— What’s worrying you?
— The other occupants of that house.
— You saw this man’s face. We’ve seen the photo. You can slip in and kill him while he sleeps.
— I can’t do that.
— Leo, he deserves nothing more.
— I have to be sure. I have to talk to him.
— He’s only going to deny it. The longer you speak to him, the harder it becomes.
— That might be true. But I won’t kill him in his sleep.
They’d been given a knife by Sarra. Leo offered it to Raisa.
— I won’t be using this.
Raisa refused to take it.
— Leo, this man killed over forty children.
— And I will kill him for it.
— What if he defends himself? He must have a knife. Maybe even a gun. He might be strong.
— He’s no fighter. He’s clumsy, shy.
— Leo, how do you know that? Take the knife. How can you kill him with your bare hands?
Leo gave her the knife, pressing the handle into her hand.
— You forget: this is what I was trained to do. Trust me.
It was the first time he’d ever asked for her trust.
— I do.
There was no future for them, no hope of escape, no hope of being together much beyond the events of tonight. Raisa realized that some part of her wanted this man not to be at home, she wanted him to be away on some trip, then they’d have a reason to stay together, evading capture for at least another couple of days, before returning to finish the job. Ashamed of this thought she pushed it aside. How many people had risked their lives so that they might be here? She kissed Leo, willing him to succeed, willing that man dead.
Leo moved towards the house leaving Raisa hidden. The plan was already agreed. She was to remain set back from the house, watching and waiting. If the man tried to escape she’d intercept him. If something went wrong, if Leo failed for whatever reason, she’d make a separate attempt on the man’s life.
He reached the door. There was a dim light inside. Did that mean someone was awake? He tentatively pushed on the door, which swung open. Before him was a kitchen area, a table, a stove. The light came from an oil lamp: a flame flickered inside a sooty glass bulb. He stepped into the house, moving through the kitchen into the adjoining space. To his surprise there were only two beds. In one of the beds two young girls slept together. Their mother slept in the second bed. She was alone: there was no sign of Andrei. Was this his brother’s family? If so then was it his family too? Was this his sister-in-law? Were these his nieces? No, there might be another family downstairs. He turned. A cat was staring at him, two cool green eyes. Its coat was black and white. Though it was better fed than the cat in the forest, the cat they’d hunted and killed, it was the same colours, the same kind. Leo felt as if he was in a dream, with fragments of the past all around him. The cat squeezed through a second door, going downstairs. Leo followed.
The narrow stairway led down to a basement illuminated by a dim light. The cat descended the stairs and turned out of sight. From the top step most of the room was concealed. All Leo could see was the edge of another bed. It was empty. Was it possible Andrei wasn’t home? Leo moved down the stairs, trying not to make any noise.
Reaching the bottom he peered around the corner. A man was seated at a table. He wore thick square glasses, a clean white shirt. He was playing cards. He looked up. Andrei didn’t seem surprised. He stood up. From where Leo was standing he could see on the wall behind his brother, as though flowering out of his brother’s head, a collage of newspaper clippings taped up, the same photo over and over again, the photo of him — Leo, standing, triumphant, beside the smoking wreck of a panzer, the hero of the Soviet Union, the poster boy of triumph.
— Pavel, what took you so long?
His little brother gestured at the empty seat opposite him.
Leo felt powerless to do anything except obey, aware that he was no longer in control of the situation. Far from being alarmed or caught off guard, far from stumbling over his words or even running away, Andrei seemed prepared for this confrontation. In contrast Leo was disorientated, confused: it was hard not to follow his brother’s instructions.
Leo sat down. Andrei sat down. Brother opposite brother: reunited after more than twenty years. Andrei asked.
— You knew it would be me from the beginning?
— The beginning?
— From the first body you found?
— No.
— What body did you find first?
— Larisa Petrova, Voualsk.
— A young girl, I remember her.
— And Arkady, Moscow?
— There were several in Moscow.
Several, he used the word so casually. If there were several, then they’d all been covered up.
— Arkady was murdered in February this year, on the railway tracks.
— A small boy?
— He was four years old.
— I remember him too. They were recent. I had perfected my method by then. Yet you still didn’t know it was me? The earlier murders weren’t as clear. I was nervous. You see, I couldn’t be too obvious. It needed to be something only you would recognize. I couldn’t just have written my name. I was communicating with you, and only you.
— What are you talking about?
— Brother, I never believed you were dead. I always knew you were alive. And I have only ever had one desire, one ambition…to get you back.
Was that anger in Andrei’s voice or affection or both emotions together? Had his only ambition been to get him back or get back at him? Andrei smiled, it was a warm smile — wide and honest — like he’d just won at cards.
— Your stupid, clumsy brother was right about one thing. He was right about you. I tried telling Mother that you were alive. But she wouldn’t pay any attention to me. She was sure someone had caught you, killed you. I told her that wasn’t true, I told her you’d run away, with our catch. I promised to find you and when I did I wouldn’t be angry, I’d forgive you. She wouldn’t listen. She went mad. She would forget who I was and pretend that I was you. She’d call me Pavel and ask me to help her, as you used to help her. I would pretend to be you, since that was easier, since that made her happy, but as soon as I made a mistake she’d realize I wasn’t you. She’d become furious, she’d hit me and hit me until all her anger was gone. And then she’d mourn for you again. She never stopped crying over you. Everyone has a reason to live. You were hers. But you were mine too. The only difference between us was that I was sure you were alive.
Leo listened, like a child seated in front of an adult in rapt silence as the world was explained. He could no more lift his hands, stand up — do anything — than he could interrupt. Andrei continued: