They walked. Once some animal rustled to their right. Once a wolf howled so far off that Karpo was not sure he really heard it. The only other sound was the wind, the swishing of their snowshoes and the shift of their bodies moving through the snow. The forest was dark but a faint change had come as they walked, not exactly dawn but a lighter grayness. A bright Moscow dawn would have torn at Emil Karpo's head. He would have accepted it but he knew that bright light would have made it difficult for him to function.
"Here," said Galich through the scarf covering his mouth and face. He stopped and pointed.
It was his first word since they had left his house. Karpo looked at the man who was pointing at a slight ridge that looked no different to Karpo than dozens of others they had passed.
Galich led the way up the slight slope and motioned Karpo to move to his side. Karpo did so and found himself looking down at what appeared to be a road through the woods.
"Stream," explained Galich. "Frozen solid. Luckily for us. If this were summer, we'd never find Kurmu. Much of this is a bog and there are ticks, insects whose bite can kill, wild animals who don't have enough experience to fear men. The winter is safe, except for the cold."
"And now?" Karpo said, the left side of his head throbbing.
"We wait. We sit on these rocks for a minute or two. We drink some of the tea I brought in my canteen. We walk around. He knows we're here, probably knew it when we entered the taiga. If he means to come to us, he'll show up soon."
And so they drank, moved around and spoke very little. Karpo's headache allowed him to ignore, even welcome the cold that clawed at his face. His body was surprisingly warm, even perspiring under the six layers of wool and fur that Galich had dressed him in, but his exposed face tingled electrically. Galich looked at him and gestured for Karpo to cover more of his face with the scarf he had been given. Karpo did so.
He was just getting up from a minute or so of sitting on the rock when Karpo saw the man. He was standing no more than two dozen yards away next to a cedar tree. The man was a motionless, dark, faceless figure in a parka.
"Wait," Galich said as Karpo took a step toward the shaman. "He hasn't made up his mind yet."
"If he tries to run, I will have to stop him," Karpo said, his eyes fixed on the man near the tree. "He's an old man."
Galich laughed.
"He'd be gone before you got five steps. No, we wait."
And so they stood waiting, watching each other for perhaps five minutes. Suddenly the man in the parka waved, turned and was gone. Karpo stepped forward, each step sending a shock of agony through his head, but Galich held out his hand.
"He'll be back. If he weren't coming back he wouldn't have waved. He would have simply disappeared."
When Kurmu returned it was not to the base of the same cedar tree. This time Karpo turned to the frozen stream and saw the shaman standing still on the path of ice and snow looking up at the two Russians. The Evenk carried something slung over his shoulder. Karpo's eyes found those of the shaman and only then did the Evenk move forward and up the slope to the rock where the two men stood.
The shaman's bearded, craggy face turned first to Galich and then to Karpo. His eyes were narrow and dark. While looking directly at Karpo he spoke, his words a soft clattering, words running together.
Galich answered in what sounded to Karpo like a slow imitation of the old man.
"He says," said Galich, "that he has something for your pain."
"How does he know I am in pain?" Karpo asked.
"You really want me to ask him that?"
"No," said Karpo.
, The shaman reached into the sack over his shoulder and pulled something out, something that clacked and echoed in the gray forest. He looked at Karpo and then said something else.
"He wants to know," said Galich, "if you would rather keep your pain. I think he said it is yours and he doesn't know why you might want pain but he thinks you might."
"What does he have?" Karpo said, the right side of his head welling in tempoed heat.
The shaman held out his mittened hand to Karpo showing what looked like a necklace of thick stones.
"It's amber beads," said Galich. "he wants you to put it around your neck."
Karpo reached out, accepted the necklace and put it over the oversized hat and around his neck. The shaman nodded.
"Give him my thanks and tell him we would like him to come with us to Tumsk to talk to the inspector. Tell him Mirasnikov has been shot."
"I'm not sure my Tunga is good enough for all that," sighed Galich. "Remember I said you have to keep it simple. I'll do what I can."
But before Galich could speak, the old shaman chattered out what sounded to Karpo like one long word.
Galich answered even more briefly and turned to Karpo with a shake of his head and a smile.
"He said we should get started. He has to be very far from here by tonight. He knows about Mirasnikov."
Karpo looked at the shaman who returned his unsmiling gaze. The eyes of the old man scanned Karpo's face and came back to rest on his eyes.
Kurmu said something else and Galich said, "He says he sees the color of your pain. It's very… something. I don't understand. He says the color is surrounding your soul and you should let your soul breathe through."
"He sees the color of my pain?"
"He's a shaman, remember," said Galich.
"And he's a Soviet citizen," Karpo reminded Galich.
"Is he?" Galich said with a deep laugh. "These people have ignored our history. Most of them never knew the Mongols had ever been through here."
The shaman spoke again and Galich answered before turning to Karpo.
"He wants to know if you're a Tartar?"
"No," said Karpo reaching up unconsciously to touch the beads around his neck.
Kurmu spoke again.
"He says, good. Let's go."
Before they were down the small slope and into the forest again, Karpo had the sensation of bright, scorching yellow and knew that his headache was already beginning to fade away.
It was just before dawn when Sasha Tkach entered his apartment. Maya sat at the table near the window breastfeeding Pulcharia who turned her head toward the clack of the door.
"Is Lydia here?"
"No, she had to leave early. What happened?"
Sasha brushed back his hair and touched his face. His hair grew quickly though his beard was light. Nonetheless, he needed a shave.
"What happened?" he repeated her question, moving to the table, kissing his wife on the head and looking down at his daughter who had returned to her feeding.
Sasha opened his jacket and sat in the chair where he could watch his wife and daughter.
"We found the black market. We found Volovkatin," he said. "We found him, brought him in, and the Deputy Procurator on duty sent a team to the apartment. And you know what they found?"
"No," said Maya concerned about the strange smile on her husband's face.
"Nothing. They found nothing," he said. "Everything Zelach and I saw there was gone. Someone had cleaned out every piece of stolen property. There was no evidence."
"But who… how?" she said softly, trying not to frighten Pulcharia who sucked away, her eyes partly closed.
"An old drunk," said Sasha. "There was an old drunk there named Viktor when we took Volovkatin. He must have sobered up quickly and gotten help in cleaning out the apartment. Now I've got to go out and find the drunk. It's a cycle. It never ends."
He laughed, shook his head and glanced at the window. In profile, Maya thought her husband looked very strange and very tired.
"So they had to let this Volovkatin go?" she said gently.
"No," laughed Tkach. "Kola the Truck and Yuri Glemp have already signed confessions. Zelach and I will testify to what we saw. The Procurator wants Volovkatin, claims he is a major fartsovscbiki, black marketer. No little thing like missing evidence will get in the way of a conviction, particularly a conviction concerning economic crime. The Procurator wants to show the KGB that he is alert, swift. The Wolfhound will probably even get another medal."