Death of a Tyrant Read online

“And then?” Beria asked.

  “Send the file to me, and destroy the negatives.”

  “Of course,” Beria said, smoothly. “And then?”

  “Dispose of her. Quickly and without pain.”

  Beria inclined his head.

  *

  Stalin returned to Beria’s office, sat down. He was clearly under considerable emotional stress. Beria hastily poured him a glass of his favourite Madzhari, a light Georgian wine. Stalin drank, deeply, and sighed again. Beria knew that when he considered what he had just commanded, he would probably have a fit of rage. Every time he had a fit of rage, the increase in blood pressure meant that his life was shortened. “There was that other matter,” he said.

  Stalin drank some more wine, and Beria hastily refilled the glass. “Your report said there had been arrests.”

  “Indeed. Including the man Morgan. Tatiana did that, as you commanded.”

  “She is a good girl,” Stalin said, thoughtfully. “She will go far.”

  “You find nothing sinister in the copy of that message I gave you, that the man Morgan is in Russia on Bolugayevski business?”

  “What does Tatiana say about that?”

  “She has said nothing, because I have not shown it to her.” Stalin studied him for some seconds. “Well,” he said, “I do not think Tatiana would even admit to having Bolugayevski blood, much less be involved with the family machinations. Has this Morgan confessed to his real identity and purpose?”

  “He is proving a very tough and resilient man. He breaks down entirely under interrogation, yet he will admit to nothing. Sometimes I wonder if he has anything to confess. But of course it is more likely that he is merely a well-trained agent. The matter is in Tatiana’s hands. She will break him eventually. She can be a demon when aroused. However…” he paused.

  “Yes?”

  “If he confesses to being a Bolugayevski agent in Tatiana’s presence…I think we should clean this matter up as soon as possible. If, as you deduced, Josef Vissarionovich, the Princess is working with the British Government, and played her part in bringing Morgan to Russia, a confrontation may well give us the truth.” Or are you interested in the truth? he wondered. Do you merely wish the Princess destroyed, so that no one else can ever have her, but whose memory you will always possess in her photographs, her beauty never fading?

  “You may use her for that purpose,” Stalin said. “For whatever you may learn. But she is not to be tortured, and she is to be executed as soon as she has served her purpose.”

  “I understand this,” Beria said, understanding that his master merely did not wish any other man, or woman, ever to get their hands on her.

  Stalin stood up. “Let me know when it is done.”

  “Of course. But before you go, will you not congratulate our people for their success?”

  Stalin frowned at him. “What people?”

  “Tatiana, certainly, for the way in which she snared Morgan. And Shatrav, for the way in which he kidnapped the Princess.”

  “Do I know this Shatrav?”

  “You decorated him, once, for his work in the War. He served under Tatiana.”

  “And he kidnapped the Princess? Then he knows she is alive.”

  “He is absolutely trustworthy,” Beria assured him.

  “He had her in his power, for ten days,” Stalin said.

  “That is true. But he never laid a finger on her.”

  “Is he a eunuch? Or a homosexual?”

  “He is certainly not a eunuch. But he was acting under orders, from me. He does not disobey orders. Anyway, the Princess was in the care of my women.”

  “Nonetheless…it were best he was eliminated, as soon as it is convenient. Certainly I do not wish to see him.”

  “As you wish, Josef Vissarionovich. And Tatiana?”

  “I will consider Tatiana later. Now I must return to the Kremlin.”

  *

  Beria escorted him out, then returned upstairs and sent for Tatiana and Shatrav. “Premier Stalin wishes you both congratulated,” he told them, as they stood to attention before his desk, wearing uniform. “You, Shatrav, for carrying out the kidnapping so successfully. I am sorry about Comrade Asimov. That was unfortunate. And you, Tatiana, for the way you have handled the man Morgan. Now this matter must be cleared up. Tatiana, I will discuss this with you now. Shatrav, you are dismissed.”

  Shatrav saluted and turned to go. Tatiana remained standing to attention before the desk. “With respect, Comrade Commissar,” she said. “But what did you mean about Comrade Asimov?”

