Document Z

by Andrew Croome

  What he had done to her.

  The hostess came with a blanket. Evdokia pulled the blanket around herself and shut her eyes. The headrests on the seats were uncomfortable. She ended somehow with her skull bumping against the Constellation’s shell.

  Later, she woke to find a man in front of her with a camera. The lights in the cabin were low for sleeping, and he had his sleeves rolled up and was taking pictures of her. She was watching and he knew this but he did not stop. He rested his arm on an adjacent chair to steady the shots. Then he disappeared. Was he just a man with a camera or was he a proper journalist, she wondered. If he was a journalist, then people had known she would be on this flight and had been able to get tickets. Meaning that Australian Security men might be on this plane. She turned her head and looked up the aisle. There might be a face. There might be a face that you know.

  The plane, dark and rattling. She recognised no one in this other-world of capsular sleep. Again, she drifted. She was occupying a space that was semiconscious. Breathless bad dreams; shadowy figures with shadowy motivations and ideals. She opened her eyes to see Kislitsyn, closed and reopened her eyes to see Zharkov. It was fear and anxiety and this rumbling, high-altitude hell.

  Eventually, the sun came: a low-breaking blue light on the plane’s side, dimly perceptible at first.

  The descent lasted a long time. Kislitsyn sat watching the earth below, waiting. It was over now, whatever the event had been. Still, he wouldn’t feel relief until they were airbound for Jakarta.

  The Constellation raced its wheels to the runway and lurched. He looked out as the Darwin terminal came into view. There were soldiers. Ten men in uniform, waiting. He said Karpinsky’s name and pointed. The man unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned across to look.

  ‘The army?’

  ‘The army or the police.’

  They both looked at Evdokia. ‘We’re not getting off the plane,’ Kislitsyn told her. ‘We wait here until it takes off again.’

  She nodded, looking terrible.

  The Constellation slowly came to rest. Stairs were wheeled to its doors. People stood and made their way into the morning sun. The Soviets remained seated.

  Soon after the plane had emptied, the hostess asked whether they needed help.

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Kislitsyn.

  They waited. The steward arrived and requested that they alight. The plane needed to refuel, he said, and it was against regulations for any passengers to remain aboard.

  Kislitsyn asked for an exception.

  ‘Why?’ asked the steward. ‘Is one of your party ill?’

  ‘No,’ said Karpinsky.

  ‘Then I must insist that you disembark. The fuel truck won’t refill us if you refuse.’

  Grumbling, the Russians stood. They started down the aisle, the three men and then Evdokia. Kislitsyn went first. When he reached the forward cabin door, he saw that the soldiers were assembled at the bottom of the stairs. Well, he thought, I hope no one accidentally shoots me.

  He started down. He could hear Karpinsky breathing heavily behind him. All eyes were on them. When Kislitsyn reached the tarmac, he purposely moved left, trying to put some distance between himself and the courier.

  A uniformed man said, ‘Excuse me. Are you carrying a firearm?’

  Kislitsyn said nothing.

  The man had sand-coloured hair and was enormously framed, wearing loose-fitting green pants with a belt ten centimetres wide. He announced that he was a policeman and that he was going to search Kislitsyn’s body. The MVD man didn’t resist. He stood while the policeman patted him down, craning his neck towards Karpinsky, who, faced with the same situation, was trying to push his assailant aside. The Australian wasn’t having it. Kislitsyn watched as the policeman gripped Karpinsky’s arm. The courier reacted fiercely. He swung his cabin bag at the man’s body, lunged and played his bag into the man’s chest.

  ‘He’s going for his gun!’ a voice cried out. ‘Hold him! Hold him!’

  A second and a third man jumped, one moving for Karpin-sky’s left arm and the other for the right. Karpinsky tossed the first aside easily, launching him hard towards the ground. But the third man was on his wrist and had begun to bend it. Now the courier started reaching, and Kislitsyn knew without question that someone was about to end up dead.

