4
There were three of them in Rizhin’s office: Rizhin himself, Hunder Rond, Director of the Parallel Sector, and Secretary for Security and Justice Grigor Ekel.
‘We are making good progress, Osip,’ Ekel began. He opened a folder and consulted his notes. ‘All my best people are working on this. Nothing is more—’
Rizhin held up his hand. ‘Rond,’ he said. ‘Rond first.’
‘The rifle that was used to shoot you,’ said Rond, ‘was a Zhodarev STV-04. Military sniper issue. It was found in the stairwell of the Mirgorod Hotel.’
Ekel jerked forward in his chair. ‘You have it?’ he said. ‘You have the weapon? Why wasn’t I told of this?’
Rond ignored him. ‘Two sets of fingerprints,’ he continued, speaking without notes. ‘The majority belong to a woman. Name, Cornelius. Trained as a sniper by the VKBD but deserted. Operated as a lone shooter during the siege. History of involvement with dissident elements. Arrested. Deep interrogation. Two years in the Chesma Detention Centre.’ He glanced at Ekel. ‘Released. Disappeared. Presumed to have left Mirgorod. Evidently did not. This is your shooter, Generalissimus.’
‘We must find this woman!’ said Ekel. ‘Why have the militia not been informed?’
‘They have the name, Grigor,’ said Rond. ‘Didn’t they tell you?’
‘Two,’ said Rizhin quietly. ‘You said two sets of prints,’
‘Yes. The other gave us a little trouble, but we tracked them down. They belong to a former senior investigator of the Political Police. A career in the eastern provinces. Effective but insubordinate, made no friends, under investigation for antisocial attitudes when he came to Mirgorod six years ago and immediately got into trouble with Chazia. There’s been no trace of him since. The assumption was, he was killed on Chazia’s orders. His name—’
‘Lom,’ said Rizhin. ‘Vissarion Yppolitovich Lom. From Podchornok.’
Rond looked at Rizhin in surprise. ‘You know of him?’
Rizhin was sitting upright and leaning forward intently. ‘Is he back, Rond?’ he said. ‘Is it him?’
‘He was in the Hotel Mirgorod at the time you were shot. A clerk and a doorman identified his photograph. The same man took a room at the Pension Forbat the night before Victory Day under the name of Foma Drogashvili. He took the room for a week, stayed there two nights but has not returned since.’
Ekel’s face was chalk. Neck flushed pink. The sheaf of papers in his hands trembled. A leaf in the breeze. He glared at Rond.
‘None of this was shared—’
‘There is more,’ Rond said to Rizhin, taking no notice of Ekel. ‘I had a conversation recently with an under-secretary in the Office for Progressive Cultural Enlightenment. Antimos. A man with a hitherto blame-free record who suddenly upped and started to search for some old files. Highly sensitive old files. During my conversation with Antimos he mentioned this same Lom. There was a history between them.’ Rond glanced at Ekel meaningfully. He was about to enter into topics which Ekel must guess nothing of. ‘It concerns a certain six-year-old mission that Lom has apparently reactivated. A certain former intelligence target.’
Rizhin nodded. Expressionless. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘Please go on.’
‘Lom was blackmailing my friend Under-Secretary Antimos,’ said Rond. ‘He wanted Antimos to find and bring him files that were closed long ago.’
‘Thank you, Rond,’ said Rizhin. ‘That’s enough for the moment. I congratulate the Parallel Sector again.’ He turned to Ekel. ‘And now, Grigor, what do you have for me? Your report please? Tell me, what have the VKBD, the gendarmes, the militia and the secret police done to clear up after the attempt on my life you failed to prevent?’
Ekel was quivering with frustration and rage. Also fear. Primarily fear. He addressed Rizhin but he could not tear his eyes from Hunder Rond.
‘This is a stitch-up! My people have done their best, Osip!’ Ekel’s voice was becoming more high-pitched and nasal. ‘I have done my best! But you see what I am up against? Obstruction… hiding evidence… deliberate betrayal! Fuck!’ He turned to face Rond. ‘I will not let you do this to me! I will not be hung out to dry!’
‘Someone must be,’ said Rond quietly. ‘In circumstances like this, it’s an inevitable necessity. You know that, Ekel.’
‘But not me, you fucker! Not me! You see, Osip, see how he’s trying to protect himself, that’s all! But I know you see through him, like I do.’
‘No, Grigor,’ said Rizhin. ‘It is you. I smell conspiracy on you. It’s on your breath. You stink of it.’ He put his right hand–five fat fingers–on his heart. ‘You hurt me, Grigor, here. Just here. I gave you all you have. I gave you my trust, and you repay me how? You are complicit in this attempt on my life. There is no other explanation.’
‘No! Osip, please! I have been more than just loyal. I like you, Osip. I’m not like the others. I love you. As a man I am your friend.’
‘We will have the names of your gang out of you, Grigor. Then we will see.’
‘The thing is,’ Rond said to Rizhin after Grigor Ekel had been taken away, ‘we think the archive Lom is looking for may actually exist. But we don’t yet know where it is.’
‘Archive?’
‘Lavrentina Chazia kept her own personal files, and it seems they have not been destroyed. They are still out there somewhere. Antimos was on their trail but he hadn’t found them yet. They’re likely to contain compromising material.’
‘Of course they’d be compromising. That mad old vixen Lavrentina Chazia was a cunning poisonous bitch. Find what she kept, Rond, and bring it all to me.’
‘Of course,’ said Hunder Rond. ‘We’ll find the Cornelius woman too.’
Rizhin shrugged. ‘Naturally, but she won’t be anything much. Find Lom. He’s the one that matters. Him I want alive. Him I want to talk to.’
5
The railway station at Belatinsk is crowded for the departure of the Mirgorod train. Forshin’s Philosophy League has booked an entire carriage. They struggle with chests and suitcases full of books and papers. The atmosphere is grim determination under a bleak grey sky. Dusty wind whips at their clothes.
‘I put on a mask of good cheer for the others,’ says Forshin to Kamilova, ‘and perhaps above all for myself, but I do not underestimate the task ahead.’
There are forms to be filled out in triplicate. Municipal officials search their luggage for what they can confiscate. Brutskoi’s wife weeps and protests at the loss of all her roubles and silver. A gendarme ruffles Yeva and Galina’s hair in search of hidden jewels.
‘Let us exult in leaving this place, comrades,’ says Forshin, waving his cane at the lowering sky. ‘We carry with us the flame of our people’s future. No customs officer can confiscate that!’
Kamilova and the girls climb aboard at last. They have no baggage. Yeva and Galina huddle together, looking out of the window. The locomotive trembles. Steam is up.
‘Don’t worry, Galina,’ says Yeva. ‘You know we’ll see our mother soon.’
6
Lom reached Kommunalka Subbotin No. 19 early and ran up the steps two at a time in fresh midsummer Rizhin-morning sunshine. There was a fresh efficient woman in the glassy walled lobby cubicle: patterned cardigan, horn-rim spectacles, blond hair tied back, young and cheerful, not unsmiling, ready for the day.
‘What is the number of the apartment of Elena Cornelius, please?’ he asked her.