What to do about Katrina, Ep. I, Act I, sc. 31-33
Revelations
Ok. This is one I definitely need to do an intro for.
Why? Because this is the turning point, and if you are new to Katrina then you need to make a decision. Do you want to have all this spoilery stuff, or do you want to start at the beginning, with my intro, there, or with the prelude and scene one?
It’s a big decision. I can imagine, though, it would be intriguing to read this then go back and read how we got to this point. You would have a definite privilege gap there. For me, of course, I already knew, so I can never experience reading this like a new reader can. But you have a choice.
I should probably also reiterate the mistake I made with my intro - I didn’t explain how long this whole Katrina thing is. So maybe people got turned off because they wondered when anything important might happen. But I didn’t say what I should have said, which is the Katrina series of books is a bit like the Lisbeth Salander books by Stieg Larsson, in the sense that these are really quite long, deep diving episodes. This Act I, for example, is as long as a lot of novels are these days. The entire Episode I is probably going to be in the realm of 250k words.
I should’ve mentioned that, maybe.
Not that Katrina has any similarities with Lisbeth, I hasten to add. Just in case you got some thoughts in your head, you know.
But this is my bad. What I can promise you from now on, though, is that the pace is going to be picking up and you will be discovering a lot of that dark, deep diving stuff.
I am very proud of what I’ve been able to achieve so far, and it means a lot to me. That’s why I love every single like, comment, and share that I ever get. Even if only, like, half a dozen people in the whole world appreciate what I do that means the world to me. Each of you, means the world to me.
I’m not going to go a rambling into anything right now. No literary or narrative theory. Nothing like that. Part of me wanted to, but the other part, the perhaps more sensible part, warded me off.
So I shall listen to her.
I shall let the narrative do the work.
For the Previously on Katrina, click there. That was the very important, lead-up to turning point scene in which Katrina finally meets Malcolm, the intelligence services psychologist, who has a deep dive of his own into Katrina’s psychology.
In this instalment, he is about to deliver his diagnosis…
…and then discover something else, something shocking…
…and then we get to see what Peter thinks of that…
When Malcolm excitedly entered Tom’s office he found him leaning back in his chair wearing a distinct look of consternation. More than his usual kind, actually. Malcolm noticed a still image on his screen of Katrina in the station having some kind of altercation with a pair of concerned-looking gendarmes. Tom glanced up as Mal pulled over a chair and sat himself down by the side of the desk without being invited.
“I believe I was right, instinctively,” Mal exclaimed.
Tom sighed. “In what way?”
“Dissociative Identity Disorder. Although the weirdest case I’ve ever heard of. Not that I’m an expert, I hasten to add, but I seriously doubt there’s been a case like this before.”
Tom shook himself out of his little daze. “Erm, sorry. Start at the beginning.”
“Are you alright?”
“Later. Tell me your version first. Then I’ll show you mine.”
“That girl in the other room there is not called Katrina.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
Mal almost suppressed a laugh. “Well, no, obviously. I mean, her name’s Katrina, but that’s not her real name. Her original name.”
“Sure. She’s not in any database.”
“Exactly. But she does exist as a person, clearly. So, assuming she’s not from a parallel world, and that’s just some kind of protective delusion, then she has a real name.”
“Malcolm, that doesn’t exactly tell us anything we didn’t work out for ourselves.”
“I know, but I think her real name is Nikita.”
Tom looked askew at him. “Erm, that’s her daughter’s name, right?”
“Yep. So, if my diagnosis is correct, DID, what used to be called multiple personality disorder, then that explains Katrina.”
Tom shook his head a little in confusion. As good a response as any.
Malcolm continued. “I was refreshing my memory of the condition on the train on the way here. The underlying purpose of splitting to form new personalities is to protect the core personality from trauma. A new personality takes over so the old one doesn’t have to experience it. This is why you will always find a protector alter. And that’s her. That’s Katrina. The Queen Mother, they sometimes call it. But the core personality, the original, shall we say, that’s the girl she thinks of as her daughter. Nikita. See?”
Then, to Malcolm’s astonishment, Tom suddenly said, “Voronin.”
“Uh?”
“Voronin. Her husband’s name is Sasha Voronin. At least, that’s Peter’s guess. Except he’s fifty-seven years’ old. So he’s not really her husband. That’s just some fantasy. Or weird cover story. Or something. I don’t know.”
“So she’s the daughter, then. Nikita Voronin? That makes perfect sense. But who is he?”
“He is a senior intelligence officer in the British section of the SVR. Chief Political Officer, to give his exact title. He was, in fact, until several years ago, the SVR’s chief resident in the London Embassy. He was expelled in the wake of the Skripal incident, and returned to Moscow with his tail between his legs. Along with a whole load of other so-called diplomats. Which is ironic, since the same thing happened to his uncle Yuri in 1971.”
