Black Sun

by Owen Matthews

  “Understood” was all Orlov said. The silence that followed lasted a minute. “A team will be at the Arzamas airfield in four hours. The witnesses are to speak only to Special Cases. Stand by.” Then the electronic purr of the disconnected line.

  Zaitsev’s clock ticked forward. 10:55.

  The Tupolev bomber would be climbing steadily toward the testing ground now, laboriously gaining altitude. Adamov was in the radio room at the Citadel, listening in to the bombardiers and pilot’s reports. He’d been there since dawn. A pair of Vasin’s Special Cases comrades were discreetly escorting the Professor wherever he went to ensure that none of Zaitsev’s goons tried to speak to him.

  Vasin wondered how Adamov had pretended to take the news of Axelrod’s death, of Korin’s, communicated by some stammering kontora minion. With superb unconcern, he would guess. He could imagine Adamov’s slow blink, the magisterial nod that acknowledged the latest sordid affair of the world. Vasin had little doubt that the Professor would play his role perfectly.

  At Arzamas’s airfield, a kontora plane was waiting for them. Orlov’s terse orders: Fly to Moscow immediately after the test. Bring Adamov, but do not speak to him beyond pleasantries. Gather the most important files on the Petrov murder and take them with you. Seal the rest. Brief the Special Cases counterintelligence team who will remain in Arzamas.

  Crystal clear. Orlov’s order, imposed on chaos.

  But first, the test.

  11:22.

  Zaitsev’s secretary came in with tea, which she placed on the table in front of Vasin with exaggerated formality before backing away. Vasin did not acknowledge her. He was staring out of the window over the rooftops of Arzamas. A bright autumn sun had burned off the morning’s mist, leaving the sky a deep blue with a marbling of cloud. Somewhere far to the north, beyond the curve of the earth, the bomber crew would be arming RDS-220 for detonation. The pilots would be making their final reports to ground control as they prepared for their approach to the test site.

  11:31.

  Between Vasin and the bomb were thousands of kilometers of clear, bright air, a universe of trillions of invisible molecules, all vibrating to a mysterious, unheard rhythm. He thought of RDS-220 tumbling from the sky, momentarily free of its cellars and its bindings, falling beautifully through the morning sky, accelerating downward as the earth pulled it toward herself.

  The minutes ticked by. Starlings wheeled around the domes of the old monastery. Foolishly, Vasin found himself straining his ears to listen. His fingers closed on the edge of the desk, bracing. But the air did not burst into flame. The hand of the clock moved slowly on. And the earth continued to turn, moving Arzamas slowly toward the noonday sun. Somewhere, beyond the horizon, Adamov’s black sun ignited its own terrible dawn.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  TUESDAY, 31 OCTOBER 1961

  THE DAY AFTER THE TEST

  “My dear fellow!”

  Orlov sprang from his desk and took Vasin’s hand in both of his. The General’s face was animated with a grin of triumph. Holding Vasin by the arms, he looked his protégé up and down, as though checking that Arzamas had returned him in one piece. Orlov turned Vasin half around and inspected the thick dressing on the back of his neck. Vasin met his chief’s eye, searching for any dancing spark of anger that would betray that word of his affair with Katya had reached Orlov. But he saw nothing other than a glow of pride in the General’s face.

  “Our wounded hero! Scoundrel nearly knocked your head off its neck, I’m told. But my boys are tough. Tough as nails.”

  Orlov squeezed the bandage hard, bringing tears of pain to Vasin’s eyes.

  “Sit! Sit.”

  The General steered Vasin into a chair, then bounced down into his own.

  “A remarkable triumph. And yet you said nothing, all these days. Nothing about your suspicions. Quite the dark horse you are, Vasin.”

  Orlov’s chestnut eyes scrutinized Vasin’s face with the intensity of a searchlight.

  “Didn’t wish to raise any false accusations until I had evidence, Comrade General.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Given the sensitivity of the charges. Sir. And the positions of the suspects.”

  “Of course. You acted correctly.”

  Orlov’s rare smile remained switched on, unwavering as a lightbulb. He waited for Vasin to continue.

