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?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you no longer regard yourself as a communist?’
Time for another lapse. ‘I was never…’
‘Yes or no.’
‘No.’
‘Do you intend completely to cooperate with people who will be interviewing you in the coming weeks and months?’
‘Yes.’
‘Cooperating with complete honesty?’
‘Yes.’ That had not been as difficult as he had feared.
‘Have you provided members of the FBI with material concerning the KGB mission within the United Nations?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was all the information accurate?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have knowledge that you believe will be useful for the continued security of the United States of America?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know the identities of people domiciled in this country engaged in activities contrary to the security of the United States of America?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will you provide details of those identities, to your questioners?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you regard yourself as an honest man?’
The question was as clever as the one that had followed the testing sex queries and it was the closest Levin came to faltering. ‘No,’ he said, alert for the reaction. It came exactly as he expected.
‘You do not regard yourself as an honest man?’
‘No.’ He imagined he heard the sound of the pen, making the notebook entry.
‘Yet you intend cooperating honestly with your debriefers?’
‘Yes.’ Levin reckoned at the moment the technician was more unsettled than he was but knew it would be dangerous to relax. Part of his lip was becoming numbed under the pressure and he nipped at the left side, needing the continued pain.
‘Have you operated as a member of the KGB in parts of the world other than the United States of America?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were there to be requests from those other countries, would you cooperate with their counter-intelligence organizations in disclosing details of those operations?’
‘No.’ The pause for the notebook query was obvious this time.
‘Do you find this test difficult?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you expect to be subjected to it?’
‘I did not…’ started Levin, aware of the danger and needing the time.
‘Yes or no.’
‘No.’
‘Would you be prepared to undergo further polygraph examination, if it were considered necessary?’
‘Yes.’ There was hardly a choice, but Levin wondered if it were a standard question or whether he had made a mistake. Wrong to become nervous, risking any increase in the sweat or heart rate.
‘Do you believe in God?’
An intentional leapfrog, to disorient him, guessed Levin. He said: ‘No.’
‘In truth?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you always tell the truth?’
Now it was the technician who was being very clever. ‘No,’ said Levin.
‘Do the KGB use the United Nations as a spy base?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you identify KGB personnel among the Soviet mission to the United Nations?’
Practically repetition of an earlier question. Checking the previous answers then. ‘Yes,’ Levin said.
‘Are you aware of KGB personnel in places other than the United Nations?’
Time to throw the needle off course. ‘I do not believe…’
‘Yes or no.’
‘No, but…’
‘Yes or no.’
‘No.’ Come on! come on! thought Levin.
‘Do you have knowledge of people working on behalf of the KGB in places other than the United Nations?’
‘Yes!’ The man had responded exactly as Levin had hoped.
‘Can you identify them?’
‘Yes. No.’
‘One or the other.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Yes or no.’
‘Maybe,’ refused the Russian.
There was another pause which Levin imagined to be for a further notebook entry, but then the technician was by his side, sliding the palm monitor off his hand. So intense had been Levin’s concentration that he had been unaware of the man’s approach. The ease with which the palm pad came off indicted that he was sweating quite heavily: to an acceptable degree or too much? ‘Well?’ asked Levin, as the man removed the other two straps. It was the sort of question they would expect.
‘We’ll have to see,’ avoided the man, noncommittal. ‘Please wait
here.’
He left the room awkwardly, carrying the drum and the file and his notebook. An instant discussion with the waiting Bowden, guessed Levin. He rose from the chair, aware for the first time of the ache of tension in his back and legs. Sweating hands and tension sufficient to make him ache: would that have translated on to the recordings? Possibly, but he’d tried enough to throw the needles with his answers, so hopefully the two would correlate and be explainable: if he were given the chance to explain, that is. He stood at the window, gazing out over the trimmed and sensored grounds, the tension still gripping him, the perspiration increasing. This really was testing time: the moment when he either passed, to be accepted. Or failed to satisfy them. What happened then? There were accounts of some distrusted defectors being held and interrogated in solitary confinement for months on end. And he didn’t have months. Everything was very carefully timed. The contradiction was immediate. If everything was so carefully timed, why had the signal come with Natalia still in the Soviet Union?
