The Forbidden Zone

by Michael Hetzer

  Victor cherished the commotion provided by the toddler. It kept his mind off other matters.

  He took the phone from his nephew and tensed when he heard the burly voice come over the line. Boris Orlov was head of the KGB for the Special Astrophysics Observatory — SAPO. Though Victor and Boris were well acquainted, Victor could not remember the KGB man ever having called his home. Victor listened for several minutes and then hung up. He stood a moment thinking and then went to the bathroom where Oksana was drying off.

  “Can you sneak out for lunch today?” Victor asked. Oksana was a librarian at the newspaperIzvestiya , and employees were expected to dine in the staff cafeteria. “I want to take you and Grisha to the skating rink.”

  Grisha overheard that and let out awhoop. Grandfather Frost had given Grisha a pair of double-bladed training skates on New Year’s. He was in a perpetual state of readiness to go to the rink.

  Oksana wrapped herself in the towel and tucked the end between her breasts. She looked at Victor and a shadow crossed her face. Ever since Anton’s death, she had become fearful of news.

  “I suppose so,” said Oksana. “What’s going on?”

  “Not now. I’ll pick you up at noon. We’ll talk then.”

  The SAPO Institute was located on the west side of Moscow, about fifteen minutes from Victor’s flat. Victor had once shared the flat with his mother, but since her appointment to the Central Committee, Yevgenia lived in a four-room palace in the center. Victor had never been invited there. The Iron Perova, as his mother was known, had never been the greatest living companion — after all, she was a woman who didn’t even allow her own children to call her “mother.” But her departure, coming so soon after Anton’s death, had left Victor feeling unbearably lonely. He began spending more time with his brother’s family — Oksana and Grisha. After a while, it just seemed silly not to have them move in with him. Sharing a bed with Oksana had not been part of the plan, but it had happened nonetheless. Victor blamed himself. Oksana was beautiful; he was weak.

  Victor came through the glass doors of SAPO at eight-thirty that morning. The security guard greeted him with a smile and waved him through. The omission of the security cheek was a sign of the guard’s respect for Victor.

  “Good morning, Ivan,” said Victor. “How’s your daughter?”

  “Better, thank you.”

  Victor took the stairs to the second floor and walked the long corridor to his office. Along the way he passed through the institute’s observatory, a circular, two-story room dominated by a thirty-two-inch reflector telescope aimed at a slot in a dome fifty feet overhead. In 1937, the telescope had been one of the biggest in the world, a symbol of Soviet technological might.

  What an impression that telescope had made on Victor the first time he saw it, just five years ago! Even then, the telescope had not been of much use for serious science: The city had grown up around it creating smog and a glow of light that obscured the heavens. Still, there were times in the early hours before dawn, when the lights of the suburbs had not yet come up and a steady breeze had swept away the smog, when the telescope hinted at its former glory.

  Victor paused to look at her. A voice came from below him.

  “She’s a fine old girl, yes?”

  It was Mitya, the telescope’s maintenance man. He stood on the catwalk below, a wrench in his hand. “They want to take her out, you know, to put in some more offices.”

  “I heard.”

  “I guess there’s not much use for her since . . .” His voice fell away.

  “Since what?” asked Victor.

  “Since Dr. Ryzhkov left.”

  Victor smiled. “He sure could make her dance.”

  Mitya nodded. “Baryshnikov.”

  Victor went up the hall to his office and opened the door. He hung his coat on the rack, threw his briefcase on the desk and went back out into the hall. Boris had asked to meet Victor first thing that morning. Victor locked his office and started up the hall to the office of the First Department, the KGB.

  On the phone that morning, Boris had gotten straight to the point. He knew all about Helsinki. Incredibly, Katherine was in Moscow. She had told Lena Ryzhkova. Lena, under interrogation, had told Boris. Now there would be hell to pay.

