Last Call for Blackford Oakes (32 page)

He got up, followed by Titov and Mikhailov and the interpreter. Oakes led Windels and their interpreter out through the back door. The Russians went out the front.

CHAPTER 61

The next day, Judge Waldstein began by saying that the deadlock reached in the closing period the day before would continue unless the parties could agree to a procedure. “I suggest that Dr. Titov agree to put off any reference to reunification with his family on the understanding that after other matters are dealt with, that question of reunification will then logically be faced.

“If this is agreed upon, we can proceed. If it is not agreed upon, I do not see how we can go forward. If we put the family reunification in abeyance, it can be done with the understanding that unless that question is resolved to the satisfaction of Dr. Titov, all other agreements are canceled.”

There was a stir in the room. Titov whispered briefly to Valeria.

“This motion,” Waldstein continued, “will require that the parties present here consult among themselves. There are rooms upstairs. The first room on the right is reserved for Dr. Titov. He can consult with Professor Mikhailov there. The first room on the left is reserved for the Soviet delegation. The adjoining room, for the U.S. delegation. I will remain here and make myself available to anyone who wishes to consult with me.”

A half hour later, Valeria Mikhailov reported to Waldstein that Titov was prepared to proceed on the understanding the judge had specified.

A knock on each door established that the others were also ready to proceed.

There followed an hour's discussion, during which, using his notes, Titov enumerated his specific complaints when at work at his institute. Several demands were dealt with acquiescently by Kirov. Two of them he said he would need to consult with Moscow about before conceding.

For almost the whole of the subsequent half hour, the parties stalled on the question of the freedom, asked for by Titov, to send to scientists abroad, on his own motion, research developed at his institute. Kirov said that he had been “instructed” that a high-level committee of the Ministry of Education would need to weigh any proposal to share research.

Time was spent on just who would participate in such a committee, and a few names were mentioned. It was embarrassing to Titov when Martins gave the name of Kirov as manifestly qualified. Titov proceeded as though he had not heard the nomination.

By about three o'clock, the fatigue of all the parties was palpable. But Waldstein wanted them to get as far as they could. There had been nothing at all for Blackford and Gus to contribute, except to answer questions about the nature of censorship in the United States. Blackford admitted that scientists in America at work on secret projects could not simply share their research with anyone else. “But that would not apply to medical research.”

“What about medical research with military implications?” Waldstein asked.

Kirov broke in. “I will not ask Dr. Titov directly, in this forum, to opine on whether his research has military implications. But it would seem obvious that, however tangentially, it does. This may be one reason why Dr. Titov traveled two years ago to Hiroshima.”

Everyone looked up at Titov.

“Those of you who are not informed in medical science,” he said, pointing his finger first at Waldstein, then at Blackford, “cannot know that research of almost any kind can have military uses. Stopping quickly the loss of blood is thought a purely medical expedient. On a battlefield it can be a critical military asset.

“But with your permission, Judge Waldstein”—Titov's impatience broke through—“notwithstanding the earlier agreement, I must insist that unless I am reunited with my family, I will no longer discuss any subsidiary matters.”

Waldstein sipped from his water glass. He saw that Martins's hand was raised for recognition.

“Yes, Herr Martins.”

Philby cleared his throat. “I am instructed to advise Dr. Titov that his wife and son will under no circumstances be released from the Soviet Union. There will be family reunification only if Dr. Titov returns to the land that raised him, educated him, and furnished him with the equipment that made possible his research.”

Titov turned pale. He looked at Valeria. Blackford's low hiss of frustration could be heard by Gus. Kirov's face was again turned down to his notes. Philby was silent. Everyone was silent.

Waldstein sipped again at his glass of water. He addressed Peter Jutzeler, seated by the entrance door. “Herr Jutzeler, we shall have to adjourn. I shall not reconvene this meeting until you request me to do so after hearing from Dr. Titov and from the Soviet delegation that they are prepared to proceed. If United States participation is required in formulating an agreement, you are to so advise Mr. Oakes.”