Mal narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Yuri? Same name as Katrina’s son. Does he have a daughter called Nikita, by any chance?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to check with Peter.”
“Well, that’s my theory. Working theory, anyhow. In any delusion there are always clues to the reality. And the reason for the delusion. In her case, in her world she has a daughter about the same age as her who is about to leave home, about which Katrina admitted she is terrified, because she states her husband, Nikita’s father, was killed, like you she told you, in a terrorist attack on the Russian Embassy in London when she was three months old. So, this is what I’m saying. That girl is not the mother. She’s Nikita.”
“Except that Sasha Voronin is still very much alive.”
“Which is the delusion. DID also carries necessary amnesia, so you don’t have to remember or relive the trauma. At least, that protector alter in there doesn’t. Other alters inside her head, well, they will remember. Some of them, anyhow.”
Tom just sighed deeply. And reminded himself how way beyond his pay grade all this kind of stuff was. But then, “You know she doesn’t look Slavic. And the DNA test should be here tomorrow. She looks British to me. Or, well, Irish maybe with a hint of Germanic. Which is pretty British to be honest.”
Malcolm found himself in at least a little agreement. “In that case,” he suggested, “she’s not Sasha’s daughter. But in fact, for my psychological purposes the name doesn’t matter. As I said, this kind of condition only arises following a trauma, which is blanked out from the main personality’s memory. So, her trauma, according to her delusion, is that her father recently died and now she is on her own. And that terrifies her. Except she can’t come to terms with it. All she remembers is his smell, nothing else. That’s what she said about Nikita. Everything she tells me about Niki, is actually about her. Maybe she witnessed his death. I don’t know. But it does, at least, provide us with some clues as to her real identity. It would be a case of checking the circumstances and narrowing it down.”
Tom sighed. And then sighed again.
“What is it? You don’t buy any of this. I can tell.”
“I can see your logic, sure. It’s a bit extreme, but it has an internal logic to it I suppose. Except…”
Tom leaned forward, turned his screen around so Mal could see it, then clicked open a video file. “Except for this.”
Mal looked at him, and suddenly had a feeling he was about to see something he really didn’t want to see.
Tom started the recording. 08:13:50, according to the CCTV timestamp.
Waiting area. Gare de l’Est. There are two people sitting opposite each other at the sides, the camera is centred in between them.
There is no one there.
“Katrina minus ten seconds,” Tom said. And pressed play.
Mal watched the screen. He realised he knew what was coming, but his emotions didn’t.
08:13:57. 08:13:58. 08:13:59…
“Oh fuck me!” Mal couldn’t stop himself, pushing back the chair and abruptly standing up. Instinctive flight response.
Now you don’t see her, now you do.
The film kept running for a few more moments before Tom gingerly paused it, then glanced up at Malcolm.
“Take three long, deep breaths. It helped with me.”
Mal did as he was told. It did help.
“That’s the really scary bit,” he said, motioning slightly to the screen.
08:14:10.
Freeze-frame Katrina. Staring directly up at the camera.
“It’s doctored, obviously.” Peter did nothing whatsoever to disguise the fact that he was both happy and smug about having been right all along.
“That doesn’t mean she’s guilty of anything,” Malcolm ventured in her defence. Somewhat weakly, as it happens. “That’s the protector alter in that room, not the real her. That alter wouldn’t have any memory of any subterfuge.”
“Rubbish,” Peter snorted, “you saw the way she looks into the camera. That’s all I need to know.”
“Ok. But what I’m suggesting here is that going in all heavy-handed is not the best approach.”
“I’ll accept that advice, sure. For the time being. But I shall be taking full charge of things from now on, and we’ll start by transferring her to a safehouse. I presume you don’t object?”
Mal sighed, then shook his head. “But you can’t bully her, or she will have a defensive reaction, let alone threaten her with torture.”
Peter proffered a diplomatic grin. “MI6 doesn’t do torture, Malcolm.”
“Enhanced interrogation techniques, then, if you’d prefer that euphemism?” Mal raised a suggestive eyebrow.
Peter offered no objection. In the corner of his eye he noticed Tom with one of his uneasy looks. This was in danger, he decided, of venturing into the kind of classified material to which the likes of Tom should never have access.
“Well,” he accepted, “I’ll give you first go, of course. See if you can’t cajole these whatever you call them -”
“Alters.”
“Alters out of her. One of them, I am sure, definitely knows what’s going on here, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Possibly.”
