What to do about Katrina, Ep. I, Act I, sc. 36

A Manchurian Audience

Ironically, if you have just joined us, although naturally you are very welcome indeed, you have joined us at the final scene before the Intermission. If you would rather start at the beginning, then my intro is there, and the prelude and scene one is there. Equally ironically, though, this would be an intriguing place to jump in, because if you were to then go back and start reading from the beginning then you’d have a very pleasing privilege gap, which would add an intriguing layer of insight to your experience.

Still, I shall leave that decision up to you.

Here’s a lovely vintage image of the British Embassy in Paris, from the rear garden.

The reason for the Intermission is because I believe there’s a fair amount of re-writing or editing to do for the rest of it. Also, I need to add some new scenes for the character of Guy, who you will have furtively encountered in the redacted bits of Katrina’s Journal. Furthermore, I perhaps need to have something of a re-think about serialising this here on Substack. It’s probably too long, in the sense that the pacing is not a good fit. Given the intended length, you would be waiting another year before you got to the end of Episode I. And that simply won’t do. The idea and the intention is good, but the execution might not work here.

So I may just finish publishing Act I here then get the rest of it published in the traditional way, for those who wish to read it. It’s better read without enforced breaks anyway. If I decide for this option, then I shall simply continue with the Journal, which starts from Episode II. So that alone should be enticing and intriguing enough, seeing as you’re only getting the character’s view of everything. And you simply can’t trust her, really.

Anyhow, I will do my re-think, and then in a few weeks’ time I’ll let you know in my Intermission post. Of course you can tell me your own thoughts and observations in the comments, if you like.

So, then, in the previously on Katrina, we took a little well-earned breather to allow Peter to help Katrina get settled in to her new abode, namely a charming little apartment in the Montmartre which just also happens to be an MI6 safehouse.

In this episode, you are about to meet a new character, as Peter is interrupted by a summons whilst on his way to an urgent meeting with an old friend.

I think this is a nice little twisty way to draw the curtains together before the Intermission.

Let the intrigue commence…

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Her Majesty’s Ambassador to the Republic of France at this time in your sordid history was a good-looking, fair and handsome woman in her mid-fifties with the outstanding name Sienna Dexy, DCMG. She lived it up to it, too. There was a very striking, and deep intelligence behind her ever-pleasant manner, and she had the disconcerting habit – to Peter at least – of flashing soft but knowing smiles at seemingly random intervals, such that he could never be entirely sure what she did and did not know. But she also happened to impress the quality of honesty rather than deception. As a career diplomat, with postings from one continent to another, she had encountered her fair share of intrigue and the likes of Peter from MI6 did not phase her in the slightest.

For his part, a piece of him was not surprised to be unexpectedly summoned to talk with her just as he was getting ready to meet with an old friend in some discreet café in the 9^th Arrondissement. That, alarmingly, would have to wait. He quickly sent an encrypted text via Signal with an unregistered phone on his brief way up the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré to her official residence at the Hôtel de Charost.

He took the requisite breath before pushing through the ornate doors into one of the seemingly endless chambers of elegance in this hôtel particulier, with its sprawling Napoleonic grandeur. A wise purchase indeed by the Duke of Wellington all those years ago. At least it would have been had the sale not financed Napoleon’s ill-fated return.

She sat him down with a whisky far more expensive than any he could afford, affected her diplomatic pause-before-speaking for the perfect length of time, offering him that familiar salutary smile as she did so. For his part, he took his sip and waited for her to initiate.

“So, Peter,” she began with only the slightest, but detectable hint of authority in her tone, “what’s this I hear about a girl from a parallel world?”

“Oh,” with a brazen attempt to affect nonchalance, “you heard about that?”

“Gossip. Embassies. You of all people know how that works. Well?”

Peter cleared his throat. “I can assure you we’re on top of it.”

“Now, you know perfectly well that’s not what I asked.” She was clearly practiced at the art of expecting answers without asking questions. It was a trait in diplomats to which Peter took a professional dislike.

He took a breath without it seeming like an insubordinate sigh. “We’ve just moved her to one of our safehouses in the last hour, as it happens.”

“Safehouse?”

“Yes. I’ve been personally convinced from the start there’s far more to this than meets the eye. And now we’ve seen the obviously doctored CCTV it may as well be a certainty. So, keeping her in a safehouse is clearly the best way to proceed.”

She leaned back and spoke with slow consideration. “So, you suspect her of something. And that is?”

“Malcolm Gladwish arrived this afternoon and conducted a preliminary interview. His initial appraisal is that Katrina – that’s her name, or at least the name she gives – is suffering from some kind of dissociative condition resulting from an idiopathic trauma.”

“I see. But you don’t believe that? That’s the impression you’re conveying.”

“I’m not convinced, no.”

“And what’s your reasoning?”