He rose.

CHAPTER 62

Late in the afternoon, Blackford called Jutzeler, using the telephone number he had been given. Blackford had spent an hour at the embassy, conferring with Ambassador Grunwald and then, on the secure line, having a long exchange with Director Webster, who in turn had spoken with the secretary of state and the national security adviser.

“I have a proposal I need to communicate to Dr. Titov,” Blackford said to Jutzeler, “and it's going to require spending a while with him. Can you take us—Windels and me—to him?”

“Yes. At least, I think I can. Before I say yes finally, I must call Waldstein. I want to … make sure that it is not explicit—or even implicit—that neither of the parties may talk privately with Titov, even in my presence. Where will you be?”

“What I have in mind to communicate cannot be done in your presence. Inform Judge Waldstein that, reciprocally, we will raise no objection to a private meeting between Dr. Titov and the Soviet delegation.”

“Very well, I understand. Again, where will you be?”

“I will be in my hotel room with Windels for a half hour. Then we will go to the dining room. But we'll leave word that we are expecting a call.”

“I will try to get through to you before dinner.”

He did, and Oakes and Gus met with Titov and Valeria at their selected restaurant, near the Schwarzenberg Palace.

Soup and wine were served, and Blackford set forth his proposal.

Titov's soup grew cold while, for twenty minutes, he listened attentively to Blackford and exchanged quick reactions with Valeria. Finally, he asked Blackford to give him an opportunity to confer privately with Valeria.

“Of course. But I think Gus and I will order something to eat while you deliberate. Maybe you should do the same thing?”

“Is that medical advice?” Titov asked with a smile. Gus interpreted. Feigning offense, Blackford observed huffily that he was able to understand a phrase that basic without the help of an interpreter.

“It is something of a gamble, but we can hold out hope,” Titov concluded, when the four conspirators joined up for coffee.

Valeria, when she and Titov were at a separate table, had said she thought Blackford's idea was surely worth attempting. “There is an element of cowardice in these bullies. It disappoints me that Kirov seems so humble, so subservient with that Martins creature. But we can count on the KGB giving final authority to the man closest to a KGB turn of mind, and that would certainly be Andrei Fyodorovich Martins.”

Titov used the restaurant telephone to call Jutzeler. Jutzeler called Waldstein, who got word to the other parties that they would convene again the following day. Same time, same procedures.

The heavy spring rain and strong winds confused the regimental drill devised by Jutzeler, as the principals coped with umbrellas and raincoats and hats. Blackford found himself distressingly close to body contact with Philby, bound for their separate entrances. But all was soon in order, and Judge Waldstein recognized Titov.

Titov said that he had thought through the negotiations they had had in this room and had resolved what would be his principal decision. He had conferred with Mr. Oakes on such compromises as might then be made in which the United States would concur. “My decision, Judge Waldstein, is to petition the United States Embassy for asylum and to emigrate to the United States to pursue there my calling as a radiological researcher.”

Philby looked over at Kirov, but Kirov's head did not move.

Titov went on. “I will expect the Soviet Union to deliver my wife and my son to me here in Vienna. I would request, also, that they bring me two filing cabinets. I grant permission to copy everything to be found in those cabinets.

“I further agree, and would execute such an agreement with all attention given to legal enforcement, to communicate any future developments in my work to the Moscow Radiological Institute, including 75 percent of any commercial value that derives from any work I do in the next ten years.

“I further undertake to avoid any publicity that would otherwise attach to my departure for America. I would not meet with the press or grant interviews. I would pledge, again for ten years, not to pronounce a single word of criticism of the Soviet government, not to join with any other emigrant in any public protest of any policies undertaken by the Soviet government.

“I would, in short, be an all-but-invisible scientist, making his way in a new environment.”

The statement stunned both Kirov and Philby into silence.