  Vasin smiled back, with suitable modesty, but said nothing.

  “Pavel Korin,” Orlov continued eventually. “Who would have thought? I read his file, of course, as soon as his name came up in the Petrov investigation. Some doubtful episodes in Korin’s past, of course. But a spy? Well. That came as a surprise. Of course all the clues to his treachery are there, if you look for them with the right eyes. A bacillus, introduced by our American so-called allies, let loose in the very heart of our defenses at the very moment that we were supposedly fighting side by side. Yes. Your story tracks well. I cannot fault your scenario, Vasin.”

  “My scenario, sir?”

  Vasin felt his mouth go dry. Had Orlov guessed the truth? If so, the General’s poker face gave nothing away.

  “Your investigator’s logic, I mean.”

  “Indeed, sir.”

  “I will assign an operative group to investigate the damage Korin may have done over his career of treachery. I have no doubt that they will come up with much that is useful to me. And we will be reviewing your debrief in detail over the next few days. If your doctors permit it.”

  “Even if they do not, sir, I am ready.”

  “Good man.”

  “And Adamov, sir? You have spoken to him?”

  Adamov. During the flight from Arzamas to Moscow, Vasin had not spoken a word to the Professor. But they had exchanged a long look. Of complicity? Thanks? Resentment? Vasin had no idea what Adamov hid behind his grave, fierce stare. Up there, among a bright tumult of clouds, Adamov was in his natural element. Once more they had become men of different worlds.

  Orlov’s smile did not flicker, though he did not answer immediately.

  “The Comrade Professor is being most cooperative. Though of course he is also busy receiving the congratulations of Comrade Khrushchev and his colleagues at the Academy. For his brilliant work.”

  Vasin had heard the official announcement on a radio in the KGB sanatorium that morning. The Motherland’s new bomb, a terror to our enemies, a shield that will protect our socialist home from aggression. A bomb to strike fear into the capitalist cowards.

  “I am glad. I was afraid he would have mixed feelings. Korin was the Professor’s old friend.”

  “Korin was a friend to many, Vasin. To many. He was a deceiver. Ruthless. Clever. A most dangerous enemy.”

  “And the Professor’s wife? She is well?”

  Something sly and pointed had crept into Orlov’s smile.

  “Interesting that you should ask. I believe she is well. She assisted you during your investigations?”

  Vasin shifted uncomfortably on his chair but did not answer.

  “Sir, may I ask you a question?”

  “You may.”

  “Why did you send me to Arzamas? What did you think I would find there?”

  “Ah, Vasin. You flatter me. You think I know everything in advance.”

  “But you had something in mind? Somebody?”

  Orlov gave an exaggerated shrug.

  “You have earned the right to know my thoughts. So I share them with you. Perhaps you will learn something from them. It is very simple. Petrov was a golden child. The son of a man who has every chance of becoming the President of the Academy of Sciences. The young man kills himself. Perhaps. But, why? A girl is not interesting to us. Depression? Likewise. However, maybe there is something more to it. Something that his father would prefer to keep hidden. So. As guardians of so many uncomfortable secrets, we in this
office have the duty to discover what happened. Strictly in the interests of State security, of course. What if someone else, some enemy, discovered a sordid secret about Fyodor Petrov? This would give them power over his father, one of our most respected scientists. We will not allow this to happen. This much you guessed already, I suppose?”

  Vasin nodded obediently.

  “And if it was not suicide but murder? Well, even more interesting. The murder weapon was so exotic. Almost the bite of a speckled band snake. I see from your smile that you know your Conan Doyle. Good. So, who would use this rare, radioactive poison? Only a colleague. Obviously. Perhaps a powerful colleague. Someone in authority who no longer deserves the trust of the Motherland. And if you wish to ask, did I suspect Adamov, my frank answer is no. Not specifically. I had no knowledge of his personal history with Petrov’s father. But did I think that such a story could be behind this affair? I did.”

  “So you sent me on a fishing expedition?”

  Orlov’s unnatural bonhomie finally evaporated, replaced by his usual scowl.