  Except the wrestling wasn’t over. A fourth man leaped in, reaching for Karpinsky’s shoulder, yanking at his jacket. The jacket came down below the shoulders. The man was trying to use it as a restraint, yanking it as low as possible over the arms. Kislitsyn knew the tactic was doomed, but he hadn’t anticipated the remainder of the act—the grabbing of Karpinsky’s neck. While jerking at the jacket, the man had manoeuvred himself into a position behind Karpinsky that allowed for the application of a rudimentary headlock. Karpinsky offered one twist, but that was all. The man’s strength was too much. The man tightened his grip using his other arm and the courier froze.

  Overpowered. Bodies leaped all over Karpinsky now. The pistol was held aloft and there was the thin sound of bullets spilling to the ground.

  Zharkov stood by silently. The gun that he had been carrying was now held by the Australian policeman at his side.

  Evdokia was halfway down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, Kislitsyn watched as a man in a suit approached her and led her to one side.

  ‘My name is Mr Leydin,’ the man said. ‘I am the Governor of Darwin and I am here to represent the Australian government.’

  She looked at Karpinsky in a headlock. She stared at Kislit-syn and Kislitsyn stared back.

  ‘I am asking you whether you wish to seek political asylum in Australia. Do you wish to do so?’

  She knew they couldn’t ask her this. She knew this was breaking the rules. Why would they do it within earshot of the others? Did they think she could say yes and her family wouldn’t die?

  She whispered, ‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’

  ‘I am authorised to make you this offer. Authorised by the prime minister directly.’

  She began to walk away. Not towards the others, but into open space. Leydin trailed behind. He was a thin man, somewhat gaunt. A minute passed, and then she hit on an idea. ‘Why don’t you kidnap me?’ she said.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I cannot choose. They will kill my father and my mother and my brother and my sister.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘If you take me by force, alright. But I must not choose. I cannot choose. Look, they are watching me.’

  Leydin gazed back at the restrained party.

  ‘Will you kidnap me?’ she asked.

  He turned and she read the no from his face.

  ‘Do you know where my husband is?’ she asked. ‘Is he alive? Is he here? Can I speak to him?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Leydin.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Yes, he is alive. He has been afforded the protection I want to offer you. He’s not here, but you can speak to him. If you come with me I will arrange it.’

  ‘I cannot go with you.’

  They stood silently for a moment.

  She said, ‘Why don’t you kidnap me or give me some kind of poison?’

  ‘I have no authority to do that.’

  ‘You have no authority doing what you have already done.’

  ‘Do you wish to seek political asylum in Australia?’

  ‘I cannot choose.’

  ‘You cannot choose.’

  Their talk went in circles. She became nervous of the time they were taking and asked to return to the group. Leydin gave a nod and said, ‘Alright.’

  He came with her and stood beside her.

  Kislitsyn asked him, ‘You are in charge?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You are breaching protocols here. That is very serious.’

  ‘I am not. I assure you, there is no one here who is not free to walk wherever he should choose.’

  ‘These men want their guns back.’

&nbs
p; ‘They cannot have them.’

  ‘They have done nothing illegal.’

  ‘I believe they have.’

  ‘They are diplomatic couriers and they have immunity.’

  ‘Regardless, the Air Navigation Act mandates that weapons be lodged with the aircraft’s captain during fl ight. You are Mr Kislitsyn?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘If you would like to remain in Australia, I am authorised to offer you political asylum.’

  Kislitsyn looked surprised. Evdokia could hardly believe it. If the MVD man had been in any doubt about the content of her and Leydin’s conversation it was all but erased now.

  ‘Could you arrange that?’ asked the Russian.

  ‘Yes. The Crown will make arrangements for your safety.’

  ‘That’s interesting. That’s very interesting,’ Kislitsyn continued, disparagingly.

  They made their way to the terminal. Kislitsyn and Zharkov congratulated her, declaring that her behaviour was without fault. They sat in the hall of the terminal. She thought the couriers might be about to produce playing cards.