  Victor shook his head. It had never occurred to him that Katherine Sears would take his request onto her own shoulders. His message was meant for Ryzhkov, and it should have ended with his death. But now Victor saw clearly his error. Katherine was earnest and a little naive, which was to say she was American. Katherine wasn’t brilliant, but she was industrious and thorough in the way a good astronomer must be. In this respect, she reminded him of his old friend Vladimir Ryzhkov. Katherine was one of those astronomers who was more at home behind a telescope than in the company of people. For the purposes of their joint survey, Victor couldn’t imagine a better partner. Around SAPO, she was known as “The Nun” because of her unflattering clothes and shy manner. There were the inevitable jokes about her being a virgin. The others tried to get him to join in, but Victor just smiled and kept his thoughts to himself.

  Victor wasn’t sure how Katherine had figured out everything she needed to understand his message in Helsinki, or even if she had. Like most academics she was adept at using a library. She could have figured it out.

  But to come to Moscow disguised as a tourist — it would have been laughable if it hadn’t been so dangerous. The KGB had picked up her trail right away, before she had even set foot in Moscow. For the last two years, their joint project had been under special KGB scrutiny, cleared at the highest levels. As chief of the First Department at SAPO, Boris Orlov’s head was on the chopping block, and he wasn’t about to take any chances. Boris had always distrusted the motives of the Soviet-American project. Since he had no interest in science, he viewed it purely as a reckless threat to security. Katherine Sears, in his view, was nothing but a clever spy. So naturally Katherine’s name had been on all the usual watch lists — including the U.S.S.R. Department of Registrations and Visas. When she had applied for a tourist visa it had been caught immediately. The visa request should have been turned down. The fact that it wasn’t meant that Boris was up to something.

  What? Victor had to find out. Victor was no stranger to the brutal rules of Kremlin politics. He had grown up watching his mother suffer in their grip. After a meteoric rise in her early career, the Iron Perova had languished for fifteen years in the Ministry of Agriculture, unable to advance because of an invisible enemy neither she nor her allies could flush out. Her astonishing promotion that winter had at last broken this stalemate. Victor often wondered how Yevgenia had pulled it off. But she never discussed such things, and he hadn’t asked. Still, the Iron Perova had powerful enemies, and information about the indiscretions of her son could be valuable ammunition against her. It might even bring her down. Victor couldn’t bear to be the cause of that. Her promotion had been one of the few bright spots in the dark winter.

  Victor came through the door. Boris’s enormous frame was parked behind a large desk. As usual, not a scrap of paper interrupted the desk’s mahogany sheen. Victor wondered sardonically where the furniture ended and the man began.

  When Victor took a step into the office he saw the frightened young woman in the corner.

  Lena Ryzhkova.

  “What the hell . . .” said Victor.

  “I believe you know my guest,” said Boris.

  Victor went to her. She wore a pretty blue dress and her makeup was smeared. She got out of her chair and they embraced.

  “Lena? Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  Victor turned to Boris. “You bastard. If you hurt her I swear I’ll have you arrested.”

  “Come, Victor. This isn’t 1937. We merely had a chat. What’s more, comrade, you’re in no position to dictate anything. You are in a great deal of trouble.”

  “What have you done with Vanya?” Victor asked.

  Lena began to cry.

  B
oris said, “Little Vanya’s just fine. He’s at school. One of our agents took him. Now please, both of you sit down. I have a very simple proposition that should settle this matter quite suitably. Lena can go home, and Victor, your indiscretion in Helsinki need never be a part of your record. You may even get a commendation.”

  “What do you want?” Victor said coldly.

  “Sit, please,” said Boris.

  They sat.

  “Katherine Sears is a spy,” said Boris.

  Victor snorted in disgust. “Nonsense.”

  “How naive you are. But perhaps I can change your mind. Can you tell me why, Victor, in the last four months Katherine Sears has had daily contact with dozens of different anti-Soviet émigré organizations and so-called ‘human rights groups’?”

  “How do you know that?”

  Boris waved his hand. “It’s my job to know. I also know she has made two phone calls to the Moscow bureau of theNew York Times. We have the recordings. She spoke to Grayson Hines.”