  “Naturally. That is what I do, Vasin. I fish. Sometimes with trawls. Sometimes with flies. Sometimes with baited fish traps. And you are my obedient little fly. My very obedient fly.” The General’s gaze wandered to the glass paperweight with its eternally trapped dragonfly that sat on his desk.

  Suddenly, out from under their deeply hooded lids, Orlov’s eyes flicked up to meet Vasin’s.

  “Only the weak hate. You know that, don’t you, Vasin?”

  “Sir?”

  “The weak hate. The stupid hate. The strong act. The clever act, but not always immediately. The intelligent keep score. They keep accounts.”

  An unmistakable note of menace had crept into Orlov’s voice.

  “Not sure I follow you, sir.”

  “Would you like to know where my dear Katya’s last two lovers are now?”

  Vasin froze. Even the throbbing of his injuries disappeared in the suddenness of his shock. Orlov straightened in his chair, not releasing Vasin from his angry stare.

  “You would like to know, wouldn’t you? How rich is your imagination, Vasin? Tell me. Tell me.”

  Orlov’s voice had sunk to a low hiss, and his eyes glistened with a sadist’s glee.

  “Nothing to say for yourself? You disappoint me.”

  The General leaned forward and glanced frankly down at Vasin’s crotch.

  “The last one pissed himself. Right here. Lost control of his bladder. Imagine! What mere words can do to a man. But then, you knew that. At least at second hand. You’ve read some of the files. You know what we are. What we do.”

  Vasin felt the office swim before his eyes. He clutched the arms of his chair for support, felt the polished wood digging into his palms. He felt the vertigo of a man standing up against an execution wall. Counting bricks. Counting breaths.

  “Sir. She…I…”

  “Did you like it, Vasin?” Orlov’s voice had dropped to a soft, hissing whisper that was almost sexual. “Did she moan like a whore? Go on. Say it. Did you think of me when you fucked her?”

  Vasin’s eyes were pleading. Could he attempt to apologize? Tell Orlov that he had been seduced? Or was it time, finally, to let his anger and humiliation explode? To scream and rage at the evil and injustice of this accursed place? Of this man?

  Orlov’s breathing had become shallow. A flush of color had come into the General’s smooth, priestly face. The intensity of his stare had become almost carnal as he watched Vasin twist and wilt under his power.

  “Tell me what you think of me, Vasin. Say it.”

  Vasin fought back words as though choking back vomit. You cynical monster. You sadist.

  “You are a strong man. A wise man.”

  “Good. Very good. And my wife, Katya? Who is she?”

  “She is a shameless whore, sir.”

  “Yes. And us. You and me. Who are you to me, now, if I choose to forgive you?”

  “Your loyal servant, sir.”

  “My loyal servant?”

  “Your very obedient fly.”

  “Again.”

  “Your very obedient fly. Sir.”

  “Excellent.”

  Orlov sighed deeply and subsided back into his chair.

  “Oh, Vasin. Oh, my boy. I was so hoping that you would see wisdom.”

  “Wisdom?”

  “That spirit in you. Intelligence. Independence. Katya saw it too. She said, That Vasin, he’s a smart one. Make him one of yours. She has a good eye.”

  Vasin felt his mouth go slack.

  “Yes. You are surprised? You think that any wife of mine would dare to defy me? Could get away with deceiving me? How sordid that would be. How pathetic. No, Vasin. She is one of mine. She tests. She tastes. She whispers in your ear, What do you really think of my husband? Isn’t he a pig? A fool?”

  Katya’s bedroom words, exactly. Vasin winced at the memory.

  “You know Katya was once a rebel, too, just like you. Back when she was wild and pretty. But you see, I need rebels, Vasin. Men who can think for themselves. Minds who can see beyond the system. But not rebels who rebel against me. You see that, don’t you?”

  The pain in Vasin’s neck returned as a pulse of agony. It was almost as though someone was sliding a great hook into his flesh.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I think we are ready, don’t you?”

  “Ready?”

  “For the next level, Vasin. Your next assignment. But you must be very secret.”

  Orlov paused to savor the moment. He pulled a thin file marked TOP SECRET from a drawer of his desk and passed it to Vasin.