Now Peter really was reluctant to provide all the details. He attempted to continue skirting around the thing. “She doesn’t strike me as the usual delusional type. She doesn’t really show any signs of the kind of paranoia one would expect. Aside from indulgences in a few clichéd conspiracy theory memes.”

“Such as?”

“With regards to the pandemic. She believes the vaccines are bioweapons. She also believes she has an immunity to every coronavirus on the planet, including variants that haven’t been unleashed yet. Her words. She believes she was given an experimental vaccine in her parallel world.”

“Surely you’d be able to test for that?”

“Indeed. And, curiously, she has provided us with a blood sample. That also means we can examine her DNA, of course. Which she also agreed to. Results should be in tomorrow.”

“And that makes you suspicious?”

“More intrigued, than suspicious, actually. In the sense that whoever sent her here would’ve known we would test for this, meaning it’s highly likely the tests will come back positive. Meaning she must’ve been given some high-tech, secret vaccination. Which is clearly a serious security matter.”

“Unless she really is just delusional and the tests are negative, of course.”

“That was certainly a likely option until we discovered the CCTV.”

Peter made a show of peering into his tumbler with approval. Sincere approval, at that.

That kind of sleight-of-hand wouldn’t work on her, however. She pressed on. “And you expect the results tomorrow, you say?”

“Either tomorrow, or the day after at the latest.”

“But you really expect them to be positive. Why?”

“Because, as I say, aside from the fact that whoever sent her here would know we would test for it and that we would eventually discover the CCTV, she herself doesn’t exhibit the typical signs of delusion. Naturally, if she is delusional she will genuinely believe what she says, but it’s the aspect that’s telling. That’s why Malcolm’s here, and he’s agreed to spend as much time with her as it takes. But part of my point is that she’s eminently capable of clear, rational thought.”

“Example?” She sipped her drink and was clearly somewhat fascinated by the whole story.

“She has essentially offered us a kind of deal. Namely, she wants British citizenship, a ticket to England and enough money to start a new life. A fairly substantial amount of money, as it happens. She says she wants to start a business.”

The Ambassador chuckled. “How much money?”

Peter shrugged nonchalantly. “A million.”

That turned her chuckle into a laugh. “That sounds to me like she has a cheeky sense of humour.”

“That was my first reaction. My suspicious reaction, however, is that the people behind this thought they could confuse the hell out of us by throwing layers of cognitive dissonance at us.”

She smiled. “Sounds mischievous. Amusing, granted, but serious.” She mused for a moment, lightly tapping a few fingers against the glass. “What if,” she suggested, “she’s been the victim of some kind of brainwashing or hypnosis? And that’s the explanation for her trauma?”

Peter shouldn’t have been surprised by the Ambassador’s grasp of psychology. Not uncommon for an experienced diplomat. Although he was somewhat alarmed by the thought that she might know something more than she let on about searches for the Manchurian Candidate. He hid it well enough, though. “That thought has also occurred to Malcolm. For it’s worth he thinks she’s entirely innocent, and the girl we’ve been talking to is just a front alter. Meaning there are other, secret personalities inside that head of hers. And they carry all the instructions. So that’s another thing he’ll be exploring.”

But she wouldn’t let him get away that easily.

“In your experience, is such a thing possible, technically speaking?”

Best just go with it, in that case. He nodded. “I believe so. It might sound like something out of a Len Deighton novel but, sure, it’s not without precedent.”

“What precedent?”

“The CIA did conduct mind-alteration experiments, often using psychotropic drugs like LSD. MK-Ultra was the codename. It’s another constant meme amongst conspiracy theorists.”

“But it’s actually true, though?”

He nodded again. “Yes, it is. The Russians also experimented with drugs. Truth serums and such like.”

“Hmm. You would suspect the Russians, then?”

“Possibly. In fact, intriguingly, Katrina’s delusion also includes her having been married. Specifically, to a Russian who also happens to be a KGB officer.”

“Phew!” She was not expecting that. She leaned closer to him, excitedly, he noticed. “Now that, Peter, is telling. In which case I’m no longer going to criticise your suspicions.” Then came the confused look. “But I was under the impression she’s only seventeen?”

“Ah,” he smiled cynically, having won a concession of sorts, with a slight chuckle, “she also states that she ‘de-aged’ thirty-one years when she ‘transitioned’ into this world.”

The Ambassador joined in his chuckle. “So she’s, what, forty-eight years old, in reality? Is she a vampire?”

“Hah! I can well imagine her as a seductive vampire, as it happens. Having said that, for what it’s worth that aspect of her delusion would perhaps explain her capacity for grown-up thought.”

“Did she give you a name for her husband?”

“After a little persuasion, yes.”

“And?”

“She was reluctant to provide his name because she says in May 2003, shortly after she arrived to, erm,” he rolled his eyes, “take up her new post as Russian Ambassador to Britannia, and he as SVR Chief Resident, he was killed in an attack on the Russian Embassy in London.”

