“He never really answered me.”
“Be calm, Akardy,” Rostnikov said, starting to feel the cold creep into his half leg. If he stood out here long enough, he would have definite difficulty walking. “Tell me what has brought you to this conclusion about Inspector Karpo. Talk slowly.”
Zelach sighed, a cloud of cold steam billowing from his mouth, and began to speak.
When Zelach had finished, Rostnikov said, putting his right hand on the man’s shoulder, “You were right to tell me, Akardy. Now, go home. I will see you in the morning.”
Five minutes later, Porfiry Petrovich Rostnikov was ushered into the office of Director Yaklovev by Pankov, who trotted ahead of the chief inspector like a puppy in urgent need of a fire hydrant.
The Yak was seated behind his desk, hands folded, making no pretense of doing anything but waiting for the arrival of his chief inspector. He motioned Rostnikov toward one of the two chairs across from the desk and as soon as the detective was seated, the Yak held out his right hand.
Rostnikov, still wearing his coat, reached into his pocket, pulled out the package he carried, and handed it across the table. The Yak placed it in front of him and patted it once.
“I will write a full report in the morning unless you need it immediately,” Rostnikov said.
“There will be no need for a report,” said the Yak.
Rostnikov nodded. “Then I may-”
“A moment,” said the Yak, tapping the package before him. “There were developments while you were away. The missing son of Nikoli Lovski has been located and returned to his father. Zelach shot the kidnapper. He will explain it to you, I am sure. Inspector Karpo has already submitted a report about the incident, which I have edited somewhat.”
“The kidnapper?”
“A foreigner,” said the Yak. “Appears to have some influential connections. He was released an hour ago. No matter. The affair is settled to my satisfaction and that of Nikoli Lovski.”
“You said developments?” Rostnikov said.
“Your son and Elena Timofeyeva have apprehended the subway attacker,” said the Yak. “We are being given full credit. Unfortunately, Detective Timofeyeva was slightly injured during the apprehension, but she is resting at home. I have recommended her for a medal.”
“Now may I-”
“Rostnikov,” the Yak said, sitting back. “You are to forget the existence of this package.”
“I shall direct my curiosity in other directions.”
“Not toward the Lovski case,” said the Yak.
“Then, with my limited options, I shall go to see Elena Timofeyeva.”
“We understand each other,” the Yak said, rising.
Rostnikov rose too. “I believe we do,” said the policeman.
The Yak seated himself again while Rostnikov crossed the room and paused at the door, where he turned and said, “I have given Sasha Tkach three days’ leave.”
The Yak nodded.
“I should like to also remove Inspector Karpo from the regular case rotation.”
This time the Yak paused and cocked his head to one side.
“Special assignment until further notice with your approval,” Rostnikov went on.
“Reason?”
“His skills, I believe, will be better utilized in other areas. And I believe there is a fatigue factor involved.”
“Fatigue?”
“Inspector Karpo has worked tirelessly for two decades, tirelessly and, I believe, at great cost to his emotional well-being.”
“Signs of emotion in Inspector Karpo have evaded my observation,” said the Yak.
“And his,” said Rostnikov.
“Your request is granted. However, this must be temporary.”
“Six months should be sufficient,” said Rostnikov.
“Six months, then. You will not forget to keep me informed of his assignments,” said the Yak.
“I forget only what you order me to forget,” said Rostnikov.
Unspoken was the quid pro quo. Neither man smiled. Rostnikov limped from the room, closing the door slowly behind him.
Rostnikov had opened the package and examined its contents. Of this Igor Yaklovev was reasonably certain. Even without certainty, however, he had to assume that the chief inspector had done so. Survival depended on assuming worst-case scenarios. Rostnikov’s requests for leave for Sasha Tkach and an assignment change for Emil Karpo suggested that Rostnikov had something with which to bargain, something unspoken. That did not, ultimately, matter. The director and his chief inspector had an unspoken agreement. Their relationship was nearly perfect. Since it was based on long-term mutual benefit and not transient loyalty, they both seemed comfortable in the pragmatic relationship. The Yak had kept his part of the agreement and would continue to do so. Igor Yaklovev would contrive, blackmail, instigate, and further his own ambitions, but he would never betray one of his people. The Yak’s loyalty was well established. It was his principal currency among those who worked for him. Igor Yaklovev’s word was good, though his methods were without scruples.
He rose, moved to the door, locked it, and returned to the chair behind his desk. Then he opened the package before him. There was a leather string around a thick, brown-paper wrapping. He untied the string, carefully opened the paper, and found a neatly folded stack of papers pressed into a metal box about an inch deep.
The first sheet of paper was brown, cracks intruding at the places where it had been folded. Beneath the first sheet were newer sheets.
Yaklovev gently unfolded the first sheet. It was a short letter, written in a fine hand in firm strokes of black ink. In the righthand corner of the sheet was the date: January 6, 1894.
The note was in German. The Yak had more than a reasonable command of written German. He read:
Dear Baron Von Vogler,
You have certainly noted that enclosed in this sealed pouch delivered into your hands by Colonel Maxim Verobyanov of the Royal Guard is a gem of considerable worth. I believe you will recognize it and know its monetary value and its value as a national treasure. I have been informed that it is the largest and most nearly perfect in the world. I have had it replaced in the collection of my jewelry with a fine copy. My beloved Nicholas, I am certain, will never notice.
From time to time I hope to send you more such treasures. Out of your loyalty to my father I trust you to keep them safe in the event that my children and I may someday need them.
There are signs of unrest, to which my husband does not give value. There are concessions to the forces which threaten us, the forces of a conspiring military and the horrid prospect of discontented masses. Need I say more? Of all this I have been advised by many.
I am uncertain about the effect this new railroad will have on the czar’s power and position. The cost is great, the treasury of our nation threatened, and problems continue to plague its construction. Yet my husband is confident that the railroad will open new Vistas and stand as a memorial to our entire family and a rallying force for all the Russian people under the royal family of Romanov.
May it be so. But if it is not, I trust in you, dear friend, to be prepared to receive those of us who may need a safe haven in the world.
As you called me in childhood and as I remain to you-
Alix
There was no ruby in the package. This did not surprise Yaklovev, though it did provide him with a dilemma. If he took credit for recovering this historic document in the hand of the Czarina Alexandra, there might well be those who wondered if he had also recovered the gem.
It was obvious that the gem and the letter had never reached the German baron, and after more than a century it was pointless to speculate on what had happened to the ruby. He could certainly argue that point, but there were potential enemies, rivals who might raise the question. Tempting as it was to take credit for this discovery, it was far more prudent to put it away safely, perhaps to use another day.