Sasha adjusted his tie, brushed back his hair, examined his face in the window of the office behind him to be sure he was not bruised, and headed for the stairway.
In the outer office, Pankov, the Wolfhound's assistant, pointed to a chair, barely looking up from something he was writing. Tkach sat. Tkach listened to the sound of voices inside the office. He couldn't make out the words but the deep, confident voice of Colonel Snitkonoy was unmistakable. He seemed to be arguing with someone who spoke very softly. After three or four minutes, the office door opened and Deputy Procurator Khabolov stepped out. A few beads of sweat dampened Khabolov's very high forehead in spite of the coolness of the room and he looked at Tkach with triumph. The look did not surprise Tkach who met Khabolov's eyes and held them till the older man strode away.
Khabolov had reason to dislike Sasha Tkach. Rostnikov and Tkach had caught the Deputy Procurator illegally confiscating black market video tapes and video tape machines for his private property and use. They could have turned him over to the KGB. Khabolov's actions were, if the KGB wished, sufficient to earn a firing squad. Instead, they had made a deal with the Deputy Procurator. Tkach and Karpo were transferred to the MVD under Rostnikov. There was no doubt in Sasha's mind that Khabolov would be very pleased to see the men who knew about his indiscretion moved even further away from his office.
"Investigator Tkach," said Pankov as soon as Khabolov closed the other door behind him. "You may enter."
Tkach adjusted his tie again, nodded to Pankov who still did not look up and went into the Wolfhound's office.
"Close the door," the Wolfhound said. He was standing behind his desk, hands clasped in front of him. He looked as if he were posing for the cover of Soviet Life. The medals on the chest of his brown uniform glistened in the path of light coming in from the west and the setting sun.
Tkach closed the door and stepped forward. The Wolfhound nodded at a large wooden chair with arms, across his massive polished desk. Tkach sat. The Wolfhound made Sasha nervous. Everything the man said and did seemed to take on such importance, as if his every word were being recorded for posterity. The Wolfhound never perspired, never looked as if he even needed to use the toilet or eat food.
"We live in very delicate times," the Wolfhound said, fixing his clear gray eyes on the junior investigator.
Tkach was not sure if he was expected to respond. He elected to nod very, very slightly in agreement. The Wolfhound unclasped his hands and leaned forward over the desk. Another pose.
"We live in a world of diplomacy and compromise," the Wolfhound said. "The Revolution has not fully ended, may not end for years, may not end, Tkach, in our lifetime or even that of our children, but we do not despair. Constant vigilance is essential. Our allies must be clasped to us with strength and support. Enemies must be given constant no-rice of determination. You understand this?"
"I understand," said Tkach.
"You did a fine job today, a fine job," said the Wolfhound.
"I'll have a full report ready in less than an hour," said Tkach, now sensing that something was wrong, but not sure how wrong. The Wolfhound's words and furrowed brow suggested that nations were at stake.
"Of course," said the Wolfhound. "Your report. What I'm really interested in is your return to the search for the missing dealer in stolen goods. What is his name?"
"Volovkatin," Tkach supplied. "I'll get back to that immediately."
"And concentrate all of your effort on finding this enemy of the State," Snitkonoy said, his voice rumbling with determination.
"I'll devote my full attention to it with time out only to complete the report and attend the Procurator's hearing on the two we apprehended today at the Yamarka shopping center."
The Wolfhound stood up straight and walked to the window. He said nothing for almost a full minute and then turned to Tkach.
"There will be no hearing on the two young men you caught," said the Wolfhound.
"No…?"
"The two young men are sons of high-ranking members of the Cuban Embassy," Snitknonoy explained. "Their parents have been informed and it has been suggested that the two young men be sent back to Cuba."
Tkach gripped the handles of the chair and tried to keep his jaw from tightening. He glared at the Wolfhound who did not meet his eyes.
"They attacked my wife," Tkach said, angry at the small catch he heard in his voice. "My daughter could have been…"
"Yes," said the Wolfhound, "But there are greater issues, greater consequences for the State. Individualism in this situation as in most is counterproductive."
"I see," said Tkach as the Colonel turned once again to face him. The Wolfhound had positioned himself with his back to the sun coming through the window. He was an outline, a rearlighted black specter. Five minutes earlier Tkach would have been impressed.
"Sometimes we must take a small step backward in order to take great strides forward in the future," said the Wolfhound, and Tkach felt the urge to shout out, to tell him that he didn't care about the State, the future, Soviet/ Cuban relations. He cared about his family.
"There are some good things here," Snitkonoy said, stepping out of the light to reveal his face and a paternal smile. "The Procurator's Office has decided not to investigate certain irregularities in your handling of the situation though the Cuban Embassy has demanded an explanation. The Cubans must also live with diplomacy and reality."
"Irregularities?" asked Tkach, feeling rage but speaking softly.
"There are some reasonable questions," said the Wolfhound. "Why were your wife and daughter at the site of an undercover investigation? Why did you beat the two suspects to the point that they had to be examined by a physician?", "They were going to rape my wife," Tkach exploded.
"Inspector," the Wolfhound said firmly, resonantly. "You will control yourself. There is no reason to believe they were going to sexually address your wife. They have done nothing of the kind before. And the young Cubans claim that they offered no resistance and you continued to beat them in spite of their cooperation."
That, at least, Tkach thought, is partly correct. He sat silently.
"So," said the Wolfhound, confident that he had the situation under control again. "The Procurator's Office has agreed to forget the irregularities, though a notation will be made in your file. We, in turn, will not file a report."
"So there is no case," said Tkach. "We will act as if nothing happened and hope that the Cubans send those two home."
"I'm sure the Cubans will administer punishment or issue consequences," said the Colonel.
"I'm sure," said Tkach. "Now, if I may be excused I would like to get back to the investigation of the buyer of stolen goods."
"Yes," said Snitknonoy returning to his desk. "We must all get back to work. I have a talk to give at the Likhachov Automobile Works, the Zil truck division. They have exceeded their half-year quotas."
"I'm elated," said Tkach, rising.
"So are we all, Comrade," the Wolfhound said with a touch of warning in his voice. "So are we all. Tread softly and you'll break no eggs. You may leave."
And Tkach left. He closed the office door behind him and without looking at Pankov strode across the outer office and into the hall, being careful not to slam the door behind him.
He stood still in the hall outside the Wolfhound's office for almost half a minute. An older woman he vaguely recognized from the records office strode by him. She wore a dark suit and glasses and looked at him with motherly concern. He would have none of it and made it clear from his look. She walked on.
When Tkach felt that he was capable of moving without striking the nearest window or door with his fists, he headed for the stairway. His first thought as he walked down the stairs was that he needed to talk to Porfiry Petrovich. He would know what to do, how to deal with the Wolfhound, how to find a way to punish the Cubans, but Rostnikov was in Siberia and there was no knowing when he would be back. Sasha would have to deal with this alone and, he was beginning to realize, he would have to deal with it by putting the day behind him and — going on with his work.