“Which never happened, of course.”

“Not in this world, no. But she explicitly stated that she doesn’t want to know if he exists in our world, as she puts it, because it would be too painful for her.”

She leaned back and thrummed her fingers lightly against the tumbler again. “That’s emotionally understandable, I suppose. So, the question is, which I’m detecting you’re reluctant to tell me, what is his name and does he exist?”

Peter surrendered with a deep breath. “Yes, he does exist. I didn’t even need to look it up on a database.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How so?”

“His name is Alexander Mikhailovich Voronin. Tellingly, he was in fact an SVR resident in the London Embassy recently until he, along with dozens of other ‘diplomats’, was expelled back to Russia following the Skripal affair. Which is ironic because the same thing happened to his uncle fifty years earlier. Yuri Voronin, that is. Katrina says her son is named after him.”

She gave the faintest of smiles, took another long and thoughtful sip of her drink, then suddenly became more serious. Peter allowed her the time, whilst peripherally observing her thinking.

“How would she know this man’s name?” was her obvious response.

“Now that’s the crucial question and the one which convinces me we really are dealing with some convoluted conspiracy. This is the reason why I decided right from the outset that we should just play along with her. Allow her to follow whatever script she may have been given, have her under constant observation and, well, see how things play out. The more information we get, the clearer things will become. I hope.”

The Ambassador looked thoughtful again. Like she was planning something. Peter didn’t like that either. He took a large swig. But then she suddenly said, “I’d like to meet her.”

Peter almost choked on his drink. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’d like to meet her.”

“I… I really don’t think that’s advisable, Ambassador.”

“I didn’t necessarily mean right this minute, Peter. Obviously you need a little more time to get some more answers, but once you have them, I’d like to be fully informed and then to consider the option. Unless you suspect she’s some kind of assassin?”

“Erm, I don’t think that, as it happens. It’s too much of a convoluted way of going about things. If they wanted to assassinate you there are far less ridiculous schemes to do it.”

She laughed. “Thank you for your confidence in our security.”

“Sorry. I simply mean your schedule of events is easy to obtain, so selecting any kind of public appearance would provide an opportunity.”

“You are not, as it happens, making me feel any more secure here, Peter.”

“Apologies again. I can assure you though that assassinating an Ambassador is the last thing the Russians will do. There are some lines no one crosses. Except the Israelis perhaps. I don’t believe they wish to start World War Three, put it that way.”

“I’m very glad to hear that.”

“Quite. Besides, even with their hypersonic missiles we’d get sufficient warning to get you down to the bunker in time.”

She half chuckled and looked up and around the vast room, rolling her tongue around her mouth at the absurdity of it. “And then what? Starve to death or come back up and die of radiation poisoning? I think I’d rather go quickly, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, actually the bunker has a good six months’ worth of food and water in there. The radiation should be gone by then.”

She laughed incredulously at his deadpan delivery again, then sighed. “That’s very reassuring, Peter. Thank you.”

“I’m just saying, I’ll take my chances in the bunker.”

“Well, you have no need to worry. I would let everyone else in the Embassy make their own choice.”

“That’s equally reassuring, Ambassador.” He raised his whisky to her in not unsarcastic gratitude and took a typically long draught.

She, on the other hand, took another dainty little sip with narrowed, mischievous eyes and smiled. “The reason I suggest such a meeting, Peter, is because if she believes she too was an ambassador, then who better to test that but me?”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “I concede the point, sure.”

“Likewise, with regards to your security concerns, assuming Malcolm states that she genuinely believes it, then I would have nothing to fear from her. The last thing she would do is treat me with anything other than the respect due a fellow diplomat. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Peter reluctantly nodded and took a last sip of his drink.

“I would imagine I may even be able to tease information out of her that you wouldn’t.”

He allowed himself a short smirk at that statement, despite being a little disconcerted to discover he couldn’t detect any note of disrespect in her suggestion.

Still, Peter decided to smile, put his empty glass to the side and take the opportunity to try and end this interview. “Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

She laughed. She knew exactly what he was up to. “I think I’ll let you go now, Peter,” she smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Aside from anything else, I have another dinner to look forward to.”

“No rest for the wicked, huh?”

She just chuckled. Then stood up to indicate the exit procedure.

Peter was very glad indeed to take it. He stood himself up and started striding towards the doors.

“Be sure to keep me informed, though, Peter, won’t you?” she kindly suggested after him.

Peter’s response was to turn and offer the customary diplomatic smile. Followed by a sigh of relief as he closed those ornate doors behind him.

Then hurried along to meet that old friend.

Her name was Sarah Bishop. And her KGB codename was NIMZO…

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There’ll be a link here soon… but from now on, you may just have to go paid…

No, you don’t have to go paid yet to read the next instalment, in which the pace is definitely going to pick up…

Oh, and if you really are enjoying Katrina’s story, would you like to buy me a coffee?