  “Sadly, Tatiana, Comrade Asimov did not return from his mission. He died on duty. None of us can ask for a more noble end than that.”

  Tatiana turned, to look at Shatrav. Who in turn looked at Beria. Who gave a quick nod. “Comrade Asimov was shot, by me, Tatiana,” Shatrav said. “He was guilty of disobeying orders, in that he did not eliminate the woman Elaine Bolugayevska, when he shot the rest of the family.”

  Tatiana swallowed. “You shot your old comrade?”

  “It was my duty to do so,” Shatrav said.

  Tatiana looked at Beria.

  “You were very fond of that boy, were you not?” Beria asked.

  “He was like a brother to me,” Tatiana said. And he was my lover, she thought.

  “Well, he disobeyed orders, and suffered for it. You know the rules, Tatiana. And so did he.” He pointed. “I will not have any grudges in my department. Tell Shatrav that you understand he did his duty, Tatiana.”

  Tatiana stared at Shatrav, and Shatrav swallowed. “I understand that you did your duty, Comrade Captain,” Tatiana said in a low voice. Shatrav did not look reassured.

  “There,” Beria said jovially. “The matter is now closed. Dismissed, Shatrav.” Shatrav left the room. “Now,” Beria said to Tatiana. “There are certain things I wish done with, and about the Princess. She is the only member of that accursed family left alive. I mean, the princely part of the family, of course. I put you in charge of her, Tatiana. I am sure she has things to tell us which will be very useful. There is also a requirement. But…” he held up his finger. “I do not want any visible marks.”

  Tatiana’s smile was cold.

  *

  Tatiana opened the door of the observation cell. Priscilla still sat there, although she was becoming restless. Now her head jerked as the young woman entered. Tatiana bowed. “Your highness.”

  Priscilla frowned. She knew what the uniform of a Russian officer looked like. But she also knew that they would play a succession of games with her until they obtained whatever it was they wanted. Or grew tired of her and shot her. “How long am I to remain here?” she asked. “Like this.”

  “That depends,” Tatiana said.

  “I wish to go to the toilet,” Priscilla said, wondering if it was possible she had met this woman before; there was something very familiar about her.

  “Well, then,” Tatiana said, “come with me.”

  Priscilla stood up, hesitated. “Like this?”

  “They all say that,” Tatiana remarked. “Yes, your highness, like that. No inmate of the Lyubyanka is allowed to have any secrets, from us. Are you ashamed of your body? It is a magnificent body, for a woman of your age.”

  “Thank you for those kind words,” Priscilla said. But the woman was right. She had nothing to be ashamed of, and she had been sufficiently humiliated during the last fortnight for it not to matter any more. Yet she had to take a deep breath to step through the door which Tatiana was holding for her. However, there was no one in the corridor, and no one in the toilets either, although it was disturbing that Tatiana watched her throughout.

  “My name is Tatiana Gosykinya,” Tatiana said.

  Priscilla’s head, and body, came upright. “Jennie’s child?”

  “That is so.”

  “But…my God, my dear girl!” She held open her arms, and after a brief hesitation, Tatiana stepped forward to be embraced. The poor fool thinks I am her saviour, she thought,
with considerable satisfaction. Her whole being was so consumed with anger at Gregory’s death that she would willingly have torn this aunt apart with red hot pincers. But Beria had said she must not be marked.

  “And now you are a member of the KGB?” Priscilla asked. “Then perhaps you will be able to explain all this to me.”

  Tatiana gave her a last hug, and released her. “I don’t think I can do that,” she said.

  “You fought with my son and his wife, in the War,” Priscilla said, refusing to be put down.

  Tatiana smiled. “It would be more correct to say that they fought with me, your highness. I was their commander.”

  “I know. And you became a Heroine of the Soviet Union.”

  “So tell me,” Tatiana said. “How are Prince Alexei and Dr Mitchell.”

  “They’re…” for a moment, so overwhelming had been the relief at finding a relative in this hell, Priscilla had forgotten reality. “They’re dead,” she said. “Shot by your people.” Her voice seethed with anger and outrage.

