‘Activate Kapalet?’
‘At once,’ ordered Kazin. ‘But just sufficient at this stage to start the panic: nothing more than a hint from which the Americans can discover for themselves that there’s a Soviet spy within the CIA.’
‘Could we in future discuss everything in advance?’
‘I guarantee it,’ said Kazin.
Liar, thought Belov. Or was madman more accurate?
12
The technician appeared modelled for the job, a neatly suited, neatly bartered, neatly precise man who set the polygraph apparatus upon the desk as if lines had been drawn to receive it, placed a file and notebook alongside with matching care and then arranged the chair with similar caution, actually sitting in it himself to measure its positioning and then, dissatisfied, shifting it further out of view of the paper drum to prevent Levin seeing the needle’s wavering reaction to the questions.
Levin waited to see if Bowden would make any formal introductions but he didn’t. Instead the American appeared fascinated by the preparations, as if he were seeing the set-up for the first time.
When the man straightened, indicating he was ready, Bowden smiled at Levin, gesturing palms-upwards apologetically. ‘Waste of time,’ he said. The clothes were the same as before, even the shirt, although it appeared freshly pressed.
Would he remember the training? worried Levin. It seemed such a long time ago. ‘Whenever you’re ready,’ he said.
‘You don’t need me, Doc, do you?’
Levin thought the question was stupid, just as the first-day remark about there being no ground rules had been stupid. Was Bowden genuinely careless? Or was the man intentionally trying to manufacture such an inference to lure him into reacting over-confidently and by so doing become careless himself? It was a possible entrapment.
‘No,’ said the polygraph operator. ‘It’ll be better if we’re alone.’
Levin’s instruction had been that such sessions were always conducted one-to-one. To Bowden he said: ‘Will you wait?’
‘You’re the job now, Yevgennie,’ said the American, at the door. ‘I’ll just grab a cup of coffee.’
Levin realized they wanted an immediate assessment. He wished the training were clearer in his mind.
‘Are you familiar with this?’ asked the technician.
‘No,’ lied Levin.
‘It might seem complicated but really it’s not,’ said the man. ‘I want you to sit in the chair that I have arranged there. I shall fix attachments to your hand, chest and arm. Monitors. OK so far?’
Levin hesitated before replying, waiting to see if the man would explain the function of the attachments, but he didn’t. Palm monitor to measure sweat level, chest band to register perceptible change in breathing pattern, blood-pressure belt around the arm, the Russian recalled, easily. He said: ‘I understand.’
‘I shall ask you some questions,’ continued the operator. ‘Here it’s important that you remember there can only be yes or no answers. No discussion or explanation. Is that clear?’
He would be expected to query that, decided Levin. He said: ‘Is that going to be possible? A straight yes or no can convey a misleading impression.’
‘We try to phrase the questions so that doesn’t happen,’ said the technician. ‘It works fine, believe me.’
If it worked fine, why was it possible to cheat the machine, thought Levin. Careful, he warned himself: he hadn’t beaten it yet. He said: ‘What else?’
‘That’s it,’ assured the man. ‘Simple, like I said. Ready to get started?’
‘Whenever you like,’ agreed Levin. He took his time removing his rumpled, sagging jacket and rolling up his sleeve, trying to bring everything back to mind. The initial questions were actually arranged to get lying replies: if they were answered honestly it indicated training to beat the machine. Essential to avoid that mistake then. A painful distraction was necessary, when the actual test was carried out. At Kuchino he’d put a pebble into his shoe and pressed down hard against it, but that wasn’t possible here. Important that the pain didn’t cause any perspiration or blood-rate increase. The inside of his mouth, he decided. He’d bite the inside of his mouth until the very moment he had to speak, hard enough to cause discomfort but not hard enough to draw blood. He would have to appear to forget about the yes or no replies, of course: that would be an anticipated mistake. Just like a certain perspiration and heart-rate increase would be expected, because it was a tension situation.
The technician’s hands were very cold, attaching the straps. The blood-pressure band to the arm was last and as he secured it the man said: ‘Just relax, OK? Nothing to worry about.’
‘I’m OK,’ announced Levin, I hope, he thought.
The fastidious man walked out of Levin’s view and there was the scrape of a chair as he seated himself in front of his apparatus. There was a cough and the man said: ‘Do you masturbate?’
Levin recognized the immediate trick question. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Have you ever masturbated?’
‘No.’
‘Not when you were a kid, at school?’
‘No.’
‘Is your marriage to Galina happy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you ever had an extra-marital affair?’
‘No.’
‘Ever had a homosexual affair?’
‘No.’
‘Never been attracted, homosexually?’
‘No.’
‘Have you ever indulged in fellatio?’
‘No.’
‘Have you ever engaged in cunnilingus?’
‘No.’
‘You’ve become a traitor, to your country?’
For the first time Levin trapped a piece of his lower lip between his teeth, acknowledging that the technician was good. The testing sex ritual had practically been recited, as if the man were hurrying through the preliminaries, and the last query had been posed in the same dull monotone. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘A willing traitor?’
Time to appear to make a mistake. He managed: ‘I am unwilling about…’ before the other man stopped him.
‘Yes or no,’ he insisted.
‘No.’
‘An unwilling traitor?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were you tricked into defecting?’
‘No.’
‘But you are unwilling?’
‘Yes.’ There would be a query in the notebook about the apparent ambiguity.
‘Your name is Yevgennie Pavlovich Levin?’
‘Yes.’ He relaxed the pressure against his lower lip, but only slightly.
‘You are forty-three years old?’
‘Yes.’
‘An officer of the Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti attached to the Soviet mission at the United Nations?’
‘Yes.’
‘As an agent operating against the United States of America?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you engaged in activities endangering the security of the United States of America?’
Before the sentence was completed the skin was pincered between Levin’s teeth but the phrasing of the question made it easier than he expected. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Do you regret engaging in activities endangering the security of the United States of America?’
Careful, thought Levin, biting slightly harder. He said: ‘No.’ There was a pause in the questioning and Levin knew there would be another notebook notation.
‘Do you consider yourself a traitor?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you imagine you will regret what you have done?’
Need for caution again. ‘Yes,’ he replied.
‘Do you consider the United States of America a freer country than the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you become a traitor for money?’
It was necessary permanently to bite now. ‘Yes,’ Levin said.
‘Is money the primary cause for your becoming a traitor?’
‘No,’ said Levin. The perpetual use of traitor was intentional, he recognized. It was not antagonizing him as it was intended.
‘Do you consider you have become a traitor for reasons of ideology?’