Dolgikh was full of morbid fascination. He had arrived with Kyle at the château about 11.00 A.M. Their flight from Bucharest had been made in a military transport aircraft to an airbase in Smolensk, then to the Château in E-Branch's own helicopter. All of this had been achieved in absolute secrecy; KGB cover had been tight as a drum. Not even Brezhnev — especially Brezhnev — knew what was happening here.
At the Château Kyle had been injected with a truth serum — not to loosen his tongue but his mind — which had rendered him unconscious. And for the last twelve hours, with booster shots of the serum at regular intervals, he had been giving up all the secrets of INTESP to the Soviet espers. Theo Dolgikh, however, was a very mundane man. His ideas of interrogation, or ‘truth gathering', were far removed from anything he saw here.
‘What exactly are they doing to him? How does this work, Comrade?' he asked.
Without looking at Dolgikh, with his faded hazel eyes following every slightest movement in the room beyond
the screen, Gerenko answered, ‘You, of all people, have surely heard of brainwashing, Theo? Well, that is what we are doing: washing Alec Kyle's brain. So thoroughly, in fact, that it will come out of the wash bleached!'
Ivan Gerenko was slight, and so small as to be almost childlike in stature; but his wrinkled skin, faded eyes and generally sallow appearance were those of an old man. And yet he was only thirty-seven. A rare disease had stunted him physically, aged him prematurely, and a contrary Nature had made up the deficiency by giving him a supplementary ‘talent'. He was a ‘deflector'.
Like Darcy Clarke in many ways, he was the opposite of accident-prone. But where Clarke's talent avoided danger, Gerenko actually deflected it. A well-aimed blow would not strike him; the shaft of an axe would break before the blade could touch his flesh. The advantage was enormous, immeasurable: he feared nothing and was almost scornful of physical danger. And it accounted for his totally disdainful manner where people such as Theo Dolgikh were concerned. Why should he afford them any sort of respect? They might dislike him, but they could never hurt him. No man was capable of bringing physical harm to Ivan Gerenko.
‘Brainwashing?' Dolgikh repeated him. ‘I had thought some sort of interrogation, surely?'
‘Both,' Gerenko nodded, talking rather to himself than by way of answering Dolgikh. ‘We use science, psychology, parapsychology. The three Ts: technology, terror, telepathy. The drug we've put in his blood stimulates memory. It works by making him feel alone — utterly alone. He feels that no one else exists in all the universe
— even his own existence is in doubt! He wants to ‘talk' about all of his experiences, everything he ever did or saw or said, because that way he will know that he is real, that he has existence. But if he physically tried to do it at the speed his mind is working, he would rapidly dehydrate
and burn himself out; especially if he were awake, conscious. Also, we are not interested in the accumulation of all of that information, we do not wish to know ‘everything'. His life in general holds little of interest to us, but of course we are completely fascinated with details of his work for INTESP.'
Dolgikh shook his head in bewilderment. ‘You are stealing his thoughts?'
‘Oh yes! It's an idea we borrowed from Boris Dragosani. He was a necromancer: he could steal the thoughts of the dead! We can only do it to the living, but when we're finished they're as good as dead…‘
‘But… I mean, how?' The concept was over Dolgikh's head.
Gerenko glanced at him, just a glance, a twitch of the eyes in his wizened head. ‘I can't explain "how" — not to you — only "what". When he touches upon a mundane matter, the entire subject is drawn from him swiftly — and erased. This saves time, for he can't return to that subject again. But when we are interested in his subject, then the telepaths absorb the content of his thoughts as best they can. If what they learn is difficult to remember or understand, they make a note, a jotting which can be studied later. And as soon as that line of inquiry is exhausted, then that subject, too, is erased.'
Dolgikh had taken most of this in, but his interest now centred on Zek Föener. ‘That girl, she is very beautiful.' His gaze was openly lecherous. ‘Now if only she were a subject for interrogation. My sort of interrogation, of course.' He gave a coarse chuckle.
At that exact moment the girl looked up. Her bright blue eyes blazed with fury. She looked directly at the oneway glass, as if.
‘Ah!' said Dolgikh, the word a small gasp. ‘Impossible! She looks through the glass at us!'
‘No,' Gerenko shook his head. ‘She thinks through it — at you, if I'm not mistaken!'
Foener stood up, strode purposefully to a side door and left the room, emerging into the rubber-floored corridor where the observers stood. She came straight up to them, glanced once at Dolgikh and showed him her perfect, sharp white teeth, then turned to Gerenko. ‘Ivan, take this… this ape away from here. He's inside my radius, and his mind's like a sewer!'
‘Of course, my dear,' Gerenko smiled and nodded his wrinkled walnut head. He turned away, taking Dolgikh's elbow. ‘Come, Theo.'
Dolgikh shook himself loose, scowled at the girl. ‘You are very free with your insults.'
‘That is the correct way.' She spoke curtly. ‘Face to face and out with it. But your insults crawl like worms, and you keep them in the slime in your head!' And to Gerenko she added: ‘I can't work with him here.'
Gerenko looked at Dolgikh. ‘Well?'
Dolgikh's expression was ugly, but slowly he relaxed, shrugged. ‘Very well, my apologies, Fräulein Föener.' He deliberately avoided use of his customary ‘Comrade'; and when he looked her up and down one last time, that too was quite deliberate. ‘It's simply that I've always considered my thoughts private. And anyway, I'm only human.'
‘Barely!' she snapped, and at once returned to her work.
As Dolgikh followed Gerenko to his office, the Second in Command of E-Branch said, ‘That one's mind is very finely tuned, finely balanced. We must be careful not to — disturb it. However distasteful this may seem, Theo, you should never forget that any one of the espers here is worth ten of you.'
Dolgikh had pride. ‘Oh?' he growled. ‘Then why didn't Andropov ask you to send one of them to Italy, eh? Maybe you yourself, eh, Comrade?'
Gerenko smiled thinly. ‘Muscle occasionally has its advantages. That's why you went to Genoa, and it's why you're here now. I expect to have more work for you very soon. Work to your liking. But, Theo, be warned: so far you've done very well, so don't spoil it now. Our mutual, er, shall we say "superior", will be well pleased with you. But he would not be pleased if he thought you'd tried to impose your matter over our mind. Here at the Château Bronnitsy, its always the other way around — mind over matter!'
They climbed spiralling stone stairs in one of the Château's towers, and arrived at Gerenko's office. Before Gerenko it had housed Gregor Borowitz, and it was now Felix Krakovitch's seat of control; but Krakovitch was temporarily absent, and both Ivan Gerenko and Yuri Andropov intended that his absence should become permanent. This, too, puzzled Dolgikh.
‘In my time,' he said, taking a seat opposite Gerenko's desk, ‘I've been quite close to Comrade Andropov — or as close as a man can get. I've watched him rise, followed his rising star, you might say. In my experience, since the early days of E-Branch, there has been friction between the KGB and you espers. Yet now, with you, things are changing. What has Andropov got on you, Ivan?'