A Man Without Breath

‘Unfortunately not. It’s possible I might be able to bring him out of it temporarily with therapeutic chemical shock – perhaps methylamphetamine, or thiopental if I could get some. But there’s no telling what permanent effect that might have on what’s left of his mind.’

‘Let’s not tell that to the ministry,’ I said. ‘I doubt they’d be much interested in an NKVD lieutenant’s future welfare.’

‘No, indeed.’

‘I suppose we could film him being questioned, when he is being lucid,’ I said, thoughtfully. ‘But it’s hardly ideal for what’s required here.’ I shook my head. ‘And besides, the people I work for – they’re judges. Generally speaking they like a witness to look like he knows what day it is. I doubt this fellow knows his arse from his earhole.’

Batov did not look perturbed by my scepticism.

‘I’m not saying that we can’t use this fellow,’ I added. ‘It’s just that it might be said by our critics that being feeble-minded he just repeats what we want him to say. Like a puppet.’

‘I said I had proof,’ said Batov. ‘I didn’t say he was it. Rudakov’s only the cherry on the cake. The real proof is something else.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘Ya-veh paryatkeh, spasiba.’

‘When Rudakov turned up here he had some bags,’ said Batov. ‘In the bags were some ledgers and an FED – a camera – and in the camera was a roll of exposed film. The ledgers contained a list of names: yes, it was about four thousand names.’ He let that revelation hang in the air for a moment.

‘I see.’

‘After Rudakov had been here for a while I had the film developed. The NKVD – they took pictures. Like they were on some sort of hunting trip or safari. Trophy pictures of them actually shooting Poles. Like they were actually proud of what they’d done. Men with their wrists bound together with wire and kneeling on the edge of a trench while Rudakov and his friends shot them in the back of the head.’ Batov looked apologetic. ‘It’s hard to believe that anyone would want to commemorate such acts, but they did.’

‘The SS does this sort of thing, too,’ I said. ‘It’s hardly peculiar to the NKVD.’

‘I still have the ledgers and I still have the enlargements I made. Together they are all the evidence anyone could need of exactly what happened in Katyn Wood. Even for the exactingly high standards of your German judges.’

‘Sounds like the blue-hats had themselves quite a holiday. Could I see these pictures? And the ledgers?’

Batov looked evasive. ‘I can only show you one picture just now,’ he said. ‘I keep it here, with Arkady, and from time to time I show it to him in order to try to stimulate what’s left of his memory about who he was.’

Dr Batov lifted the picture of Stalin and unpeeled a 210x297 mm black and white photograph.

‘I keep this hidden for obvious reasons,’ he added, handing me the picture.

In the photograph were three NKVD officers who appeared to be relaxing for the camera. They were wearing their traditional gymnasterka tunics with crossbelts and riding breeches with high boots; one man was seated in a wicker basket chair, with another on the arm; Rudakov was standing beside them; each man was holding a Nagant revolver in his right hand and making the same curious hand sign – I suppose you’d call it the cuckold’s horns – with his left. Behind them was a building that I recognized immediately as Dnieper Castle, where the 537th signals was now based.

‘The man in the centre is Blokhin,’ said Batov. ‘The major I was telling you about – the one who was dead drunk. The man sitting on the arm of the chair is the blue-hat NCO who drove them both here.’

‘The hand sign,’ I remarked. ‘What does it mean?’

‘I think it’s a freemason sign,’ said Batov. ‘I’m not sure. I’ve heard that a lot of NKVD are freemasons – lots of people are in Russia, even today. But I’m not sure.’

‘And this was on the same roll of film as what? I mean what’s in these other pictures?’

‘Polish officers being shot by Blokhin and Rudakov. Piles of bodies. These three drinking. More buddy shots. The rest of the material – the pictures and the ledgers – are somewhere safe. When my daughter and I have travel documents to get us to Berlin I will give you everything. You have my word on it. You understand it’s Germans I don’t trust, Captain Gunther, not you.’

‘Kind of you to say so.’

‘I expect you will have to speak to your superiors about all of this,’ said Batov. He sat down on the bed and wiped his forehead with a loud sigh. ‘I’m really drunk.’