‘How did you find your way here, Comrade Major, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘How did I find my way here? What kind of question is that?’ Mushkin’s anger was beginning to show.
‘Did you have a look at any of the dead out there, Comrade Major? One of them is your protege, Sergeant Gradov from the village station. You’ll remember him – the fellow on whose behalf you interceded when he lost his weapon last year.’
‘Gradov?’
Irritated, yes, but no sudden fear or concern.
‘Yes, Gradov. He was one of the terrorists – that’s what he was doing here. Helping run guns for a rebellion against the State is how your Sergeant Gradov was passing his time.’
‘Gradov? A terrorist? I don’t believe it.’
‘So my question to you is how did you end up down here, Comrade Major? I ask this because it’s not a place you just stumble upon.’
‘I didn’t just stumble upon it, Korolev. Petrov here is friendly with a woman whose husband disappeared yesterday. A stonecutter. She thought he’d got involved in some smuggling operation and came to Petrov for help, and he came to me.’
‘How convenient. And you managed to make your way to this exact spot.’
‘I’m not sure what you’re suggesting, Korolev, but I haven’t been inside these tunnels since the Civil War. And wouldn’t be down here now if Petrov hadn’t brought me down here.’
‘Olga Ivanova gave me a map.’ Petrov’s voice was a barely audible whisper.
‘And why would she tell you to come down here?’
‘Because her husband didn’t come home last night. She had a bad feeling about him. And she was right. We found him with his throat cut back along the passageway. But she knew where this place was.’
‘Petrov came to me, as I said,’ Mushkin interjected, ‘and since Rodinov told us this business had something to do with the catacombs, we followed it up.’ Mushkin’s voice sounded angry now. ‘So put the damned gun down, Korolev. You’ve done your duty – you’ve asked the questions – but enough is enough.’
Suddenly the sound of more people approaching came from the direction the Greek and Slivka had left in. Petrov looked concerned, as well he might, but it was Colonel Marchuk’s voice that called into the chamber.
‘Korolev?’
‘In here, Comrade Colonel.’
The room was soon flooded with uniforms, all armed to the teeth. The colonel looked around at the weapons and the men lying dead, and nodded his grim approval to Korolev. Then he set to work.
In a whirlwind of activity the colonel sent for more men, congratulated Korolev, praised Slivka and the Greek, calculated how long it might take to move the weapons, identified some of those lying dead and cursed the traitor Gradov for a black-hearted villain. And at some point, amidst all the bustle and confusion, Mushkin disappeared.
§
‘Comrade Petrov,’ Korolev asked. ‘Where’s your boss gone to?’
‘Major Mushkin? He’s gone to report to headquarters. He wants our people to take over down here.’
Korolev looked around for Slivka. She was at his elbow, bless her.
‘When did he go and which direction?’
Petrov indicated the far tunnel, confused as he realized that the Major had chosen a different way out from the way he’d come in. Odd, given he’d said he hadn’t visited the catacombs in fifteen years.
‘When?’
‘Not more than two minutes past, Comrade.’
Korolev turned to Slivka. ‘Run after him. If you find him, follow him. See where he ends up.’
‘Petrov,’ Korolev said, after Slivka had gone, ‘tell me why there weren’t more of you down here? Why just the two of you?’
‘The major said we had to keep it strictly confidential, Comrade Korolev. Between ourselves.’
‘So no one else apart from you and the major knew you were down here, or about Olga Ivanova’s map.’
‘No one.’
‘I see,’ Korolev said.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Things were moving quickly now, and Korolev had to admit he was impressed with Marchuk. In less than an hour the captured weapons had been moved out of the catacombs and into the security of the Bebel Street station. On top of this, Marchuk had put every Militiaman in Odessa out on the streets, had closed down the railway station, blocked the roads out of the city, and now even ships were to be prevented from leaving the harbour. Even Rodinov was pleased.
‘Marchuk has done well,’ he said when Korolev telephoned to inform him of the latest developments.
‘I agree, Comrade Colonel.’
‘And you’ve done well also, Korolev.’
As for Mushkin, Rodinov had seemed strangely unconcerned when told that he’d disappeared and that Slivka had been unable to track him. Almost as if he’d expected just such an outcome.
‘Don’t worry about Mushkin, Korolev. He doesn’t like you and you don’t like him, but that doesn’t mean he’s a traitor. No, we must look elsewhere for the source of this conspiracy. Tell Marchuk I approve his every action, but that from now on the Odessa NKVD will be taking over this affair directly. Petrenko is in charge now, tell Marchuk that – they’ll know each other, I’m sure of it – and all prisoners are to be transferred to his custody. As for you, Korolev, you keep on as you’ve been doing.’
‘Shall I ask this Comrade Petrenko for instructions?’
‘You report only to me, Korolev. No, you started off looking for the girl’s killer and you should carry on doing so. Petrenko will handle the rest. I suggest you go out to the Orlov House immediately. If Les Pins is there, take him into custody. If not, I want you to search his belongings and seize any potential evidence. And remember this. Discretion is required. Absolutely required. That’s why I’m sending you and not Chekists. And why you’re not to talk to anyone else about this case, except me.’
There was nothing friendly about the instruction and Korolev took the point. He might well have uncovered this conspiracy, but he wasn’t to be allowed to give either Marchuk or this new fellow Petrenko any information that might link the matter back to the People’s Commissar’s mistress or to the People’s Commissar himself. And now it was his job to secure any incriminating evidence.
Korolev’s grimace drew Slivka’s attention away from the road ahead and he shook his head to tell her it was nothing. In accordance with the colonel’s instructions they were driving towards the Agricultural College, the car splashing the uneven road ahead with the only light in a world as dark as the inside of a grave.
‘The uniforms should have secured the place by now,’ Slivka said, glancing at her watch. The Militiamen from the village station had been told to prevent anyone from leaving until they arrived, and also to hold anyone who attempted to enter the premises in the meantime.
Two minutes later the car’s headlights illuminated the Odessa Regional Agricultural College’s name, the foot-high concrete letters golden in their beam as they turned into the entrance, but there was something oppressive about the way the night closed in behind them as they drove along the tree-lined avenue. The faint outline of the Orlov House showed ahead, ghostly pale against the black sky with not a glimmer of welcoming light to be seen. There was no sign of the Militiamen.
‘Let’s leave the car here, Slivka,’ Korolev said. ‘I have a feeling about this.’
Slivka killed the engine and the headlights, and the car coasted to a halt. They sat there for a moment, listening to the silence of past midnight on the steppe. Not even a mouse was turning in its sleep. The only sound was their own shallow breathing and the creak of the car’s warm bonnet as it adjusted to the sub-zero temperature.
They stepped out of the car, closing the doors very quietly, and waited for their eyes to become adjusted to the darkness. The air had the moist, frigid density that preceded snow, and Korolev felt a speculative flake land on his cheek. They began to walk slowly towards the Orlov House, moving into the darker shadows on either side of the avenue, where the trees overhung it, and were grateful they had when lights suddenly glowed up ahead – the long windows on the ground floor of the Orlov House and the white outside lamps of the college buildings dusting their immediate surroundings with a silvery sheen. Korolev looked away from them to preserve his night vision, thinking there must have been a power cut that had just been repaired.