  ‘You are to be admired, Evdokia,’ said Kislitsyn. ‘Your strength will not go unnoticed in Moscow.’

  She almost cried.

  A BOAC worker asked whether they would be breakfasting in Darwin. Kislitsyn told him no. They weren’t going anywhere that wasn’t aboard that plane.

  Evdokia looked at Karpinsky. After the confrontation, she knew his blood was still boiling. He was holding his diplomatic pouch with an incredible grip, quite possibly destroying whatever films and documents were inside.

  They sat for what must have been an hour. Others watched them, and every few minutes she looked up and around to see Leydin rushing about. He came into the hall now and again, followed by one or more men in suits. She noticed one particular man watching her intently. He sat in the far corner of the hall with an illustrated holiday brochure, ‘The Grand Pacific’, open on his lap, but all the time he was staring at them and at her. She thought to point him out to Kislitsyn as competition, but her comrade, she saw, was well aware and was returning fire with his gaze.

  The call came over the address system. They were beginning to board the plane. She stood to go.

  ‘No,’ said Karpinsky. ‘We wait for the other passengers to go aboard.’

  She had no idea why he wanted to do that. Kislitsyn made no move and so she sat.

  In the safe house, Leo Carter was studying his Soviet charge. Since their return from the disaster of Mascot earlier that evening the man hadn’t slept. They’d prepared him a plate of chicken but it hadn’t been touched. Petrov’s first-line interest was to pace the room. That and water, which he was consuming glass after glass, fuel for the sweat on his forehead and his ceaseless need for the toilet.

  The defector was pissing from the back door when the phone rang. Leo answered. It was B2. ‘Call Darwin airport,’ he said. ‘Call a man named Leydin there.’

  ‘Laydon?’

  ‘Leydin. The acting administrator. Tell him you’re Spry. Instruct him that western morality dictates that the man in your possession must be put in contact with his wife.’

  Leo got an operator and requested an immediate trunk. The operator said she’d see what was possible and rang off. Petrov came inside and Leo told him what was happening. They sat in silence waiting for the phone to ring. The man’s hands were covered in grease. Leo supposed it must have happened when Petrov had been shoved under the tarp of the ASIO utility parked in the night shadow of hangar one.

  After ten minutes, he rang the exchange again and asked what the delay was. A woman named Myrtle told him there was some kind of tangle in Brisbane. He thought for a moment and then said, ‘This is an important call on behalf of the attorneygeneral. I want you to give it operational flash priority.’

  ‘Flash priority?’ she repeated.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do I need to take your name for that?’

  ‘No, you do not.’

  The phone went quiet and he imagined Myrtle examining her board and deciding what plugs to pull. ‘One minute,’ she said, and the phone died. When it rang again he picked up. ‘You’re seeking Mr Leydin?’ said Myrtle.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’s on another phone.’

  ‘Connect me to anyone.’

  ‘Anyone?’

  ‘Any person at Darwin airport.’

  He heard a clunk and then a voice said, ‘Edwards.’

  ‘Yes, is Mr Leydin there?’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s busy.’

  ‘Tell him it’s the director general of Security,’ said Leo. ‘I have an urgent message to deliver.’

  ‘Alright.’

  The handset was put down. Leo heard nothing for a time, and then Leydin was on the phone.

  ‘Carter is my name,’ Leo told him. ‘I am speaking on behalf of the director general of Security, Colonel Spry. I have Mr Petrov with me and he would like to speak to his wife if you can arrange it.’

  Petrov was leaning towards him, staring at the phone, trying to make out what was being said. There was some debate among the safe-house team regarding whether or not Petrov really wanted his wife to stay. Leo thought that his sickened face at this moment near settled it.

  ‘Hold the line,’ said Leydin.

  It was 7:15 a.m. It took Leydin until 7:18 to come back. ‘She has walked halfway to the plane with her companions and has stopped,’ he said. ‘I will see if I can get her to come to the phone.’

  Leo relayed the news. Petrov was uselessly holding a handkerchief in one hand.

