This Makarov is a Bulgarian, not a Russian, model, which is probably why it jammed: the Russian models are very reliable, the Bulgarian copies slightly less so.
“Now, you’re going to laugh, Superintendent,” says the expert, showing him the umbrella that was removed from the man’s chest. “You see this hole? The point is hollow. It functions like a syringe, fed through the handle. All you have to do is press this trigger and it opens a valve that, with the aid of a compressed air cylinder, releases the liquid. The mechanism is impressively simple. It’s identical to the one used to eliminate Georgi Markov, the Bulgarian dissident, two years ago in London. You remember?” Superintendent Bayard does indeed remember that the murder had been attributed to the Bulgarian secret services. At the time, they were using ricin. But now they have a stronger poison, botulinum toxin, which acts by blocking neuromuscular transmission, thus provoking muscle paralysis and causing death in a matter of minutes, either by asphyxia or by stopping the heart.
Bayard, looking pensive, fiddles with the umbrella’s mechanism.
Would Simon Herzog happen to know any Bulgarians in the academic world?
Simon thinks.
Yes, he does know one.
35
The two Michels, Poniatowski and d’Ornano, have reported for duty in the president’s office. Giscard stands anxiously by the ground-floor window, looking out on the élysée Gardens. As d’Ornano is smoking, Giscard asks him for a cigarette. Poniatowski, sitting in one of the luxurious armchairs in the informal part of the office, has poured himself a whiskey, which he puts down on the coffee table in front of him. He speaks first: “I talked to my contacts, who are in touch with Andropov.” Giscard says nothing because, like all men with this much power, he expects his employees to save him the bother of asking important questions. So Poniatowski replies to the silent question: “According to them, the KGB is not involved.”
Giscard: “What makes you think that opinion is credible?”
Ponia: “Several things. The most convincing being that in the short term they would not have any use for such a document. At a political level.”
Giscard: “Propaganda is critical in those countries. The document could be very useful to them.”
Ponia: “I doubt it. You can’t really say that Brezhnev has encouraged freedom of expression since he succeeded Khrushchev. There are no debates in the USSR, or only within the Party, and the public aren’t aware of those. So what counts is not the power of persuasion but the relative strengths of political forces.”
D’Ornano: “But it’s perfectly imaginable that Brezhnev or another member of the Party might want to use it internally. The central committee is a vipers’ nest. It would be a considerable asset.”
Ponia: “I can’t imagine Brezhnev wanting to assert his preeminence in that way. He doesn’t need to. The opposition is nonexistent. The system is locked in place. And no Central Committee member could order such an operation for his own profit without the authorities being informed.”
D’Ornano: “Except Andropov.”
Ponia (irritated): “Andropov is a shadowy figure. But he has more power as head of the KGB than he would have in any other position. I can’t see him embarking on a political adventure.”
D’Ornano (ironic): “True. Shadowy figures rarely do things like that. Talleyrand and Fouché had no political ambitions at all, did they?”
Ponia: “Well, they didn’t realize those ambitions.”
D’Ornano: “That’s debatable. At the Congress of Vienna—”
Giscard: “All right. What else?”
Ponia: “It seems highly improbable that the operation would have been carried out by the Bulgarian services without the approval of their big brother. On the other hand, it is possible to envisage Bulgarian agents selling their services to private interests. It is up to us to determine the nature of those private interests.”
D’Ornano: “Do the Bulgarians have that little control over their men?”
Ponia: “Corruption is widespread. No part of society is free of it, least of all the intelligence services.”
D’Ornano: “Secret agents working freelance in their spare time? Frankly…”
Ponia: “Secret agents working for several employers? It’s not exactly unheard of.” (He drains his glass.)
Giscard (stubbing out his cigarette in a little ivory hippopotamus that serves as an ashtray): “Agreed. Anything else?”
Ponia (leaning back in his chair, arms behind his head): “Well, it turns out Carter’s brother is a Libyan agent.”
Giscard (surprised): “Which one? Billy?”
Ponia: “Andropov seems to have got this from the CIA. Apparently, he thought it was hilarious.”
D’Ornano (getting them back to the subject at hand): “So, what are we going to do? If in doubt, wipe them out?”
Ponia: “The president does not need the document. He just needs to know that the opposition doesn’t have it.”
As far as I know, no one has ever pointed out that Giscard’s famous speech impediment became more pronounced during moments of embarrassment or pleasure. He says: “Of coursh, of coursh … But if we could find it … or at leasht locate it, and if poshible, get our handzh on it, I would resht more eazhily. For the shake of Fransh. Imagine if thish document fell into, uh, the wrong handzh … Not that … But, well…”
Ponia: “Then we have to make Bayard’s mission clearer: get hold of the document, without letting anyone read it. Let’s not forget that that young linguist he’s hired is capable of deciphering it and therefore using it. Or of ensuring that every copy of it is destroyed. [He gets up and walks over to the drinks table, muttering.] A lefty. Bound to be a lefty…”
D’Ornano: “But how can we know if the document has already been used?”
Ponia: “According to my information, if someone used it we would know about it pretty damn quickly…”
D’Ornano: “What if they were discreet? Kept a low profile?”
Giscard (leaning against the sideboard under the Delacroix, and fingering the Legion of Honor medals in their boxes): “That doesn’t seem very plausible. Power, of whatever kind, is intended to be used.”
D’Ornano (curious): “Is that true for the atomic bomb?”
Giscard (professorial): “Especially the atomic bomb.”
The mention of a possible end to the world plunges the president into a light daydream for a moment. He thinks of the A71 highway which must cross the Auvergne, of the mayor’s office in Chamalières, of the France over which he rules. His two employees wait respectfully for him to start speaking again. “In the meantime, all our actions should be governed by a single objective: preventing the left from gaining power.”
Ponia (sniffing a bottle of vodka): “As long as I’m alive, there will be no Communist ministers in France.”
D’Ornano (lighting a cigarette): “Exactly. You should slow down if you want to get through the election.”
Ponia (raising his glass): “Na zdrowie!”
36
“Comrade Kristoff … You know, of course, who is the greatest politician of the twentieth century?”
Emil Kristoff was not summoned to Lubyanka Square, but he would have preferred that.
“Naturally, Yuri Vladimirovich. It’s Georgi Dimitrov.”
The faux-intellectual tenor of his meeting with Yuri Andropov, the head of the KGB, in an old bar located in a basement, as nearly all the bars in Moscow are, is not designed to reassure him, and the fact that they are in a public place changes nothing. You can be arrested in a public place. You can even die in a public place. He is well placed to know this.