Only one remained alive, on Grishin’s insistence, and he was the oldest of them all. General Dmitri Polyakov had worked for America for twenty years before he was betrayed. He had in fact been in retirement after returning to Moscow in 1980 for the last time.
He had never taken money; he did it because he was disgusted by the Soviet regime and the things it did. And he told them so. He sat upright in his chair and told them what he thought of them and what he had done for twenty years. He showed more dignity and courage than all the others. He never pleaded. Because he was so old, nothing he had to say was of current value anyway. He knew of no ongoing operations nor did he have names other than of CIA handlers themselves retired.
When it was over, Grishin hated the old general so much he kept him alive for special treatment. Now the pensioner lay in his excrement on his concrete slab and wept. Now and again Grishin looked in to make sure. It would not be until March 15, 1988, that at General Boyarov’s insistence he was finally finished off.
“The point is, my dear colleague,” Boyarov told Grishin that month, “there is nothing more to do. The Ratcatcher Commission must be disbanded.”
“There is surely still this other man, the one they talk of in the First Chief Directorate, the one who handles traitors here but who has not been caught.”
“Ah, the one they cannot find. Always references, but not one of the traitors had ever heard of him.”
“And if we catch his people?” asked Grishin.
“Then we catch them, and we make them pay,” said Boyarov, “and if that happens, if Yazenevo’s man in Washington can give them to us, you can reconvene your people and start again. You can even rename yourselves. You can be called the Monakh Committee.”
Grishin did not get the point, but Boyarov did, and laughed uproariously. Monakh is the Russian for monk.
¯
IF Pavel Volsky thought he had heard the last of the forensic pathologist at the morgue, he was wrong. His phone rang the same morning his friend Novikov was talking covertly to an officer of British Intelligence, August 7.
“Kuzmin here,” said a voice. Volsky was puzzled.
“Professor Kuzmin, Second Medical Institute. We spoke a few days ago about my postmortem on a John Doe.”
“Oh, yes, Professor, how can I help you?”
“I think it’s the other way round. I may have something for you.”
“Well, thank you, what is it?”
“Last week a body was pulled out of the Moskva at Lytkarino.”
“Surely, that’s their business, not ours?”
“It would have been, Volsky, but some smartass down there reckoned the body had been in the water for about two weeks—he was right, actually—and that in that time it probably floated down the current from Moscow. So the bastards shipped it back here. I’ve just finished with it.”
Volsky thought. Two weeks in the water in high summer. The professor must have a stomach like a concrete mixer.
“Murdered?” he asked.
“On the contrary. Wearing only undershorts. Almost certainly went for a swim in the heat wave, got into trouble, and drowned.”
“But that’s an accident. The Civil Authority. I’m Homicide,” protested Volsky.
“Listen, young man. Just listen. Normally there would be no identification. But those fools at Lytkarino failed to spot something. The fingers were so swollen they didn’t see it. Hidden by the flesh. A wedding band. Solid gold. I removed it—had to take the finger off, actually. Inside are the words: N. I. Akopov, from Lidia. Good, eh?”
“Very good, Professor, but if it’s not a homicide …”
“Listen, do you ever have anything to do with Missing Persons?”
“Of course. They send around a folio of pictures every week to see if I can make a match.”
“Well, a man with a big gold wedding band might have family. And if he’s been missing for three weeks they might have reported it. I just thought you could benefit from my detective genius by scoring some brownie points with your friends in Missing Persons. I don’t know anyone in Missing Persons, so I called you.”
Volsky brightened up. He was always asking favors from Missing Persons. Now he mi
ght clear up a case for them and earn some kudos. He noted the details, thanked the professor, and hung up.