It was a full hour before anyone entered the room again, an hour for Levin’s mood to plunge from fragile confidence to worry to fear. And then to go almost beyond simple fear into terror as his mind focused upon Galina and Petr. What would happen to them if he hadn’t been clever enough? Imprisonment? Unlikely but possible, he supposed. Maybe repatriation, which would be as big a disaster because if they were once further split Levin couldn’t see how they would ever be reunited. Maybe… The jostling fears stopped at a sound, and Levin turned to face Bowden. The American was serious-faced and the usual bonhomie, which Levin suspected was forced anyway, was missing.
‘Well?’ asked Levin again. There was the metallic taste of blood in his mouth and he realized he had mistakenly bitten through his lip somewhere. He’d have to be careful it didn’t show.
‘One or two inconsistencies, Yevgennie. Quite a bunch, in fact.’
In addition to a file of his own, Levin saw the American was carrying the technician’s notebook and the paper upon which there was a criss-cross of different-coloured lines. The paper from the polygraph drum, Levin guessed. The reaction prepared, he said in apparent anger: ‘It was a ridiculous test! I was assured the questions would be phrased for yes or no answers but they weren’t. It was impossible!’
‘Why don’t we talk it through a little?’
It was important to maintain the indignation longer. Levin said: ‘I was promised by Proctor to be treated properly. Considerately. Promised by you, too. It isn’t happening. If you do not want me then I will go back to my own country!’ He hoped he had not over-pitched the outrage.
‘Slow down, Yevgennie. Slow down,’ placated Bowden. ‘Let’s just talk it through, like I said. Sit down and take it easy.’
Levin walked further into the room with apparent reluctance, going not to the upright chair in which he had sat for the polygraph but to a low, easy chair to one side of the desk. Bowden eased his huge frame on to the chair in which the technician had sat, awkwardly too large for it.
‘Inconsistencies,’ opened Bowden. ‘Maybe there are simple explanations.’
‘What inconsistencies?’ demanded Levin, feigning the anger.
Bowden bent over the notebook he arranged alongside the polygraph reading: the paper was numbered, for the queries to accord with the entries in the notebook, which was specially printed, numerically. He said: ‘Found it strange that you should regard yourself as a traitor?’
He’d succeeded there, realized Levin, relieved. He said: ‘I was being tested for honesty? To see if I could be trusted?’
‘Just that,’ agreed Bowden.
‘So I told the truth,’ insisted Levin. ‘I am a traitor. To my country. And to you. Let’s not pretend: wrap things up in other words, like coloured ribbon: call me a defector like it’s an honourable description. You and Proctor and anyone else I might meet will pretend to be friendly but you’ll always despise me, for betraying my service
…’ He paused, trying to discern a reaction from the other man. He thought there was a slight flush to the man’s face but he wasn’t sure. He pressed on: ‘So now you be honest with me! That’s how you think of me, isn’t it?’
There was a pause and then Bowden said: ‘I guess something like that.’
He couldn’t let the American get away. ‘Not something like that: exactly like that. So to have answered no would not have been the right reply, would it?’
‘Let’s move on,’ urged Bowden uneasily. ‘You approached our people, in the beginning. Offering stuff. And approached us again, asking to come over, when you got the recall notice. So why did you say you were unwilling to come across? That doesn’t make sense.’
‘It makes every sense!’ disputed Levin. ‘I’ve abandoned a daughter, whom I love. That’s why I am unwilling. If she had been here the answer would have been the opposite.’
Bowden nodded, making some sort of entry against the notebook log. He said: ‘You’ve come over to our side now, Yevgennie. Decided to settle in America?’
‘Yes.’
‘So how come you don’t regret spying against the United States? That’s what you said. When you were asked…’
‘I know what I was asked,’ interrupted Levin, mentally ticking off the man’s uncertainties, every one of which he had so far anticipated. ‘I was being honest again. At the time I carried out those activities I was an officer of the KGB, properly performing my assigned functions. So why should I regret it? Again, I was trying to answer in complete honesty.’