“Excellent.” Peter grinned. “In the meantime, Thomas, you will identify and interview those two alleged commuters in that waiting area and liaise with the geek squad. Get them over from London to examine that footage with a fine-toothed digital comb, whatever that is.”
Tom sighed pointedly. “It’s not my problem anymore, Peter.”
“Oh yes it is, Thomas. And I’m not going to accept any denials that you are, as a matter of fact, still intrigued by the whole thing. And aside from anything else, this is precisely the kind of experience you need if you want to have any kind of career in the service. I’m right, aren’t I, Malcolm?”
Mal glanced over at Tom. “He does have a point.”
Tom sighed again. And wished for a time machine. Or teleportation device. Or a quantum leap accelerator, even. That would do it.
“May I make a suggestion, however?” Malcolm added.
Peter glanced back at him.
“I don’t think you, or I, for that matter, should venture any information to her. I’m especially thinking of her husband, Sasha.”
“Alleged husband.”
“Sure, whatever. But she shouldn’t know. Not yet, anyway.”
“Actually, Malcolm, I agree completely. We shall absolutely withhold information from her. And see what she has to say. Sooner or later she’ll make a mistake, blurt out something her cover story couldn’t possibly know.”
Mal sighed again. Although he had developed at least a partial immunity to Peter over the years. “What I’m saying is I think she’s still quite fragile. Katrina, I mean. Although she tries to hide it. Telling her anything about him might push her over an edge.”
“And bring out one of these other personalities who does have the info we need? That’s the point.”
“You still seem sceptical, Peter. I can tell.”
“Obviously. I’d prefer to go for the simplest explanation, which is she’s a damn fine actress but a less than exceptional spy. But clearly, you do still think she’s got some whatever you call it disorder, then?”
“Yes, actually. I do. Besides, don’t you think it would be far too obvious if all this was just a cover story? Why would she deliberately bring herself to our attention in such a direct way?”
“Precisely because it’s obvious, Malcolm. It’s an example of the big lie. They think that we wouldn’t think they’d be so blatant and think they could get away with it. It’s like a double bluff.”
Malcolm shook his head. “But they would know you’d work that out, wouldn’t they?”
“Well, possibly. But you can see how there is definitely some kind of game going on here, can’t you?”
“From your point of view, yes. Certainly in light of the CCTV. But I still think she’s innocent. From my own, considered psychological opinion.”
Peter let out a big sigh and exaggerated a gesture of surrender with his arms out wide. “I will not discount that option, then. For now, at least. How about you, Thomas?”
“I wash my hands of the whole affair.”
“Rubbish. Wouldn’t you appreciate some extra security clearance?” Peter smiled and raised his eyebrows at him provocatively. “Sasha Voronin’s file, for example?”
Tom rolled his eyes. But he was in no mood to argue.
“Does he have a daughter called Nikita, by the way?” Mal asked.
“I’ll check that. But that, I agree, really would be too obvious. Besides, she doesn’t look Russian, does she?”
“She looks like she says she is. Part Celtic, part German. Anglo-Saxon, that is.”
“About as British as they come, then.” Tom muttered.
Peter leaned back and smiled broadly. “And we’ll have some DNA results tomorrow. So, that’s settled, then. I was right all along. This is turning out to be exceedingly intriguing. And I strongly suspect that you, in particular, Thomas, are actually going to come to enjoy it.”
Tom sighed deeply, and thought of that futuristic device again. And perhaps a nice summer beach somewhere. Maybe with a cold but strong drink. Preferably on the other side of the world.
The Madagascar Option, perhaps.
Katrina’s eyes perceptibly widened for just a second when Peter entered the room. But only for a second. She’d taken her little calming breath by the time he’d turned around and closed the door behind him. He took the chair opposite where Malcolm had been sitting. Katrina studied him, in her customary manner.
“You must be Tom’s boss.” She got her opening gambit in first. “Is he still pissed off with me?”
Peter smiled with a hint of satisfaction. “You shouldn’t take offence at that. He’s had other things on his mind lately. Exhibit A, mainly.”
She looked curiously at him. Then, “Ah. You mean the lovely Audrey. That’s understandable.”
“Quite.”
“So, you are Tom’s boss, then?”
“That’s a good enough guess. Call me Peter.”
“I’d rather call you Ishmael.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
“Yeah. I thought so. Or are you yet another one of these typically humourless British intelligence officers?”
“Studied us, then, have you? This is from your own extensive experience?”
Katrina smiled coyly, but decided to leave it there.
Peter was happy to do that himself. Sparring matches could wait. “To continue. Let’s just say I’ll be taking personal charge of your case, from now on.”
“Sounds serious.”
Peter laughed. “You don’t think that’s somewhat obvious?”
