Eminent enough to be invited and re-invited to the West, Kiril thought. Aloud he said, “It didn’t take long for this ‘glorified mechanic’ to make himself indispensable to the best surgeon in Moscow.”
“True. Still, I managed to overcome our tarnished family history. Forgive me for being immodest but even if Aunt Sofia hadn’t taken me under her wing, nothing would have barred my way,” Aleksei said smugly. “If there’s anything the woman ingrained in me, it was how to be resourceful. I learned how to ferret out one’s enemies. How to distinguish between a man’s strengths and his weaknesses. I seem to recall your early interest in medical research. Did you know that’s how I started?”
“In research?” Kiril said, incredulous.
“Of a special kind. Ever heard of the Index, Little Brother?”
Kiril had heard of it, all right. A staggering collection of biographical information, infinite in scope and indiscriminate in content. Anyone of even remote interest to the KGB was targeted.
“Aunt Sofia grasped right from the start that the Index was a perfect fit for my special talents. Over the years, I’ve made myself useful to a great many influential people,” Aleksei said with a faint smile of reminiscence.
“You mean that over the years you’ve become a blackmailer par excellence,” Kiril said with disgust.
“One tramples or one is trampled on,” Aleksei said philosophically. “But our aunt was not so sanguine about your future, was she, Little Brother? Oh, you were studious enough. Uncomplaining. Obedient. Top grades. Still, you’d built a kind of wall around yourself that shut people out, especially as you got older. ‘Kiril even shuts me out, the ungrateful brat!’ Sofia told me once. What’s so funny?”
“Our Aunt Sofia was more astute than I gave her credit for.”
“I could have helped you professionally had you come to me,” Aleksei mused. “Why didn’t you?”
“That’s like asking a priest why he never made a pact with the devil.”
“You are your mother’s son,” Aleksei said with a mock sigh. “Your antisocial attitude is precisely why I’ve kept an eye on you all these years. I could have had you arrested, you know. Or confined in one of our mental institutions, like Vladimir Bukovsky and men of his ilk. But I didn’t. Maybe blood really is thicker than water,” Aleksei said magnanimously. “Or, maybe I’m a generous person when it comes to relatively harmless transgressions. Like your learning German.”
It took Kiril a split second to realize how naïve he’d been. Of course Aleksei would have put out feelers for something like his language capabilities… and for god knows what else.
“I learned German to read medical journals,” he said matter-of-factly. “I also hoped that someday I’d have an opportunity to talk to our German comrades in the East.”
“And learning English?”
“Same reason.”
“You flirted with the Gulag,” Aleksei said bluntly.
“Thanks for the warning.”
“Take it seriously, Kiril. This is not the time to make trouble. It’s bad enough that we had to pull out of Medicine International’s Artificial Heart Symposium in West Berlin,” he said sourly.
“You sound disappointed,” Kiril said slowly, even as his mind raced while he tried to figure out why.
“Let’s just say I was looking forward to a friendly chat with the eminent Dr. Kurt Brenner at close range and on friendly ground—a missed opportunity.”
“What business could the KGB possibly have with a world-class heart surgeon like Dr. Brenner?” Kiril scoffed.
“So Brenner is a hero of yours, is he?”
Aleksei turned toward a massive figure who stood just inside his office door. “Bring me the Dr. Kurt Brenner file, Luka.”
“Sergeant Luka Rogov,” Aleksei said as the uniformed Mongolian returned with a bulky file tied with rough cord.
“We’ve already met,” Kiril said drily. “Your Mr. Rogov dragged me in here, remember?”
“I have to make a call,” Aleksei said, ignoring Kiril’s sarcasm. “A private matter I must attend to. But before I permit you to leave, I cannot resist seeing your reaction to what’s in this file.” Smiling, he handed the file to Kiril.
Something in that smile, even more than his brother’s words, made Kiril open the Brenner file with trepidation.
It was an odd mix. Copies of military service documents. Diplomas. Grainy newspaper articles. Airline tickets and hotel statements—
And a transcript of Dr. Kurt Brenner’s remarks at the home of Medicine International’s Director, Russell Manning, during a May Day party in Manhattan a few days earlier.
Kiril found what he was looking for all too quickly.
“I must confess that I’m offended by my government’s behavior. Spying in this day and age? Despicable!”
Then: “It has taken years for people of good faith from our two countries to establish a bridge of friendship. I only hope that bridge is strong enough to withstand such ill-advised and provocative conduct.”
Kiril made himself read it again. He read it twice more, as if the repetition forced him to believe what he was reading.
How could Dr. Kurt Brenner disparage America—a country that, more than any other, was the very personification of freedom?
He shook off a sense of sacrilege so pungent it filled his mouth with bile. A prominent American heart surgeon, a man whose profession was saving lives, being deferential to the ambassador of a slave state!
Kiril was slipping the papers back into the file when he noticed a thick batch stapled together—roughly twenty pages of a medical report about the next generation of heart-lung machines. Grateful for the distraction, he dug in and was soon mesmerized by the new technology available in the West. He was roughly halfway through when he came upon a 5-by-7-inch photograph—a mistake, he figured. Why else would a photograph have been stapled into the middle of a report?
The first thing that registered was the name typed at the bottom of the photograph: DR. KURT BRENNER.
Then he was staring at the man. Brenner’s hair was white, in stark contrast to the deep tan of his skin. His eyes were dark brown, his cheekbones high. His mouth curved with amusement—and something else, something Kiril couldn’t quite put a name to. Something he didn’t like. Still, apart from certain dissimilar features and the man’s fashionable attire and self-assured sophistication, the resemblance was startling.
Kiril was a consummate realist. Brenner was no mirror image… and yet did he dare hope?
The office was cold. Even so, drops of perspiration appeared on his neck and slipped down to his shoulder blades. Had Aleksei seen the photograph? Doubtful. His brother would have had no interest in such a technical paper. Even if Aleksei had glanced at it accidentally, surely he’d have called it to Kiril’s attention. He slipped the photo into his pocket and tuned in to Aleksei’s voice through the slightly open office door.
“—no time for your petty problems,” Aleksei was saying, his tone a mix of impatience and anger. “The repairs will have to wait. After all, Glienicker Bridge has been collapsing ever since the war. My orders from General Nemerov are to keep all unauthorized personnel off the bridge until the investigation is complete. Your orders are to set up the necessary dredging equipment before I get there… Three weeks?… Godammit! Let me know as soon as you get the equipment back from Lake Constance. It’s important we dredge up Brodsky’s lighter. The General’s been pushing me hard. Why? A would-be defector named Stepan Brodsky, who just happened to be a Soviet Air Force Captain, and who just happened to work for me. Who just happened to organize my part of the security for the Four-Power summit and just happened to almost pull off that defection on Glienicker Bridge. Oh, and Brodsky’s last act on earth just happened to prevent me from obtaining his cigarette lighter. What do you suppose was in that goddamn lighter, Emil—cotton?!”