A Matter of Honor

“But the icon turned out to be of Saint Peter and not of Saint George and the dragon.”

“Also confirmed by Comrade Petrova in her report.”

“Ah, yes, Comrade Petrova,” said Zaborski, his eyes returning to the sheet of paper in front of him.

“Yes, Comrade.”

“And later that evening Comrade Petrova mysteriously failed to keep an appointment with you?”

“Inexplicably,” said Romanov.

“But which you reported to Comrade Melinac at the embassy.” He paused. “You were responsible for selecting Petrova yourself, were you not?”

“That is correct, Comrade Chairman.”

“Does that not reveal a certain lack of judgment on your part?”

Romanov made no attempt to reply.

The Chairman’s eyes returned to the file. “When you awoke the next morning, there was still no sign of the girl?”

“She also failed to turn up for breakfast as arranged,” said Romanov, “and when I went to her room all her personal belongings were gone.”

“Which convinced you she had defected.”

“Yes, sir,” said Romanov.

“But the Swiss police can find no trace of her,” said Zaborski. “So I keep asking myself why would she defect? Her husband and her immediate family live in Moscow. They are all employed by the State, and it is not as if this were Comrade Petrova’s first visit to the West.”

Romanov didn’t offer an opinion.

“Perhaps Petrova disappeared because she might have been able to tell us something you didn’t want us to hear.”

Still Romanov said nothing.

The Chairman’s gaze once again returned to the file. “I wonder what it was that young Petrova wanted to tell us? Who else you were sleeping with that night, perhaps?”

Romanov felt a shiver of fear as he wondered how much Zaborski really knew. Zaborski paused and pretended to check something else in the report. “Perhaps she could tell us why you felt it necessary to return to Bischoff et Cie a second time.” Once again Zaborski paused. “I think I may have to open an inquiry into the disappearance of Comrade Petrova. Because, Comrade Romanov, by the time you returned to the bank a third time,” said the Chairman, his voice rising with each word, “every second-rate spy from here to Istanbul knew that we were searching for something.” The Chairman paused. Romanov was still desperate to find out if Zaborski had any real evidence. Neither spoke for some time. “You have always been a loner, Major Romanov, and I do not deny that at times your results have allowed me to overlook certain indiscretions. But I am not a loner, Comrade. I am a desk man, no longer allowed your freedom of action.” He fiddled with the paperweight of Luna Nine on the desk in front of him.

“I am a file man, a paper man. I make reports in triplicate, I answer questions in quadruplicate, explain decisions in quintuplicate. Now I will have to explain the circumstances of Petrova’s strange disappearance to the Politburo in multiplicate.”

Romanov remained silent, something the KGB had taken several years to instill into him. He began to feel confident that Zaborski was only guessing. If he had suspected the truth, the interview would have taken place in the basement where a less intellectual approach to questioning was carried out.

“In the USSR,” continued Zaborski, now rising from his chair, “despite our image in the Western world, we investigate a suspicious death”—he paused—“or defection more scrupulously than any other nation on earth. You, Comrade Romanov, would have found your chosen profession easier to follow had you been born in Africa, South America, or even Los Angeles.”

Still Romanov did not venture an opinion.

“The General Secretary informed me at one o’clock this morning that he is not impressed by your latest efforts, distinctly unimpressed were the exact words he used, especially after your excellent start. All he is interested in, however, is finding the Czar’s icon, and so, for the time being, Comrade, he has decided there will be no investigation. But if you ever act in such an irresponsible way again it will not be an inquiry you are facing, but a tribunal, and we all know what happened to the last Romanov that faced a tribunal.”

He closed the file. “Against my better judgment and because we are left with less than a week, the General Secretary has allowed you a second chance in the belief that you will indeed come up with the Czar’s icon. Do I make myself clear, Comrade?” he barked.

“Very clear, Comrade Chairman,” said Romanov and, turning smartly on his heel, quickly left the room.

The Chairman of the KGB waited for the door to close before his eyes settled back on the file. What was Romanov up to, Zaborski needed to know suddenly realizing that his own career might now be on the line. He flicked down a switch on the little console by his side. “Find Major Valchek,” he ordered.

“I’ve never actually had champagne and caviar,” admitted Adam, as he looked up at the beautiful girl who sat opposite him across the table. He loved the way she tied her hair, the way she dressed and the way she laughed, but most of all the way she smiled.

“Well, don’t get frightened, because I can’t imagine caviar will ever find its place on this particular menu,” teased Heidi. “But perhaps soon when you are the proud owner of the Czar’s icon, that is, if Mr. Rosenbau …”