Bowden made another entry. The American was bending over the records, not bothering – or not wanting – to look up at Levin. He jabbed several times at the query sheet with the tip of his pencil, and said: ‘There’s something here that we don’t understand at all. Not at all…’ He came up at last, appearing to seek some facial reaction from the Russian. ‘You said you imagine you’ll regret coming across.’
‘But of course I will!’ said Levin, as if he found the query surprising. ‘I’ll never stop being a Russian. Thinking like a Russian. Feeling like a Russian. I might have become disillusioned with it and what I was being called upon to do but there’s always going to be a part of me uncertain if I made the right decision by coming across. And it’s a regret that is going to be a very positive attitude until I get Natalia here, with us.’
‘Disillusioned?’ picked up Bowden. ‘You say you’ve come across because you’re disillusioned but you said on the polygraph that you’ve done it for money.’
‘And then I made it clear that was not the primary cause,’ came back Levin confidently. ‘I had to answer yes – the honest answer – because that was the order in which the question was asked.’
Bowden sat nodding but Levin was unsure whether the gesture was in acceptance of the reply. The American said: ‘There were some responses to questions about truth and honesty that just worry the hell out of me.’
‘Let’s get the sequence right,’ insisted Levin. ‘It was honesty first, then truth. I replied no when I was asked if I considered myself an honest man because it was the right reply. How can I consider myself honest when I have betrayed my country? Which is what I have done and will always carry, as a burden. But I do intend to cooperate honestly if there is a proper debriefing. And I was accurate when I replied to the question about truth. We are trained not to tell the truth, you and I: to lie, if the occasion or the need arises. But again I intend to tell the truth if we debrief.’ Levin wondered if the perspiration would be visible against the back of his jacket, when he stood: trying to reduce the risk, he leaned forward slightly, to enable air to get between himself and the back of the chair.
‘Why did you find the polygraph difficult?’ Bowden snapped the question out sharply.
Remembering that the room was doubtless wired and that there would be a recording of his conversation with the technician, Levin said: ‘Before the test began, the operator asked me if I were familiar with the polygraph. I wasn’t and said so. I did not like being strapped in as I w
as and I did not like the restriction of yes or no answers. It’s too easy to convey a misleading impression by giving an absolutely accurate answer to a wrongly phrased question.’
Bowden’s head was moving again but Levin was still unsure whether or not it was in acceptance of what he was saying. The American said: ‘Why won’t you cooperate with the counter-intelligence services of other countries?’
‘I’m not setting myself up as a performing monkey,’ said Levin at once. ‘When I told Proctor I was being recalled he immediately suggested I should return to Moscow and act there for the CIA. Quite apart from the fact that it would not have been possible – because I believed I was being taken back for investigation – I refused. It would have meant switching to a different agency, spreading my identity: just like cooperating with other counter-intelligence would risk my being further exposed…’ He hesitated. ‘Russia – and the KGB – never forgive anyone who defects: you know that! There’s always an attempt at retribution, as an example to others.’ The ache now was beyond tension, settling into a draining fatigue not just from the pressure but from the effort of staying ahead of that pressure.
‘You had a lot of difficulty at the end, about identifying KGB personnel?’
‘The same difficulty as always: the phrasing of the questions and the insistence upon simple answers,’ Levin fought back. The people I know at the United Nations are KGB personnel. Agents. Those I think I know outside are not personnel. I think they are suborned spies. I don’t know how it is in your service, but in Russia we differentiate between agents and spies.’
‘American, you mean!’
‘That’s what I think.’
‘Think!’ qualified Bowden.
He’s taken the bait, thought Levin. He said: ‘I do not have a name. Just scraps: bits of operational detail. It may be impossible to trace backwards.’
‘Operational detail!’ seized Bowden. ‘You mean you think there’s a spy in the FBI?’
‘No,’ said Levin.
‘Where then?’
‘The CIA.’
Bowden remained hunched over the polygraph material for a long time, his head actually moving as he went over the tracings and the queries and now these responses. He looked up at last with the familiar smile in place. ‘You know what I think, Yevgennie?’
The Bearpit Page 11
