«If you weaken and say you want to go back, we cannot help you. But if you adhere to your desires, we will stand by you. So will the Americans.»
The Japanese that afternoon further revealed the gravity with which they anticipated the confrontation by taking Belenko into a conference room for a detailed rehearsal. They pointed to a table behind which the Soviet emissary would sit and another fifteen yards away where Belenko would sit. Three security guards would protect him, and one would stand on either side of the Russian. If he drew any kind of weapon or attempted to move toward Belenko, he would be struck down instantly. Again they stressed that he could depart at any tune and pointed to the door through which he should leave whenever he wanted.
A big redheaded American, with a commanding presence, deep baritone voice, and a strong handshake, visited Belenko the next day, a couple of hours before the confrontation. Although he said nothing about the imminent meeting, his purpose probably was to reassure Belenko, and he succeeded.
«Tonight you fly to America. We have your tickets; all arrangements are made. You, of course, will not fly alone. Someone will be waiting for you at the plane. Is there anything I can do for you? Do you have any questions?»
«No questions. I am ready.»
The waning afternoon sun cast a dim light and shadows from the trees rustling in the wind outside danced in the conference as Belenko entered. A KGB officer, who posed as a first secretary of the Soviet Embassy in Tokyo, behaved just as the Japanese predicted, jumping up and starting his spiel before Belenko sat down.
«I am an official of the Soviet Embassy, and I want to tell you how much all your comrades sympathize with you. The Soviet government as well as everyone else knows that what happened was not your fault. We know that you did not voluntarily land your plane in Japan, that you lost your way and were forced down. We know that you are being held in a Japanese prison against your will and that the Japanese have drugged you with narcotics. But even if there were a mistake on your part, and we know there was not, but even if there were, I can assure you on the highest authority that it is forgiven; it is as nothing. I have come to help you home, back to your own people, to your loving wife and son, to your relatives. They have been able to do little but weep since your misfortune, and your adoring wife, Ludmilla, is inconsolable. Even your beautiful little son, Dmitri, young as he is, cries at life without his father.
«All your relatives, your wife, your father who served our Mother Country so heroically, your mother, your aunt, who was so kind to you as a child, have joined in sending a collective letter to you.»
How could they get them together so quickly, from the Donbas, Siberia, the Far East? It's preposterous. And I don't care anyway.
As the KGB officer started to read the letter aloud, Belenko stood and looked him in the eyes with unflinching contempt. «Wait a minute,» he interrupted. «I flew to Japan voluntarily and on purpose. I am here voluntarily and because of my own desires. Nobody has used force on me or given me any kind of drugs. I on my own initiative have requested political asylum in the United States. Excuse me. Our conversation is ended. I must leave.»
«Traitor!» shouted the KGB officer. «You know what happens to traitors! One way or another we will get you back! We will get you back.»
The Japanese official presiding over the meeting switched off the tape recorder and told the Russian, «You may leave.»
Belenko stepped into the anteroom and unrestrained jubilation. The dozen or so Japanese gathered there cheered him, hugged him, slapped his back, and bumped into each other in eagerness to shake his hand. «You were magnificent; we are proud of you,» said the Foreign Office official who had asked him to meet the Russian. «You will have a wonderful life in America. It is a great country made up of people from all over the world.» Handing Belenko a bottle of Stolichnaya vodka, he said, «We would like you to take this with you to America as a present from your Japanese friends.»
When I first saw them, I thought they were funny. Their talk sounded like the chirping of birds. In a way they are like Chechens. If you understand them, you see they are a remarkable people, very strong people. They have been so sincere and kind to me.
«No, I want to drink it now with my Japanese friends.»
Paper cups were brought, and the Japanese manfully downed the vodka to which they were unaccustomed. Its intoxicating effects soon changed their grimaces to laughter, and they bade farewell to Belenko in high spirits. «Remember, you are always welcome back in Japan. And next time we will show you Tokyo.»
They left the prison in darkness and drove to the airport in another heavily escorted motorcade; police swung open a gate, and the car sped across the runway to a Northwest Orient Airlines Boeing 747. Inside, Jim, the Embassy officer, led Belenko into the coach section, and nobody paid any particular attention to them. As they took off, Jim patted him on the shoulder. «You're on your way.»
As Belenko had never seen a wide-bodied jet, its quietness and size amazed him, and he felt as if he were in an opulent theater. The number of flight attendants and their attentiveness to the passengers also surprised him.
After the 747 leveled off at 39,000 feet, Jim said, «Okay, let's go to our room.» The first-class lounge on the upper deck was reserved exclusively for them and a huge, fierce-looking man whom the U.S. embassy officer introduced as a U.S. marine. The captain admitted Belenko to the flight deck and for nearly an hour, with Jim interpreting, answered his questions about the 747, its equipment and life as a commercial pilot. Belenko simply did not believe that only three men could manage an enormous plane, though they carefully showed and explained how they could.
The rest of the crew is hidden somewhere. But if it's their job to fool me and impress me, I'll let them think they've succeeded.
Neither did he believe that the dinner — caviar, smoked salmon, smoked trout, soup, salad, filet mignon, potato balls, asparagus, fruit and cheese, strawberries and ice cream, white wine, red wine, champagne — was normal first-class fare on an international flight.
They are just putting on a show for me, no matter what Jim says.
However, he did believe and was moved by the stewardesses who after dinner came singly or in pairs to speak briefly to him.
«We are proud to have you aboard Northwest and in our country.»
«I want to congratulate you. You have done a great thing.»
«You are very brave. I am proud to meet you.»
One stewardess, a pretty, freckle-faced pixie, had no words. She only took off her stewardess' wings, pinned them on him, and kissed him on the cheek.
Belenko kept wondering when the Dark Forces in the person of Jim would begin his interrogation, until Jim made clear there would be none. «You must be utterly exhausted, so just relax and sleep as much as you can. You have nothing to worry about. Your first problem will be to learn English. But you'll master it quickly, and you'll have an accent which all the girls will think is cute. You have a great future ahead of you. You'll see.»
After the lounge lights dimmed and Jim, though not the marine, dozed off, Belenko thought not of the future but of the past. Had he done right in fleeing? Had he done right in refusing to go back? Would his relatives be better off if he returned? Who would suffer? He tried, as was his wont, to analyze and answer logically.
Even if they did not punish me, and they would punish me, but even if they did not, what could I do back there to change things? I could do nothing. Can I do anything in the West? I don't know. Maybe. Could I help my relatives? If I could not help them, if I could not have good relations with them before, why now? Will they be hurt? Not my father, my mother, my aunt. The KGB will find I have not seen them for years. Ludmilla and Dmitri? No; her parents have enough influence to protect them. Who then? The Monster and his superiors; the political officers; the KGB. Well, they deserve it. No. No matter what happens I have done right. I do not want to live anymore unless I am free.