A Matter of Honor Read online

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain Scott,” began Stravinsky. “Although you are an unexpected guest of the embassy, you are most welcome. You could of course make our association very short by simply letting me have one piece of information. In truth”—he let out a small sigh—“I only require to know the whereabouts of the Czar’s icon.” He paused. “Although I have a feeling it’s not going to be that easy. Am I correct?”

  Adam didn’t reply.

  “It doesn’t come as a great surprise. I warned Comrade Romanov after his laudatory description of you that a simple series of questions and answers would be unlikely to suffice. However, I must follow the normal procedure in such circumstances. As you will find, the Russians go by the book every bit as much as the British. Now you may have wondered,” added Stravinsky, as if it were an afterthought, “why a man who never smokes should be seen carrying a Cuban cigar box.”

  Stravinsky waited for Adam’s reply but none was forthcoming.

  “Ah, no attempt at conversation, I see you have been through such an experience before. Well, then I must continue talking to myself for the moment. When I was a student at the University of Moscow my subject was chemistry, but I specialized in one particular aspect of the science.”

  Adam feigned no interest as he tried not to recall his worst days in the hands of the Chinese.

  “What few people in the West realize is that we Russians were the first to pioneer, at university level, a department of scientific interrogation with a full professorial chair and several research assistants. They are still without one at either Oxford or Cambridge, I am told. But then the West continues to preserve a quixotic view of the value of life and the rights of the individual. Now, as you can imagine, only certain members of the university were aware of the existence of such a department, let alone able to enroll as a student—especially as it was not in the curriculum. But as I had already been a member of the Perviy Otdel it was common sense that I should add the craft of torture to my trade. Now I am basically a simple man,” continued Stravinsky, “who had previously shown little interest in research, but once I had been introduced to the ‘cigar box’ I became, overnight, an enthralled and retentive pupil. I could not wait to be let loose to experiment.” He paused to see what effect he was having on Scott and was disappointed to be met by the same impassive stare.

  “Torture, of course, is an old and honorable profession,” continued Stravinsky. “The Chinese have been at it for nearly three thousand years, as I think you have already experienced, Captain Scott, and even you British have come a long way since the rack. But that particular instrument has proved to be rather cumbersome for carrying around in a modern world. With this in mind, my tutor at Moscow, Professor Metz, has developed something small and simple that even a man of average intelligence can master after a few lessons.”

  Adam was desperate to know what was in the box, but his look remained impassive.

  “With torture, as with making love, Captain Scott, foreplay is the all-important factor. Are you following me, Captain?” asked Stravinsky.

  Adam tried to remain relaxed and calm.

  “Still no response, I see, but as I explained I am in no hurry. Especially, as I suspect in your case, the whole operation may take a little longer than usual, which I confess will only add to my enjoyment. And although we are not yet in possession of the Czar’s icon I am at least in control of the one person who knows where it is.”

  Adam still made no comment.

  “So I will ask you once and once only before I open the box. Where is the Czar’s icon?”

  Adam spat at Stravinsky.

  “Not only ill-mannered,” remarked Stravinsky, “but also stupid. Because in a very short time you will be desperate for any liquid we might be kind enough to allow you. But, to be fair, you had no way of knowing that.”

  Stravinsky placed the box on the floor and opened it slowly.

  “First, I offer you,” he said, like a conjurer in front of a child, “a six-volt nickel-cadmium battery, made by Eveready.” He paused. “I thought you would appreciate that touch. Second,” he continued, putting his hand back in the box, “a small pulse generator.” He placed the rectangular metal box next to the battery. “Third, two lengths of wire with electrodes attached to their ends. Fourth, two syringes; fifth, a tube of collodion glue, and finally, a vial, of which more later. When I say ‘finally,’ there are still two items left in the box which I shall not require unless it becomes necessary for us to progress to Stage Two in our little experiment, or even Stage Three.”

  Stravinsky placed everything in a straight line on the floor in front of Adam.

  “Doesn’t look like a lot, I confess,” said Stravinsky. “But with a little imagination I’m sure you will be able to work out its potential. Now: in order that Comrade Romanov and the colonel can enjoy the spectacle I am about to offer it is necessary to add a few details about the nervous system itself. I do hope you are following my every word, Captain Scott, because it is the victim’s knowledge which allows him to appreciate the true genius of what is about to follow.”

  It didn’t please Adam that Stravinsky spoke English so well. He could still vividly remember how the Chinese had told him what they were going to do to him in a language that he couldn’t understand. With them he had found it easier to allow his mind to drift during their diatribe, but he still ended up in a refrigerator for four hours.

  “Now to the practical,” continued the gray figure. “By sending a small electrical impulse to the end of the synapse, it is possible to pass on a larger electric message to thousands of other nerves within a fraction of a second. This causes a nasty sensation not unlike touching a live wire when the electrical power has been left on in one’s home, more commonly known as an electric shock. Not deadly, but distinctly unpleasant. In the Moscow school this is known as Stage One, and there is no necessity for you to experience this if you are now willing to tell me where I can find the Czar’s icon.”

  Adam remained impassive.

  “I see you have not paid attention during my little lecture, so I fear we will have to move from the theoretical to the practical.”

  Adam began reciting to himself the thirty-seven plays of Shakespeare. How his old English master would have been delighted to know that after all those years of drumming the complete Shakespearean canon into a reluctant student, Adam could still recall them at a moment’s notice.

  Henry VI, Part One, Henry VI, Part Two, Henry VI, Part Three, Richard II …

  Stravinsky picked up the tube of collodion glue, removed the cap, and smeared two lumps of it on Adam’s chest.

  . . Comedy of Errors, Titus Andronicus, The Taming of the Shrew …

  The Russian attached the two electrodes to the glue, taking the wires back and screwing them to the six-volt battery, which in turn was connected to the tiny pulse generator.

  … The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Love’s Labour’s Lost, Romeo and Juliet …

  Without warning, Stravinsky pressed down the handle of the generator for two seconds, during which time Adam received a two-hundred-volt shock. Adam screamed as he experienced excruciating pain while the volts forced their way to every part of his body. But the sensation was over in a moment.

  “Do feel free to let us know exactly how you feel. You are in a soundproof room, and therefore you won’t be disturbing anyone else in the building.”

  Adam ignored the comment and, gripping the side of the chair, mumbled to himself Richard III, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, King John …

  Stravinsky pressed the plunger down for another two seconds. Adam felt the pain instantly the second time. The moment it was over he felt violently nauseated, but managed to remain conscious.

  Stravinsky waited for some time before he volunteered an opinion. “Impressive; you have definitely qualified to enter Stage Two, from which you can be released immediately by answering one simple question. Where is the Czar’s icon?”

  Adam’s mouth had