Alipov rose, as demanded, and Natalia said: ‘You were present at Petrovka when the affidavit was taken?’
‘Of course. That’s why I was there.’
‘At that meeting what promise or undertaking was given to Eduard Igorevich Fedova?’
The lawyer hesitated, looking momentarily at Tudin’s unresponsive slumped back. Then, visibly, he straightened as someone straightens having made a decision. ‘That there would be no prosecution.’
‘By whom was that assurance given?’
‘Colonel Tudin.’
‘Had there at that time – or at any time up until this moment – been any consultation or approval of that amnesty from the Federal Prosecutor?’
‘Not as far as I am aware.’
‘It was given entirely upon the authority of Colonel Tudin?’
‘Yes.’
‘Before or after the taking of the affidavit?’
‘Before.’
‘So the amnesty was an inducement for the testimony?’
Tudin moved to rise, but before he could do so Lestov waved the man down, refusing the interruption.
‘I do not believe there would have been a deposition without such a promise,’ capitulated the lawyer.
As she sat to end the re-examination, Natalia was sure that at least one person had abandoned Tudin. Surely the investigator would have realized by now which was going to be the winning side and be anxious to join it. All he had to do was tell the truth.
Very soon after Kapitsa began to talk Natalia decided there had been an attempt at a slanted rehearsal but that it was failing because of the Militia investigator’s effort to distance himself from this unofficial prosecution which was so obviously going wrong.
Kapitsa’s nerves were clearly stretched by his enforced deprivation of nicotine. His hands fluttered in constant movement over the chair-backs and he kept squeezing his eyes shut, in an exaggerated blinking expression. He exposed himself as someone prepared to compromise and bend any legality in a stumbling effort to explain why he had contacted Natalia, openly saying that Eduard – and the men arrested with him – clearly expected Natalia’s intercession to block any prosecution. The admission opened the way for Kapitsa to insist that throughout his discussions with Natalia he had always asserted the need for a prosecution.
‘Did you expect General Fedova to remove her son from any proceedings?’ demanded Tudin.
‘I felt I should discuss the matter with her before formulating any charges,’ allowed Kapitsa, miserably.
‘To what purpose?’ pressed Tudin.
‘I left General Fedova to decide that.’
‘Have you ever brought prosecutions against a high-ranking official – or any member of the family of a high-ranking official – in the State security service?’
‘No.’
‘Do you expect to?’
Kapitsa looked forlornly towards Natalia. ‘No.’
‘Did you expect Eduard Igorevich Fedova to be removed from the situation in which he found himself?’
‘Yes,’ said Kapitsa. His voice was barely above a whisper.
‘What, exactly, did General Fedova say to you after she left the detention cell at Petrovka?’
Kapitsa did not reply at once, and Natalia hoped he was searching for the most innocuous remark she might have made.
‘That she would be in touch very soon,’ he recorded accurately.
It was the ideal moment for Natalia to come into the examination, and she seized it when Tudin sat down, apparently satisfied. ‘Did I get in touch with you very quickly?’
‘No.’
‘Have we met at all from that moment, until today.’
‘No.’
It was not Kapitsa’s fault he was appearing so ineffectual. It was the fault of a far too recent favour-for-favour system and the blind jealousy of a man like Fyodor Tudin, and of no one being really sure whether Russia was going to go forward into new ways, in all things, or fall backwards into the familiar mire of the past. Natalia felt a surge of sympathy for the man who’d acted in the only manner he knew. She said: ‘There was more discussion between us, after I had been to the cells, wasn’t there?’
Kapitsa’s face furrowed, in the effort for recall. ‘Yes.’
‘Did I not say that my son’s arrest – and the interception of the convoy – had to be handled properly, to everyone’s satisfaction?’
Kapitsa nodded, eagerly. ‘Yes. And I said that was what I wanted.’
Natalia was glad the man had picked up on her offer, recognizing at the same time how he had sanitized his original reply. ‘So we were discussing a prosecution?’
She wondered if Kapitsa’s search for a reply she wanted was as obvious to the panel as it was to her. ‘Yes. That’s what I understood.’
‘Did I ever, at any time, say or indicate to you that I was going to prevent or stop a prosecution of my son?’
Kapitsa’s hesitation was greater than before. ‘No.’
‘I will not lead you on this question,’ warned Natalia. ‘I want you to recall, as precisely as possible, the remark my son made about embarrassment.’ You’re a detective, trained to remember things, thought Natalia: for God’s sake remember this!
There was a long silence. The man’s hands fluttered for things to do and touch. ‘He was talking about telling me your name and position …’ groped Kapitsa. ‘You agreed, when he guessed, that you had a higher rank than the one he knew …’ The investigator straggled to a halt.
Go on, go on, thought Natalia: she wanted it all. ‘Yes?’ she encouraged.
‘… He said something about there being much more openness in Moscow …’ Kapitsa’s face cleared. ‘And then he went on that it was very easy for people in important positions to be embarrassed: damaged by embarrassment even … and that we didn’t want any embarrassment …’
Natalia gave no outward signal of her relief. She had to risk leading now, to ensure the man answered correctly. ‘Did you interpret that remark as a threat?’
Seizing her guidance, he said: ‘Yes. It was clearly that.’
Enough, decided Natalia. She believed she had weakened Tudin’s attack sufficiently. Now there had to be the coup de grâce. She thanked Kapitsa, dismissing him, but remained standing to avoid losing the momentum. Addressing Lestov, she said: ‘If this is the end of what amounts to a prosecution against me, I ask the committee’s permission to call evidence of my own.’
‘A witness?’ queried Lestov.
‘The Federal Prosecutor, Petr Borisovich Korolov,’ confirmed Natalia, formally. The stir went through everybody in the room.
The publicity over John Gower’s arrest was greater in the People’s Daily than in the Western media – most of the front page was devoted to it, with a government statement about foreign conspiracies and counter-revolutionary crimes published verbatim – so Jeremy Snow learned of the seizure within forty-eight hours of it happening.
The Taoist temple was not named, but the district of Beijing was, which was sufficient for Snow to realize that he had not been abandoned and that an effort was being made to reach him through the prearranged system.
The priest’s satisfaction was momentary. Not was being, he told himself: had been. By someone now in custody. Which left him as stranded as ever. It was obviously pointless – dangerous, in fact – to go anywhere near the shrine again, for any other signal, which he had intended to do that day, maintaining the imposed three-day timetable. Or to any of the message drops, which might have been filled and be waiting for him. And anyone going to the British embassy now would risk automatic association in the minds of the permanently watching Public Security Bureau.