  Victor frowned. Grayson Hines was well known to him. His name popped up from time to time in the Soviet press as a provocateur and possible CIA spy — the usual accusation leveled against American journalists. But even more significantly, Hines had been one of the few Western correspondents in Helsinki when Victor rejected the Hubble Prize. Had Katherine really gone to him?

  Boris went on. “She asked some rather pointed questions about Afghanistan.”

  “Afghanistan!”

  “What has astronomy got to do with Afghanistan?” Boris asked.

  “Anton died in Afghanistan. If you really know everything, then you know she was only doing what I asked — finding out about my brother.”

  “But why is she here now?”

  Victor paused. He was wondering that himself. Since Helsinki, Victor had learned the truth about his brother. Anton was dead.

  Boris said softly, “I know about the file your mother gave you on Anton’s death.”

  Victor stiffened. The file — its very existence — was a secret he had kept even from Oksana. Boris laughed. “Don’t look so surprised. Such an irregular request would have had to have been cleared by me. After your speech in Helsinki, I gave the go-ahead. Think of it as a reward for good behavior.”

  Victor glared at him.

  “So we both know that your brother is really dead,” said Boris. “And if that is true, then I ask you once again, ‘Why is Dr. Sears here?’”

  Victor shrugged, and Boris seemed to take that as a victory. Victor shot a glance at Lena. She sat in the corner with a glazed-over expression. She appeared to be in shock.

  Boris went on. “Dr. Sears is here on a mission. She thinks she can trust you, probably because you broke with protocol in Helsinki. She’s very clever. She doesn’t know about the file, so she is assuming you will think she knows something new about what happened to your brother. She assumes you will meet with her to find out. Then she will reveal the true nature of her mission.”

  “Katherine Sears is not a spy.”

  “Wasnot, Victor. Was. You have had no contact with her in how long? Six months — not counting Helsinki, of course. Things change. She could have been recruited.”

  “No.”

  “Let her prove it then.”

  Victor took a deep breath. “How?”

  “This is why I have asked you here. We will meet Katherine exactly as she asked, only you will be wearing a wire. When she reveals the true purpose of her trip we will swoop in and arrest her.” Boris gazed over Victor’s head as though picturing this triumphant moment. “Together, we will catch an American spy. As I said, you may get a commendation out of this.”

  “And you get a big promotion — colonel, perhaps?”

  “That’s not my primary consideration.”

  “Sure it isn’t,” Victor scoffed. “Does Lubyanka know what you’re up to?”

  Boris frowned. “It’s to your advantage as much as mine that the higher-ups are kept out of this.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Oh, Victor, you have a brilliant career ahead of you. You can’t help the socialist cause if you’re thrown out of the Academy of Sciences. And Lena . . .” He let his voice trail off.

  “What about her?”

  “I’d hate to see Vanya grow up as an orphan. Victor, think about it. There’s not a person in Russia who would come to the defense of the daughter of a defector after she has met with a suspected American spy. I doubt even your mother could save her — assuming she would try. If you want to blame someone for all this, blame Dr. Sears. She started it.”

  Victor looked at Lena. She had listened to their conversation as though they were two executioners deciding how to kill the prisoner.

  He turned to Boris. “What’s the plan?”

  “Katherine is scheduled to have dinner tonight at the Moskva Restaurant. We will do it there.”

  What are you going to do?” asked Oksana.

  “I don’t know. If I go along with Boris, Katherine will be arrested. If I don’t, Lena will be arrested.”

  Victor and Oksana were seated in the bleachers beside the skating rink. A blanket covered their legs and a tray of bread and sausage lay beside them. Lower down on the rink, Grisha pushed himself cautiously forward on his skates.

  “Boris is right about one thing,” said Oksana. “It’s Katherine’s fault. No one asked her to come here.”

  Victor grimaced. “That’s not true.”

  “What?”

  Victor told Oksana about Helsinki. When he finished, Oksana said, “And that’s why she went to Lena Ryzhkova?”

  Victor nodded.

  Grisha called out to them from the rink. “Look, Mama!”

  “That’s good, honey,” said Oksana. “Not so fast. No, don’t look at me . . . oy!”

