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Two large men held Sokolov by his elbows and marched him along a narrow alley hidden behind the Institute for Cosmic Biology. That was when he recognized where he was being taken. The alley led to GRU headquarters, a rundown, ten story offense to architectural design called "The Aquarium" because of the extensive use of glass in the building.
Sokolov knew he was in trouble. Why had he been picked up? And why the GRU, not FSB? His dissident activities were well known. They had cost him his job at the University and forced him into a tiny one room apartment in a crumbling building built when Brezhnev was still running things.
But the GRU? That was a different kind of worry. What could they want? Inside the building, the guards marched him past the security desk with a nod to the man on duty. They passed the bank of elevators and started down concrete stairs toward the basement.
It was never a good thing when they took you to the basement. Russian basements had been places to fear since the time of Ivan the Terrible.
Sokolov began to sweat.
The stairs ended in a long corridor painted a sickly green, lit by the flickering glow of fluorescent lights. The lights did nothing for the color. Rows of doors lined the hallway.
The two guards stopped halfway down, opened a door, and shoved him into a square room. The door closed behind him. He heard the lock click. A scarred table was bolted to the floor in the center of the room. There were two chairs. A large mirror was mounted on one wall. High up in one of the corners, a camera watched him.
Sokolov breathed a small sigh of relief. It wasn't a cell, or a torture room.
Interrogation room. They're watching me through that mirror.
He sat down. The feeling of relief vanished as quickly as it had come. He tried to compose himself.
After what seemed a long time, the lock clicked and the door opened. A man dressed in the uniform of a major came in, carrying a folder. He was accompanied by one of the guards. The guard walked to a corner of the room and stood at ease, watching. The major sat down at the table, across from Sokolov.
He opened the file and began reading. After a few moments, he closed the folder with a snap and looked up.
"You are the dissident, Vlas Sokolov?"
"Excuse me, Major, I am not a dissident. I have learned I was wrong to criticize our government."
"So you say."
"Why am I here?"
"I will ask the questions in this room," Petrov said. "You are here because we want to talk to you about your relationship with Colonel Volkova."
"My relationship? I don't have a relationship with her. She was a student in one of my classes, when I was still teaching at the University."
"Do you deny recently meeting Colonel Volkova in Presnensky Park?"
"I was waiting for a game of chess. She appeared and sat down. I hadn't seen her in years."
"What did you talk about?"
"Small talk. I told her I was sorry to hear about her brother. We discussed chess. I am ranked as expert. I remember we talked about the Sicilian Defense. It's a classic in chess strategy."
"I know what the Sicilian Defense is, Sokolov."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you didn't understand chess."
"What did you do after the game?"
"I went to a café I know. I can always find a good game there, and the coffee is excellent."
"You met Colonel Volkova there, did you not?"
"Not really. I mean, I was surprised to see her in the café. I didn't know she would be there."
"There are many cafés in Moscow. Do you really expect me to believe she accidentally chose the exact one you had gone to after your meeting in the park? Why didn't you walk there together? Why go to the trouble of separating and taking different routes?"
Sokolov felt sweat running down his back, between his buttocks.
"I didn't know she would go to the café," he said.
"And in the café, what did you talk about then?"
"I...I don't remember. We played another game. I won, of course."
"You don't recall what you talked about?"
"Not really."
Petrov stood and picked up his folder.
"I'm sure we can help you remember," he said. "Why don't you think about it for a while? Perhaps something will come back to you."
He gestured to the guard and the two men left the room. In the hall, Petrov told the guard to wait. He opened the door to the next room. Colonel Ivanov sat inside, smoking, watching Sokolov through the one-way mirror.
"He's hiding something," Ivanov said.
"Yes," Petrov said.
"Let him stew for a few hours. Then see if his memory has come back. If not, more aggressive interrogation is necessary."
"Yes, sir. I'm sure he will tell us whatever it is he thinks he can keep to himself."
"They always do," Ivanov said.