  “You saw this?” Tatiana asked.

  “I…” Priscilla bit her lip. “I was hit on the head, by the young thug who was their leader.”

  “Who is now also dead.”

  Priscilla frowned. “I don’t remember that. After being hit…the next thing I remember is being in a trunk, on the ship.”

  “Did you see Gregory Asimov shot?”

  “I told you, I was unconscious. Was this man a friend of yours?”

  “He was my lover,” Tatiana said.

  Priscilla opened her mouth, and then bit her lip instead.

  “Come.” Tatiana opened the door.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “It is not good to ask questions,” Tatiana said. “As it happens, I am going to have you photographed.”

  “Oh. Yes.” Standard criminal procedure, she supposed. Only she wasn’t a criminal. She stepped into the corridor. It was empty. She turned. “Tatiana…you are my niece. By marriage. But we are also cousins. Do you understand this?”

  “I have been told this,” Tatiana said.

  “Well…” Priscilla licked her lips. She was not used to asking people for help. “If you were to help me, for the sake of our blood, of our family…” she paused; Tatiana’s expression remained cold. “I am terribly sorry about your man,” Priscilla said. “I honestly didn’t know what was happening. And I am sure whoever shot him did so in self-defence. I have lost more than you, Tatiana. A lover can be replaced. But not a husband and a son. Not at my age.” She drew a deep breath. “Will you help me?”

  “I am going to make you suffer,” Tatiana said.

  “For this man’s death?”

  “That. And for being what you are.”

  Priscilla stared at her. “Have I at least the right to ask to see my sister-in-law? Your mother?”

  “No,” Tatiana said.

  I must never beg again, Priscilla told herself. She had never begged Stalin, the last time she had been in his hands. To beg now was a greater humiliation. But was she actually in Stalin’s hands? And what did she have to live for, if everyone she loved was dead? Saving only revenge, and this time she did not think that was going to be practical. Thus, she told herself, I must not scream, or even wince. I must close my mind to these people. I must suffer and then die with dignity, as a Russian princess.

  She had anticipated some physical violence; Joseph had told her some of his experiences, from floggings to electric currents racing through his body and seeming to tear it apart. She did not wish to have to endure any of those things. She wanted to address this so handsome cousin of hers in reasonable terms. Tell me what you want me to say, she wanted to say, and I will say it. But that was a form of begging.

  What made it more difficult was that she was subjected to nothing such as she had anticipated. Instead she was, as Tatiana had said, photographed. It began in a most conventional manner, even if she had found it difficult to sit still, naked, at a desk in a room suddenly full of people, men as well as women. But she had sat still, and they had photographed her face, full and side. She had expected to be fingerprinted, but apparently they were not interested in that. Instead, Tatiana said, “Now you run.”

  Priscilla looked at her in astonishment. “Run where?”

  “Round and round the room,” Tatiana said. Priscilla looked at the eager faces, then down at herself. “You will look lovely when you are running,” Tatiana explained.

  Priscilla begun to run. As jogging was not a hobby of hers, within seconds she was panting and sweat was rolling out of her hair and down her cheeks and neck. And they continued to photograph her, moving close for shots of her panting face, her flowing hair, her heaving breasts, her straining thighs and buttocks and legs, and of course, her sweat. She ran until she collapsed on her hands and knees, and then two of the men picked her up and placed her face to on a steel frame, shaped like an X, so that her arms and legs were spread, her ankles and wrists secured, and a leather belt passed round her waist to hold her body rigid. Once again she anticipated instant agony, at least a whipping, and once again no one laid a finger on her, but she heard the clicking of the camera lenses.

  When they had taken some dozen shots of her, she was released, but only to be placed on the frame again, this time facing the room, and the grinning faces. This was harder to bear, but it was only for another photographic session. Then Tatiana nodded, and Priscilla was released again. She was still exhausted and panting from her exertions as well as the combination of humiliation and apprehension — she refused to admit fear — and could do nothing more than sink to the floor. She anticipated being plucked up again but instead she heard the door open, and a moment later she looked at naked feet. And heard a gasp. “Princess? My God! But…”

  Priscilla raised her head, gazed at Morgan. And was equally taken aback. Like her he was naked, but his body had most certainly been marked. He had lost weight, and he trembled constantly. “Mr Morgan?” she muttered.