  Grisha fell. Almost immediately, he was back on his feet. He did a quick spin just to show he was all right.

  Oksana laughed. Victor watched her watch her son. Even in her parka and rabbit hat, her cheeks over-red from the cold, Oksana cut a stunning figure. She was like a woman from a Russian fairy tale painted on one of those black lacquer boxes the tourists liked so much. She had a round face with high cheekbones and long blond hair. Her complexion reminded Victor of ice cream. Dimples, high up on her cheeks, appeared magically when she smiled. She had round eyes with long lashes she batted at people when she wanted their attention. It rarely failed.

  Oksana turned to him. “Have you considered the possibility that Katherine has some real information about Anton?”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “But you had some doubts. The date on Anton’s last letter didn’t match his location. You said so yourself. That’s why you went to her in Helsinki.”

  “That was before . . .”

  “Before what?”

  “Before I had Yevgenia look into it.”

  “Yevgenia!”

  In February, after a particularly bad nightmare, Victor confronted his mother in her Kremlin office. She kept him waiting two hours. When he told her what he wanted, she flatly refused.

  Victor looked into Oksana’s eyes, which had grown hard at the mention of Yevgenia. He said, “I know you think Yevgenia’s a monster. But you’re wrong. Anton was wrong. She was very upset when she heard about the letter. She turned as white as a bed sheet.”

  “The Iron Perova?” Oksana scoffed. “I don’t believe it.”

  Victor looked away. “Anyway, she came back two days later with Anton’s service file.”

  “She gave it to you?” Oksana asked, amazed.

  Victor opened his briefcase. He pulled out a manila folder and put it on her lap. Across the side in red ink was stamped “Sovershenno Sekretno,”Top Secret. Oksana gaped down at it as though it might bite her.

  “Open it,” said Victor. “It explains everything.”

  Victor looked over Oksana’s shoulder as she opened the file.

  It began with the death certificate.

  Perov, Anton Bor
isovich. Nationality: Russian. Rank: Private. Division: 20th.Entered service: 14 July 1983. Basic training completed: 16 September 1983.Special Considerations: Mother, Yevgenia Perova, Deputy Agricultural Ministerof U.S.S.R.

  Killed in action 14 December 1983 in Mazar-e-Shariff in battle with Ittehad-e-Islami clan. Armored personnel carrier struck by antitank rocket. Body not recovered.

  Notification of family: Official status “missing in action.” Soviet presence inMazar-e-Shariff sensitive.

  Soviet presence in Mazar-e-Shariff sensitive,” quoted Victor. “That’s why the date on his last letter didn’t match the location quoted in the newspaper reports. They were changed by Army intelligence.”

  Oksana nodded. She turned the page. Next came army records from basic training. Nothing special. The results of a physical. Anton was in good health. Stapled to the report was a passport photo of Anton in his uniform, and Victor’s eye went to that. His brother’s head and face had been shaved. If Victor hadn’t seen the photo before, he wouldn’t have recognized Anton; his brother had worn a beard and long hair ever since high school.

  Oksana went on reading the report while Victor’s mind wandered. He kept looking at the photo. Anton looked younger, not that different from how he had looked on their twelfth birthday. Suddenly Victor was thinking about that day, the day Victor decided to become an astronomer — February 28, 1964.

  It was a Saturday and the family had gone to the dacha in Petrovka, an hour outside of Moscow. Yevgenia was at a meeting in the city, as usual, and Papa was drinking, so the twins went out to the gazebo in the backyard to be alone. It was cold, but the sun shone brilliantly. The day felt magical, and the boys were anxious to give each other their presents.

  Victor went first. He handed Anton a knapsack. Anton unzipped it. Inside were a half-dozen tubes filled with a complete set of topographical maps of the U.S.S.R. They were military maps, practically impossible to obtain. With Yevgenia’s help, Victor had ordered them six months earlier. Anton withdrew one of the maps and contemplated it.

  “They’re perfect,” he said, and he slid the map carefully back into the tube. Anton’s eyes sparkled. “Now it’s your turn. Are you ready?”