  “Yes. I have some even more surprising news for you, Comrade. Or as I will soon be calling you, Lieutenant Colonel Vasin. A great task awaits you. You see, your revelations about Colonel Korin could complete a puzzle on which we have been working for some time.”

  “Sir?”

  “A lead we have been working on for months. It seems we have a traitor in our midst. A spy in the very heart of State Security. Yes, Vasin. He is one of us. But this man has a powerful protector. There is no direct evidence against him. But your spy Korin may be exactly what I need to collect that evidence. Especially since Korin is conveniently dead.”

  “Conveniently?”

  Vasin’s voice had become a whisper.

  “Dead men tell whatever tale the living place in their lifeless mouths, Vasin. As I suspect you know already. Are you ready to find me some more tales for Korin to tell from beyond the grave? Specifically—the identity of the traitor Korin’s controller?”

  Live not by lies. Vasin’s own words sounded in his mind like a mocking echo.

  “I am ready, sir.”

  “Good. Very good. Now go. Your family is waiting for you. Vera will have missed you.”

  Vasin struggled to his feet. He found his head bowing down with the weight of its burden of deception. Orlov stood also and surveyed his new creature with satisfaction.

  “Welcome home, Colonel Vasin.”

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Black Sun is based on a true story.

  At 10:50 Moscow time on the morning of 30 October 1961, a specially adapted Tupolev-95 bomber took off from Olenya air base carrying the most powerful weapon ever created by mankind.

  The twenty-seven-ton, twenty-six-foot-long device’s code name was RDS-220. American journalists later nicknamed it the Tsar Bomb. But RDS-220’s actual creators took it far too seriously to call the bomb by anything but its real name. In truth, they feared it. In the weeks leading up to the test-firing of RDS-220, the bomb’s real-life designer, academician Andrei Sakharov, of whom my fictional Yury Adamov is a dark twin, became concerned that his new device was so powerful that it might cause a runaway chain reaction in atmospheric hydrogen, or possibly nitrogen.
Sakharov ordered a team of his engineers at Arzamas-16 to calculate the chances that the detonation might actually set the earth’s atmosphere on fire.

  Earlier in his career, Sakharov had speculated about the theoretical possibility of even larger bombs, of two hundred and five hundred megatons. But he was so shocked by the results of his colleagues’ theoretical conclusions about the unpredictable effects of RDS-220 that he made a radical decision. Ten days before the test, he ordered the device’s revolutionary new uranium tamper to be replaced with a lead one. The bomb makers of Arzamas-16 had finally touched the outer limit of science. They had created a bomb too powerful for the earth to withstand. And they stepped back.

  Even with a specially extended runway, the Tupolev took off with difficulty. The bomb’s weight was twice that of the aircraft’s usual payload. Both the release plane and a Tu-16 observer aircraft that was to take air samples and film the test had been painted with special reflective white paint to minimize heat damage. But despite this precaution, the chances that the crew would survive the test were put at 50 percent. The Tupolev’s pilot, Major Andrei Durnovtsev, had been informed of the risk. The rest of his airmen had not.

  Shortly after 11:30, Durnovtsev had reached Mityushikha Bay, a nuclear testing range in the Novaya Zemlya archipelago in the Arctic Ocean. The film of the test shows a desolate landscape of snow and rock. At 11:32 Moscow time, at an altitude of 10,500 meters above Zone C of the Sukhoy Nos section of the test site, he released the bomb. Its fall was slowed by specially made parachutes designed to allow the plane time to get a safe distance from the detonation.

  The altimeter-activated firing mechanism of RDS-220 detonated perfectly at four thousand meters. The fireball nearly reached the altitude of the release plane and caused both aircraft to tumble more than a kilometer. In the official film, the cameraman in the Tu-16 observer plane struggles to maintain focus on the detonation during the free fall. But both aircrews survived.

  The explosion destroyed every building, both wooden and brick, in the evacuated village of Severny, some 55 kilometers from ground zero. The heat from the blast, according to unmanned sensors, was still strong enough to have caused third-degree burns 100 kilometers away. The thermal pulse was felt by human observers 270 kilometers distant. The shock wave broke windows in Norway and Finland, some 900 kilometers from the test site.