  Tatiana stood beside Morgan. “You admit you know each other?”

  “He is the son of one of my servants.” As she only had one pair of hands, Priscilla folded them over her pubes. Being naked in front of Morgan was an embarrassment she no longer felt with these goons.

  “I know that is true,” Tatiana said. “What I wish to know is why you sent him to Russia.”

  “I did not send him to Russia,” Priscilla protested. “He wished to come, to research a book on his father. Why do you not ask him this?”

  “I have done so, and he says the same thing. But we know you are lying.” She glanced at Morgan, who continued to stare at the Princess.

  His head jerked as he seemed to recover himself. “What have you done to her?”

  “We have done nothing to her, yet,” Tatiana said. “But you know that I can destroy her, as I destroyed the woman Antonina. I showed you Antonina yesterday morning. She is a gibbering wreck. Would you like to see your princess reduced to a gibbering wreck?”

  “You cannot do that,” Andrew protested. “She is your own flesh and blood.”

  “Sometimes they are the most interesting,” Tatiana said. “Atya! The Princess is all hot and sweaty from her exercise. I think she should have a bath.”

  Atya grinned, and summoned two of her aides. The men grasped Priscilla’s arms and lifted her up. Another aide was filling the bathtub against the far wall. Priscilla did not resist them; she had no idea what was going to happen. Andrew took a step forward. Tatiana moved with him. “Well?” she asked.

  He glanced at her, then at Priscilla again. Tatiana nodded. One of the guards swept Priscilla’s feet from the floor, and the two men held her over the now nearly full tub for a moment. Then they slowly lowered her into the water. Priscilla gave a gasp, initially of consternation, which became a strangled scream as she was totally immersed, even her head being forced beneath the water. “That comes straight from our refrigerating plant,” Tatiana explained. “It is about two degrees above freezing.”<
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  “Aaaagh!” Priscilla gasped as her head was dragged up, the guard’s fingers twined in her hair. Then her face was forced under again.

  “Stop it!” Andrew shouted. “You’re killing her!”

  Priscilla’s head was brought up again, but now she was past speech. “When she dies depends on the strength of her heart,” Tatiana said. “But it is true that few people survive more than ten minutes in the bath.” She glanced at her watch. “The Princess has only endured two, so far.” She nodded, and the man began to push Priscilla’s head down again.

  “Wait!” Andrew shouted. “Wait. I will confess. Take her out of the bath, and I will confess.”

  Tatiana moved her hand, and the men held Priscilla clear of the water, which dripped from her hair and her body. She shivered constantly. Water even dribbled from her mouth, which sagged open, and her breath rasped as she cleared her nostrils. “If you do not tell me what I wish to know,” Tatiana said. “They will put her under again. And again.”

  “Just tell me what you wish to know,” Morgan panted.

  Tatiana motioned one of her aides to take down what was said. “Your codename is Moonlight.”

  “Yes.”

  “You are an agent for the British Government.”

  “Yes.”

  “You were sent here to investigate our nuclear programme?”

  “Yes.”

  “This woman is the agent for the British Government who employed you.”

  Morgan hesitated. Tatiana stood very close to him. “If you answer as I wish, she will not die. You have my word,” she said softly. “Answer loudly.”

  “Yes,” Morgan said.

  “Well,” Tatiana said, “that is very satisfactory. Wrap her up and warm her up,” she told Atya. Priscilla, still unable to speak or to stop her teeth chattering, was bundled into a warm robe. “Do you know,” Tatiana remarked to Andrew, “I have flogged you, tortured you with electricity, starved you, and you would confess nothing. Now you have confessed everything, just to save the life of that woman. And I once thought that you loved me.”

  *

  “Excellent,” Beria said, sitting at his desk and sifting through the photographs, eyes gleaming. “Where are the negatives?” Tatiana held out the envelope. “There are no other prints?” Beria asked.