Stepan Orlov, the microbiologist, looked up when Rostnikov entered his small laboratory. Orlov, a man of average height with wild, curly gray-brown hair, had unlocked and opened the door when Rostnikov had identified himself as a Moscow policeman.
The laboratory was spotless and neat. There were twelve small cages against one wall. Inside, animals scurried, trying to climb the metal walls or hide under wood shavings. One of the animals was making a squealing sound Rostnikov had never before heard.
Against one wall, on which there was the only window in the room, was a cot made military taut with a rough khaki blanket and a thin pillow. Three broad-topped metal tables forming a U sat in the center of the room with one wooden chair on rollers within the U. The table to the right of where Orlov now sat held a binocular microscope. The table on the left held a computer whose screen seemed to be pulsing between gray and white. On the center table was a large metal tray holding the second-largest rat Rostnikov had ever seen.
“You are admiring Rhazumi,” Orlov said, cleaning his glasses on his wrinkled white shirt.
“The rat.”
“Big, is he not,” said Orlov, reaching out to touch the nose of the dead animal that lay with its front legs together as if in prayer.
“I have seen only one bigger,” said Rostnikov. “At the edge of the Moscow River. It was as big as a small dog.”
“Yes,” said Orlov, “but Rhazumi was blind. He lived for at least six years in the total darkness of the depths of the mine. And there are others. Their ancestors crawled down there when the mine was first opened and bred and adapted and consumed other small creatures and the detritus of humans. And at some point, they went blind. Survival of the fittest, in this case the blind. I think this species is unique in the world.”
He looked with admiration at the dead animal. So did Rostnikov. Then he looked up at the window. The day was overcast.
“Is it cold out there today?”
“I have not been outside today,” said Rostnikov.
“The temperature makes no difference to creatures who live and walk in darkness,” said Orlov.
“Even the people?”
“Humans adapt by changing the environment, not by changing their bodies.”
“I would like you to look at this map.”
Rostnikov took out the rough map. Orlov took it.
“Gennadi Ivanov drew this,” he said. “I recognize his mad scribbling.”
“Yes,” said Rostnikov.
“You want to sit? Oh, manners. Would you like a cup of coffee or tea?”
He nodded toward a table near the window behind him. On the table was a coffee maker that belonged to antiquity. The liquid beyond the glass was the color of a raven.
“No. Thank you.”
“I avoid Ivanov,” the scientist said. “Have not spoken to him in years. I used to talk to him about animal life he claimed to have seen in the mines, but he always brought the conversation back to the damned Japanese invasion.”
“He still does.”
“This map is not accurate,” Orlov said. “I have better ones.”
He reached into a drawer under the computer and came up with a folder, which he opened on top of Ivanov’s map.
“Here.”
He handed Rostnikov a sheet on which there was drawn a clear three-dimensional representation of the mine, complete with distances in meters in the same dark black ink used to draw the map.
“I understand there are small caves.”
“They are marked with red dots. I have found some of my most interesting specimens in those tiny caves-insects, worms, bacteria. In one of those caves I made the discovery that will make me. . a great discovery.”
“May I ask what. .?”
“I lost my wife because of my work, because I have lived in this room, this cell of discovery. I eat in here, sleep in here. Through that door is a shower, sink, refrigerator, and toilet. I keep in shape. One hundred sit-ups, seventy-five push-ups. Look at my arms.”
Orlov rolled up his sleeves to reveal truly massive biceps.
“I was told you beat Panin arm wrestling.”
“Of course. Would you like to try me?”
“May I stand? I have an artificial leg and. .”
“Yes,” said Orlov. “Right hand or left?”
“Right,” said Rostnikov, leaning over the table and positioning his elbow next to Stepan Orlov’s.
“We do it only once,” said Rostnikov.
“Once,” Orlov agreed. “We begin when you say ‘ready.’ ”
“Ready,” said Rostnikov, putting all he had into his thrust.
Orlov had not been ready for the instant “ready,” but he did pull himself together and managed to stop his hand from touching the table, though there was no more than half an inch between the back of his hand and the shining metal. Before he could fully recover, Rostnikov, who had the advantage of leverage because he was standing, put his full weight into his arm and Orlov’s hand hit the table.
Orlov began to laugh.
“No one has beaten me before,” he said. “Now you. .”
“You inadvertently allowed me an advantage.”
“And that is how you work as a detective?”
“Whenever possible.”
“I like you, Inspector. .”
“Chief Inspector Porfiry Petrovich Rostnikov.”
“Chief Inspector Porfiry Petrovich Rostnikov,” Orlov repeated. “I will tell you my secret.”
Rostnikov folded the map he had just been given and put it in his pocket. Orlov pursed his lips and touched the front paws of the dead rat.
“In the mouth of this creature,” Orlov said softly, “there resides a bacteria, and that bacteria can do the supposedly impossible.”
Rostnikov considered the possibility that the scientist might be every bit as mad about his bacteria as Gennadi Ivanov was about the Japanese invasion and his guns. Were there more who had been driven into small rooms of delusion in Devochka? Solzhenitsyn had written of such a Gulag phenomenon.
Orlov looked up.
“You are sworn to silence?” he asked. “I am still two years from publishing my findings.”
“I swear to silence,” said Rostnikov.
“I believe you. The bacteria can eat carbon. It can even eat diamonds.”
With this Orlov folded his arms, adjusted his glasses, and smiled.
“Fascinating,” said Rostnikov. “And what function can such a bacteria serve?”
“At this point,” said Orlov, “it does not matter. It is not my task to find function. We came naked to the earth and converted what we found to all you see around you. We did it from nothing, from trial and error. A bacteria that consumes diamonds is a wondrous and amazing thing.”
“It is,” said Rostnikov.
“Even if the remaining diamond pipes run out, the mine must remain. I must remain. The bacteria and their hosts must be preserved, protected, and studied.”
“That seems reasonable.”
“You think me mad?”
“The dividing line between sanity and madness is not as clear as the lines on your map. In fact, I do not believe there is a line, only a vast area that, at least at its edges, touches us all.”
“Gogol?” asked Orlov.
“Rostnikov,” replied Rostnikov.
“We should wait till the night,” said Pau Montez.
He had a square gauze pad taped to the back of his head. A tiny spot of blood had eked through it.
Kolokov was concentrating on the chessboard which James Harumbaki could see only dimly through his swollen right eye. His left eye was completely closed.
“I will consider your suggestion, but right now I am playing chess,” Kolokov said, lighting his third cigarette since sitting across from his hostage.
James had decided not to beat the Russian in eight moves, though he could have. Kolokov played chess the way he played at being a gang leader: He was recklessly mediocre. James decided to stretch the game out and find a way to make his opponent think he was going to win. Then James Harumbaki would spring his trap and softly utter “checkmate.”