He had arranged for a front company he owned in Switzerland - respectable, a family firm: it had been exploiting the workers for centuries - to contact Rosarkhiv and offer to sponsor a symposium on the opening up of the Soviet archives!
Mamantov slapped his own knee with mirth.
At first, Rosarkhiv hadn't wanted to invite Kelso - imagine that! they thought he was no longer of 'sufficient standing in the academic community' - but Mamantov, through the sponsors, had insisted, and two months later, sure enough, there he was, back in town, in his free hotel room, all expenses paid, like a pig in shit, come to wallow in our past, feeling superior to us, telling us to feel guilty, when all the time the only reason he was there was to bring the past back to life!
And Papu Rapava, asked Kelso, what had he thought of this plan?
For the first time, Mamantov's face darkened.
Rapava had claimed to like the plan. That was what he'd said. To spit in the capitalists' soup and then to watch them drink it? Oh yes please, comrade coloneclass="underline" that had appealed to Rapava very much! He was supposed to tell Kelso his story overnight, then take him directly to Beria's old mansion, where they would retrieve the toolbox together. Mamantov had tipped off O'Brian who promised to turn up with his cameras at the Institu~e of Marxism-Leninism the next morning. The symposium was to provide the perfect launch pad. What a story! There would have been a feeding frenzy. Mamantov had the whole thing worked out.
But then: nothing. Kelso had called the following afternoon and that was when Mamantov had learned that Rapava had failed in his mission: that he had told his story right enough, but then had run away.
'Why?' Mamantov frowned. 'You mentioned money to him, presumably?'
Kelso nodded. 'I offered him a share in the profits.'
A look of contempt spread across Mamantov's face. 'That you should seek to enrich yourself - that I'd expected: that was another reason I selected you. But that he should?' He shook his head in disgust. 'Human beings,' he murmured. 'They always let you down.'
'He might have felt the same about you,' said Kelso. 'Given what you did to him.'
Mamantov glanced at Viktor and something passed between the older man and the younger in that instant - a look of almost sexual intimacy - and Kelso knew at once that the pair of them had worked on Papu Rapava together. There must have been others but these two were at the centre of it:
the craftsman and his apprentice.
He felt himself beginning to sweat again.
'But he never told you where he'd hidden it,' he said.
Mamantov frowned, as if trying to remember something. 'No,' he said, softly. 'No. He came of strong stock. I'll grant him that. Not that it matters. We followed you and the girl the next morning, saw you collect the material. In the end, Rapava's death changed nothing. I have it all now.'
Silence.
The train had slowed almost to walking pace. Beyond the flat roofs, Kelso could see the mast of the Television Tower.
'Time presses,' said Mamantov suddenly, 'and the world is waiting.'
He picked up the satchel and his hat. 'I've given some thought to you,' he said to Kelso, as he stood and began buttoning his coat. 'But really I can't see that you can harm us. You can withdraw your authentication of the papers, of course, but that won't make much difference now, except to make you look a fool - they're genuine: that will be established by independent experts in a day or two. You can also make certain wild allegations about the death of Papu Rapava, but no proof exists.' He bent to examine himself in the small mirror above Kelso's head, straightening the brim of his hat in readiness for the cameras. 'No. I think the best thing I can do is simply leave you to watch what happens next.
'Nothing's going to happen next,' said Kelso. 'Don't forget I've talked to this creature of yours - the moment he opens his mouth, people will laugh.'
'You want to bet on it?' Mamantov offered his hand. 'No? You're wise. Lenin said: "The most important thing in any endeavour is to get involved in the fight, and in that way learn what to do next." And that's what we're going to do now. For the first time in nearly ten years we re going to be able to start a fight. And such a fight. Viktor.'
Reluctantly, and with a final, wistful glance at Kelso, the young man got to his feet.
The corridor was crowded with figures in black leather jackets.
'It was love,' said Kelso, when Mamantov was halfway out of the door.
'What?' Mamantov turned to stare at him.
'Rapava. That was the reasotrI~ he didn't take me to the papers. You said he did it for the money, but I donk think he wanted the money for himself. He wanted it for his daughter. To make it up to her. It was love.'
'Love?' repeated Mamantov incredulously. He tested the word in his mouth as if it was unfamiliar to him - the name of some sinister new weapon, perhaps, or a freshly discovered world capitalist-zionist conspiracy. 'Love?' No. It was no use. He shook his head and shrugged.
The door slid shut and Kelso collapsed back in his seat. A minute or two later he heard a noise like a high wind roaring through a forest and he pressed his face to the window. Up ahead, across an expanse of track, he could see a shifting mass of colour that gradually became more defined as they drew alongside the platform - faces, placards, waving flags, a podium, a red carpet, cameras, people waiting behind ropes, Zinaida -SHE spotted him at the same instant and for a few long seconds their eyes locked. She saw him start to rise, mouthing something, gesturing at her, but then he was borne away and out of sight. The procession of dull green carriages, spattered with mud from the long journey, clanked slowly past then juddered to a halt, and the crowd, which had been festively noisy for the past half hour, was suddenly quiet.
Youths in leather jackets leapt from the train immediately in front of her. She saw the shadow of a marshal's cap move behind one of the windows.
The gun was out of her bag by now and hidden inside her jacket and she could feel the cold comfort of its shape against her palm. There was a ball of something very tight within her chest but it wasn't fear. It was a tension longing to be released.
In her mind she could see him very clearly, each mark upon his body a mark of his love for her.
'Who is your only friend, girl?'
There was a movement in the doorway of the carriage. The two men were coming out together.
'Yourself papa.'
They stood together on the top step, waving, close enough for her to touch. People were cheering. The crowd surged at her back. She couldn't miss.
And who else?'
She pulled out the gun very quickly and aimed. 'You, papa. You -,