  ‘There’s a phone call from your husband,’ Leydin said. She stared at him until she was sure he was telling the truth.

  ‘You may take the call upstairs,’ he continued.

  Kislitsyn and Karpinsky stiffened.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I will take it downstairs. My companions will escort me.’

  Leydin opened the door to a downstairs office that held a desk and a phone and asked her to wait while they rerouted the connection. The room had a window that faced the hall and there was a second door leading somewhere else. Her instructions were to pick up the phone when it rang. She stood at the near side of the desk. There weren’t words for what was happening in her mind. She concentrated on her face. She would need everything she could summon to control her expression throughout whatever happened next.

  When a minute elapsed, she was certain that this was a ploy. But then the ringer fired. She watched the handset, black with a white or bone-coloured dial and brown, looping flex. The bell rattled with a shrill physicality.

  ‘Hello?’

  She listened to the voice for a long time before taking in what it said: ‘It is Volodya. It’s Volodya.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she said.

  ‘You must stay here,’ he told her. ‘I have stayed—I was forced to stay by those pigs. It’s me, Doosia. Are you there? Can you hear me? You must stay. If you go back, they will not let you cross the threshold of your house. You won’t see your parents. I beg you, not as a husband but as a man. If you want to live, stay here. Trust the Australians. Are you listening? Follow them. Go with them! I am alright. Trust them, and I will come to Darwin and to you. It is freedom,

  Doosia! They have promised us a good life and we won’t doubt them. Why don’t you respond? Doosia? Are you there? Go with the Australians. You must escape the hell that awaits. We will make a new life. I’m pleading this as a man making an honest appeal. Doosenka? Don’t get back on the plane. Are you on this line? Hello? Doosia, don’t leave. I am here and safe. Stay with the Australians and stay in Australia with me.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘You are not my husband. You say you are my husband but I do not believe that you are him. No. That is all. That’s it. You are not my husband. I have listened to your voice but I am afraid you are not him. That is the end of everything we have to say.’

  She rang off. The Soviet party stood in silence.

  Kislitsyn led them slowly fro
m the office. Leydin was there with two of his staff, holding documents and pens. The administrator asked whether she would like to speak to him.

  ‘She would not,’ Kislitsyn snapped. He made in the direction of the tarmac.

  ‘Wait a moment,’ she said, though she hadn’t meant it to sound so trembling. She made a quarter-turn and gave Leydin a wink.

  ‘Will you speak with me?’ he said.

  She reached and collected her travel bag from a chair. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘In private.’

  They walked the few steps into the office. It was just the two of them. Leydin was behind her and she whispered quickly for him to shut the door. She kept her eyes from Kislitsyn and the couriers.

  ‘Will you surround this room with police?’ she asked.

  Leydin’s face looked kind, Russian in a way, she thought.

  He picked up the phone and got an exchange somewhere in the building and within a minute ten policemen were standing at the glass. Leydin asked her whether she would sign the request for political asylum. She looked first at him, then the police, then the door that led somewhere else. Kislit-syn’s voice was protesting outside.

  ‘Get me out of this building,’ she said quietly. ‘I won’t sign anything until you have taken me to my husband first.’

  ‘It’s me, Doosia . . .’ As husband and wife spoke, Carter began to collect the things in the room. He picked up articles that were Petrov’s—a pair of glasses, his lighter, a pair of shoes— and put them in a pile. Then he went to Petrov’s bedroom, opened the man’s suitcase and packed everything into it that was on the bed or the floor—shirts, trousers, a set of pyjamas. He listened to the defector’s voice as he worked, desperate and peaking, rambling almost.

  He went and sat nearby again for the final seconds of the call.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  The Russian gave him the handset. The line was dead. ‘She says I am not her husband.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘She says she does not recognise my voice.’

  Leo tapped the cradle pins and booked another trunk. This time he was connected in under a minute. Edwards answered again and told him, ‘Hold on.’ Shortly, Leydin came on the line wanting Colonel Spry.