Waldstein waited a moment and then addressed them. “Is there any comment you wish to make at this point?”

Philby said that there was a Russian expression for what was being proposed—“Dr. Kirov can give it to you in the original, but that's hardly necessary. It says, You take the horse and leave us the hay. We informed you yesterday, Your Excellency, on what terms the Soviet government would agree to release Madame Titov and her son.”

Kirov raised his hand and was recognized.

“I would like a copy of Dr. Titov's statement. Is there one available?”

“Yes,” Titov said. “I have here two copies.” He handed them over to Waldstein.

“Would you care to comment on the statement by Herr Martins?” Waldstein asked Titov.

“Yes. Comrade Martins, I understand your position, and I began by attempting to describe what benefit I thought the Soviet government would derive from a covenant of the kind I proposed.

“We can go in the other direction. Far from my simply disappearing, a refusal to disgorge my wife and child would result in at least the following:

“(1) I would call a press conference, amply advertised ahead of time. I would describe the detention of my family.

“(2) I would describe the burdens of life in Russia for scientific researchers, imposed by Soviet censorship, repressions, and suspicions.

“(3) I would quote the paragraph from General Secretary Gorbachev's speech in January, at the International Peace Forum. You will remember, Comrade Gorbachev said to the assembly, ‘Our new approach to the humanitarian problem is there for all to see.' I would ask how to reconcile such a statement with his refusal to permit one woman and one boy to rejoin their husband and father.

“(4) I would say at that press conference that a letter was being sent to the seven hundred participants in the peace forum at which Comrade Gorbachev spoke. I would include in that letter statements made by participants upholding human rights and applauding the Soviet Union's moves in that direction.

“(5) I would describe my willingness to forfeit all commercial proceeds not only from work already done, but from any work I completed in the next ten years.

“(6) I would announce the formation in Washington of a committee that would bind together all emigrants from the Soviet Union in total and unrelenting commitment to the effort to release two human beings to their husband and father. And we could call for general relief for all other claimants to the humanitarian relief Comrade Gorbachev spoke of.

“And I have two copies of this declaration as well, Your Excellency.” Titov handed over the papers.

No one spoke.

Philby raised his hand. “We move for an adjournment, Your Excellency, until further notice.”

Waldstein turned to Blackford, who shook his head—no, he had nothing to say at this point. Waldstein turned, finally, to Titov, who also shook his head.

“This meeting is adjourned.”

He rose. The principals, reaching for their umbrellas, followed suit.

CHAPTER 63

Moscow. The same participants sat again around the green baize table in the office of the deputy foreign minister. The officials he had summoned were seated when he came in: the minister of culture, Roman Belov; the dean of the medical school, Rodion Rodzinsky; and, of course, Colonel Mikhail Bykov, for the KGB.

Nikolai Paval, whose mode of speech was direct when dealing with his peers in close quarters, began to speak as he lowered himself into his chair. “Well, gentlemen, this is a shitty situation you people have put in my lap. You, Bykov. You advertised the disappearance of Titov by sending out an alarm in Vienna—”

“But it was called off in twenty-four hours!”

“So everybody who was dead during those twenty-four hours never knew about it. And you, Rodzinsky. Dean of the entire medical school, without any idea that you were nurturing a traitor and someone bent on discrediting our cause.”

“Comrade Nikolai Vasilievich, there was nothing in the files—”

“Yes there was. There was the report from Dr. Shumberg that Titov was dissatisfied with the official reports on the activity of … yet another traitor you managed to nurture, Rodzinsky, the woman Chadinov. But”—Paval turned to the other side of the table—“it was
your
responsibility, Bykov, to act on Shumberg's report that Titov was going about saying that Chadinov had been killed intentionally in surgery—”

“Not quite, Comrade Nikolai Vasilievich, not quite. It is
only
Dr. Shumberg whom Titov questioned. There is no evidence that he was, as you put it, going about saying that kind of thing.”