borodkin, we begin.”
Raduyev positioned the Borises. Then he entered, with Borodkin and Kristinich behind him. Olivia began to rise, then stopped. For the first time, he saw in her face real terror. He permitted his face to show nothing, but he looked her hard in the eyes, thinking at her as if he could communicate with her, Trust me. “I believe you know these two gentlemen,” he said drily.
“I do,” she answered. Then her mind began to reclaim her and she understood. There were only two possibilities here. It was all over and Kristinich would be her torturer. Or something else was going on. If it was the first, she would do all she could to take him with her, or at least maim him. If it was the second, she had to try to understand what it was and go with that. She decided on a test.
Borodkin was quavering. She approached him. She stood a meter away and locked her eyes on his. Borodkin tried to stare back, but failed. He tried to smile, but failed. He looked to Kristinich for support, but found none. The man remained silent. Then he turned back to Olivia. “Doctor…I…I…”
“Get out,” she said calmly.
Borodkin began to shake and cower and look around for help. Kristinich and Raduyev remained silent, immobile, impervious to him. Slowly, Borodkin began talking to himself. “I…I didn’t…I didn’t want to…I didn’t want to…I never meant for you to end up here…”
“Get out,” Olivia repeated in that voice of cold, quiet murder.
Borodkin sagged against the wall. Then his face contorted into hate and he gathered himself at her and in a voice that was half snarl, half sob, screamed: “I would have loved you.”
She took a step closer, put her nose centimeters from his. “Get out,” she said again.
Borodkin covered his face with his hands and began weeping. Raduyev opened the door. “Escort this man out,” he said to the Borises. “Return immediately, per your orders.”
They obeyed. Kristinich shrugged. “No matter. He was worth little to me. To be sure, I’m glad he’s gone. Comrade Colonel, may I begin?”
“You may.”
Raduyev gave Olivia a final look, nodded slightly, then closed the door behind him as he left. Two Borises were returning with Colonel Zhuralev and the Getmanovs. All went into the observation room. Olivia was sitting at the table, head bowed, Kristinich, arms folded across his tieless collared shirt, standing silent beside her. Getmanov permitted himself to show nothing. Raduyev took the Borises out into the corridor and positioned them by the door. “Watch that light,” he said, pointing to the alarm. “When General Schwartz activates it, you will go in and restrain Major Kristinich.”
The Borises smiled as one. “Yes, Comrade Colonel. It will be a pleasure.”
“And remember. This time, keep your tongues in your heads.”