“Sure. So what happens now?”
“Well,” Peter started nonchalantly, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back, in the manner of a Philby, “I have a few more questions for you to begin with, then we’ll get you settled. Question one, what’s your husband’s name?”
Katrina took another breath. In diplomacy, honesty is always the best policy. “Alexander Mikhailovich Voronin.”
Peter didn’t show any emotion, Katrina noticed. “I’ll check that.”
“If he does exist, I don’t want to know about it. So, I’m hoping that either he doesn’t exist, or you’ll lie to me and tell me he doesn’t. I can imagine a man in your position is a very good liar.”
He gave a little abrupt half-laugh at that one. “Is that intended as a compliment?”
“If you wish. With regards to Tom, I’m not entirely sure he’s cut out for intelligence work. What do you think?”
Peter smiled. “He’s still learning, put it that way. But,” he continued, leaning forward a little and lightly waggling a finger at her, “you provoking him doesn’t help.” Then he raised his eyebrows suggestively to her.
“Fair enough. I was a little stressed. I’m sure you can understand.”
“Very much so. So,” he continued, leaning back again, “how would you know he’s not suited to this kind of work?”
“Because I have some experience of it myself.”
“Ah. Would it surprise you, if I said that doesn’t surprise me?”
She shook her head. “Probably not. Do you work for the other lot?”
“The Circus, you mean?”
“They call it that in this world too, huh?”
“Clearly le Carré gets around a bit. Too much, probably.”
“What other questions did you have?”
“Why did you look up at the camera?”
“Ah, the CCTV. Took you a while to get around to that. Why did I look up? I don’t know. Mischief, perhaps. Force of habit.”
He raised his eyebrows at her again.
“I’m an actress,” she followed up, “it’s sort of instinctive when cameras are around.”
That was clearly not intended as an answer he was supposed to accept, he decided. “So, you’re saying that despite waking up to find yourself in an utterly alien place, within only ten seconds you composed yourself and decided to be mischievous?”
“Let’s call it a coping mechanism. Either that, or I hadn’t done the pinch test yet.”
“Pinch test?”
“When you’re lucid dreaming. And not sure if you’re awake or asleep. If you pinch yourself and it feels real, then you’re not dreaming. Unless I died in my sleep and this is the afterlife. Purgatory, clearly.”
“So you accept that all this is real, then?”
She nodded. A little sadly. “Yes.”
“What if I were to tell you that, having seen your sudden appearance on the CCTV, I have become somewhat suspicious?”
She sighed again. “That’s perfectly understandable. I’d be suspicious too, in your position. In fact, you have the air of a man who is permanently suspicious.”
“It’s my job to be suspicious.”
“I think there’s more to it than that.”
“Be that as it may, you can understand how this looks to us, yes?”
“Perfectly.”
Peter took a few more breaths before continuing. “So, what’s going to happen now, is that we’ll be transferring you to a safehouse, where predominantly myself and Malcolm will be getting to know you a lot better.”
“Right. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to put up with an MI6 safehouse. Is it nice?”
She really did know how to entrap his attention. “And when was the last time you were in one of our safehouses?”
Katrina lowered her eyes sadly when the memory returned, then sighed again. “December, 1996. BX1.”
“And how did you come to be in BX1?”
“That’s a long story. Perhaps we could leave that for the safehouse.”
“I will hold you to that.”
“Sure. But if you promise to treat me well, and if I feel safe, then I will tell you. It wouldn’t have happened in this world, if I didn’t exist. So, I have no reason to withhold anything from you.”
“I’m very glad to hear that. As for it being nice, as a matter of fact it’s a charming little apartment in the Montmartre. Stuffy, but charming. You’ll like it.”
Katrina smiled. “Montmartre, huh? Ah, well, in that case it’s in my interests to keep it going a while, isn’t it? Tell you a long story. Like Scheherazade.”
That made him chuckle. “I do hope that means you’re not going to be stringing us along with fables?”
She smiled a little slyly. “I’ll be honest with you, sure. But there’s a lot to get through. And I would like to continue going swimming, if possible. I don’t mind the chaperones.”
“There will certainly be chaperones.” Then he decided to be conciliatory. “But I’m sure that’ll be possible.”
“Thank you. Was there anything else?”
He shook his head. “I think that’ll do for now. If you’d like to wait here, I’ll just go and make the arrangements.”
Katrina didn’t respond. Just watched him leaving, and studied him all the way. As she had been doing since the moment he arrived.
She was rapidly changing her mind about something. As if the purpose to all this was beginning to focus into view.
And so she closed her eyes again, and meditated on it for a while.
Next instalment next Thursday…