The Fuller Memorandum

Committed to paper, this dialogue might sound comical: but coming from Panin’s mouth, in his soft, clipped diction, it is anything but.

I shiver. “Ungern Sternberg’s teapot didn’t get misplaced by accident,” I hazard.

Panin’s response takes me by surprise: “Idiot!” He leans back in disgust, raises his glass, and takes a deep and disrespectful swig. “You are fishing, now.”

Bother, I’ve been rumbled. “’Fraid so. Let me level with you? I know it’s missing, but that’s all I know. But I’ll tell you what, if you can tell me what happened in Amsterdam last Wednesday and why it followed my wife home on Thursday I would be very grateful.”

“Amster-” Panin shuts his mouth with a click. “Your wife is unhurt, I hope?” he asks, all nervous solicitude.

“Shaken.” But not stirred. “The-intruder-was attributed to your people, did you know that?”

“Not unexpected.” Panin makes a gesture of dismissal with one hand. “They do that, you know. To muddy the waters.”

“Who? The opposition?”

Panin gives me that look again, the look you might give to the friendly but stupid puppy that’s just widdled on the carpet for the third time that day. “Tell me, Mr. Howard, what do you know?”

I sigh. “Not much, it seems. I have been seconded to a committee that’s trying to work out why you folks are currently ru

“I see.” Panin looks gloomy. “Well, Mr. Howard, many would not believe you-but I do. So, here is my card.” He passes me a plain white business card-unprinted on either side, but pressed from a very high grade of linen weave. It makes my fingertips tingle. “Should you have anything to discuss, call me.”

I slide it into my breast pocket. “Thanks.”

“As for the teapot, it was never the same after Ungern Sternberg retrieved it from the Bogd Khan’s altar.”

He’s studying my face. I do my best not to twitch. I’ve heard those names before. “I’ll keep my eyes open for it,” I reassure him.

“I’m sure you will,” he says gravely. “After all, it would be in everyone’s best interests for the teapot to return to its rightful office.” He drains his beer glass. “I will see you around, I am sure,” he says, rising.

“Bye.” I raise my glass to his back as he turns towards the door, shoulders hunched.

CLASSIFIED: S76/47 ANNEX A Dear Mother, Salutations from Urga! I greet you as Khan Sternberg, Outstanding Prosperous-State Hero of Mongolia, first warlord and general of the Living Buddha and Emperor of Mongolia, His Holiness Bogd Djebtsung Damba Hutuktu! Great events, bloody battle, heroic struggle, and glorious victory have contrived to elevate me to the threshold of my destiny, as inheritor of the empire of Genghis Khan. It is spring in Mongolia, and already I have purged this land of Bolsheviks, terrorists, and subhumans; soon my armies will commence their march on St. Petersburg, to restore the blessed Prince Michael to his rightful throne and to cleanse Mother Russia of the depravity of revolution and the filthy degenerates who have turned their back on the holy Tsar. (Once I have restored the Tsar I consider it my duty to retake those lands that have been stolen from the Empire, including our homeland. I trust you will think kindly of me for raising the yoke of anarchist tyra