"He tried," Osip said sarcastically, looking at Deputy Procurator Khabolov for support and getting none. "He forced my poor wife, my beautiful little daughter. Wait. I have a picture of my Natalya right here."
Desperately, Osip fumbled in his pocket and came out with his wallet while Felix said, "What does that prove? That proves nothing. He beats his wife and daughter."
"I… never. I love them both. Here, here," Osip cried, pushing his brother's restraining hand away and passing the wallet to the unsmiling man behind the desk.
Khabolov took the wallet, and Osip sat back with a small sense of frightened triumph.
"This is a very nice wallet. Canadian," said Khabolov.
"Canadian, yes," said Osip. "A gift to me from an old friend. I'd like to make it a gift to you for your kindness, your understanding."
Felix snorted in disgust and put his head down as Khabolov threw the wallet back to Osip.
"Are you attempting to bribe an officer of the state?" Khabolov said, fixing his eyes on Osip, who was now completely panicked, without any sense of response or direction. All he could do was shake his head no as he clutched the wallet to his stomach with both hands. Osip looked to his older brother for help, but Felix was looking at the floor, defeated.
"Comrades," Khabolov said, "I want you to do some-flung."
Osip didn't hear the words. He simply sobbed and clutched his wallet, but Felix lifted his eyes at the words of the deputy procurator.
"Anything," said Felix.
"I want you to do some work for me in an investigation. I want the two of you to take part in a long-term government investigation of illegal marketing of videotapes and machines," said Khabolov, meeting Felix's eyes. There was an electric instant of understanding, and Felix sat up with new hope.
"We would be honored to help in any way we could serve the state, Comrade Procurator," Felix said over his brother's sobbing.
"Good," said Khabolov. "Your entire inventory will be taken over by the state. You will be permitted to continue to operate and keep a reasonable percentage of your profits. Let us say…"
"Seventy-five percent," said Felix, reaching over and digging his nails into his brother's calf to shut bun up.
"Forty percent," said Khabolov.
"Forty percent," agreed Felix.
"You will report directly to me, deal directly with me," said Khabolov. "You will never return here again. All contact will be made through me or my son, Andreyev, who will take reports on all of your customers and all transactions. It will be necessary from time to time for us to confiscate certain pieces of equipment and tapes that Andreyev or I will select for investigatory purposes."
"Our inventory is small," said Felix with a sigh.
Osip had stopped sobbing and was beginning to realize that the nature of the conversation had changed, that Felix was sounding like himself, that some kind of deal was being made.
"It will have to sustain itself if you and your brother are to remain a useful part of the undercover operation I am planning."
Which meant, Felix understood, that as long as he and Osip supplied the deputy procurator with all the free video equipment and tapes that he wanted and made him their senior partner they would remain free and in business. The price was high, but the alternative was prison, possibly even execution, and certainly poverty. Besides, the protection of the deputy procurator might be very comforting.
"We will do exactly as you say," said Felix.
"Exactly," echoed Osip as Felix reached over to tug at his brother's sleeve.
"Good," said Khabolov, with what may have been a slight smile. "Your patriotism will be rewarded. Perhaps there will even be a medal awarded at the end of this investigation, though, I must tell you, it looks as if the investigation may turn out to be a very long one."
"Whatever we must do to serve the state and the people will be done." Felix sighed.
Osip's sobs had departed, first replaced by a bland, open-mouthed incredulity and then by a slight, hopeful smile, as his eyes darted from his brother to the deputy procurator and up at Lenin, who did not look down from the picture behind the desk.
Felix did not smile. The terms had been made clear. Osip and Felix would continue to operate as long as it was safe for Khabolov. At the first sign of trouble, the deputy procurator would produce whatever doctored records he had prepared showing mat he had conducted a patriotic investigation of their black market operation. He would turn in those whom it was safe to turn hi and deny any allegations of payments in equipment or money from the lying black marketers, who would certainly be imprisoned, if they were lucky enough to make it to prison. Still, thought Felix, it was better than what they could be facing.
Being a Muscovite was dangerous at best. Better to be a wealthy Muscovite on the brink of disaster than a poor one.
"My son will be in touch soon," said Khabolov without rising, as he pulled the yellow pad back in front of him. "You are dismissed, Comrades, with the thanks of the state for your zeal in volunteering to serve."
"We are very honored…" Osip began as he rose, but Felix stopped him with a squeeze of the arm and led him out the door.
In the hall with the door closed behind them, Felix looked around to see if anyone could see them. When he was sure it was safe, he sagged against the wall and began shivering.
"We're safe," whispered Osip with a laugh. "Safe."
Felix looked at his brother, wanted to tell him how safe they really were, wanted to remind him that brother had denounced brother only moments ago, but he did not have the strength.
"Safe," he said, pushing himself away from the wall as two women in dark suits came around a corner talking and looking at them.
Felix moved on shaky legs to the elevator door with Osip at his side wanting to talk, celebrate. Felix didn't hear what Osip was saying. He looked back at the door to Khabolov's office, praying that it wouldn't open, that the deputy procurator would not come out, change his mind, ship them across Moscow to Lubyanka. When the elevator arrived, he hurried in past a uniformed officer and leaned against the rear wall. Osip had stopped talking but wore a relieved, happy smile that infuriated Felix, whose stomach tumbled as the elevator went down. He needed a toilet badly now, but knew he would not ask for one in Petrovka. Others got on the elevator and some got off. When they came to a sudden jerking stop at ground level, Felix felt like letting out a shriek of relief, but as the doors opened the thought of a shriek caught in his throat.
Standing ten feet away from the elevator, facing them, was a young man who seemed familiar. He wore a suit and carried a briefcase, and he looked directly at Felix and Osip. And then Felix recognized him, the student who had bought the Beatles record the day before. What was he doing here? Was the world full of informants and policemen?
"We're free," Osip, hoarse, whispered as they strode toward the glass doors of the entrance past the armed guard.
"Yes," said Felix, looking back over his shoulder at the young man with the briefcase, who was watching the brothers move toward the door. "Free."
"Vadim Malkoliovich Dunin, you are relieved from duty," Rostnikov said to the young man who opened the apartment door.
Dunin was holding a teacup in one hand and the door handle in the other. Someone with a gun could have eliminated young Dunin and stained the floor of Katya Rashkovskaya's apartment with a single bullet.
"Yes, Inspector," Dunin said, stepping back to let Rostnikov in. "I have been unable to repair the toilet for Comrade Katya, but I did manage to turn off the water."
"Admirable," said Rostnikov, looking around for Katya. "Where is…?" " "She went down the hall to a neighbor to use the toilet," Dunin explained, placing his teacup on the table and straightening his collar.