“I have a committee meeting at the Kremlin in one hour,”
Pleshkov said to Pankov, who sat behind his desk trying not to look at Yulia Yalutshkin, or, at least, not let anyone know he was looking at her. “And I have an important speech to prepare. One that will have great consequences for our country.”
“The director will see you shortly,” Pankov said with what was intended as an ingratiating, apologetic smile.
Oleg Kisolev was neither a politician nor a prostitute. He was very bad at hiding his emotions. Now he sat slightly slumped, his tongue running over his lower lip, glancing frequently at the for-bidding door of the director of the Office of Special Investigation.
After ten minutes, the Yak opened his door and stood looking at the three people seated against the wall across from him.
“Vighdyeetyee, come in,” the Yak said.
The three rose from their chairs, with Pleshkov leading the way and Yulia and Oleg behind him. Iosef started in after them, but Yaklovev held up a hand.
“Wait here, Inspector Rostnikov. I will call you in later. Pankov, no visitors, no calls unless there is a real emergency.”
“Yes, Com. . Director Yaklovev.”
Pankov still had no idea what he would do to determine if something was an emergency. If he believed in a god, Pankov would pray. All he could do was hope.
Yaklovev entered his office and closed the door.
Iosef looked at his watch. He had been running madly through the night, gathering information, evidence, listening to Paulinin ramble at two in the morning. Iosef wanted to be with Elena. He had not seen her since the dog had attacked her. By the time he had arrived at the doctor’s office and rooms, Elena had already left for home. He had no time to go see her, but the fact that she could go home was a good sign. She might be wondering where he was and what was so important, if he really loved her, as he claimed, that he could not get away for a few minutes to see her. No, that was not Elena’s way. Many others Iosef had known would have been hurt by his absence, pouted, complained. Not Elena. At least he did not think so.
There was nothing to be done at the moment. Iosef did what his father did. He took out a paperback, a German translation of three plays by Tom Stoppard. Iosef shared his father’s passion for reading but not American mysteries. Iosef ’s favorites were plays, particularly those by Gogol, all of which he had read many times.
Reading now would not be easy. How was Elena? What was going on in the Yak’s office?
There was no point in talking to Pankov, who had returned to the paperwork on his desk. Pankov was sweating, though it was not particularly warm in the outer office.
Iosef sat in the chair where Yulia Yalutshkin had sat. He could smell a faint scent of perfume. Iosef opened his book and tried to read Jumpers.
Inside the office Yaklovev directed his guests to sit in the chairs he had placed in front of his desk. When they sat, Yaklovev went behind his desk and stood with one hand on the neat, five-inch pile of yellow folders held down by a lead paperweight with the like-ness of Ivan the Terrible looking up at him. Beside the files was a small battery-operated tape recorder, which the Yak made no effort to hide. He handed the pile of files to Yevgeny Pleshkov and sat behind his desk, hands folded on top of it.
Yulia reached for a cigarette and said, “Nyeht lyee oo vahss speechyehk, have you a light please?”
The Yak said, “Smoking is not permitted in my office.”
Yulia shrugged and lit the cigarette herself. Pleshkov looked up to watch how Yaklovev would deal with this typical Yulia Yalutshkin behavior. The outcome might well affect Yevgeny’s own method of dealing with the duplicate Lenin behind the desk.
“Miss Yalutshkin,” the Yak said calmly, hands still folded before him. “If you do not stop, I will have Inspector Rostnikov take you to an uncomfortable and possibly very dirty cell. All that you have with you will be confiscated and two policewomen will check you and all of your body cavities for weapons. I understand that they are not gentle. Is your defiance worth the outcome?”
Yulia looked at her cigarette, shrugged, and looked around for an ashtray.
“Not in my office,” said the Yak. “Take it out to Pankov and get back here immediately, please.”
Yulia stood, glaring at Yaklovev.
“Now,” said the Yak. “I have much to do and I am growing impatient. I do not wish to waste our time on childish behavior.”
“Damn you,” said Yulia, striding to the door and exiting.
Yevgeny began examining the files-the photos, letters, reports on the body of the German, the evidence of what Yevgeny and the others had done. It was not just his career that was in jeopardy. It was his very freedom.
Yulia came back in, making a show of closing the door slowly.
Oleg wanted no quarrel with the man behind the desk, but he dearly wished he had something to occupy him or pretend was occupying him while he waited what would surely be his turn.
Yulia sat, and as Yevgeny finished each file he handed it to her.
The room was silent except for Oleg shifting in his chair and paper being slowly shuffled. After five minutes, Yevgeny and Yulia returned the files to the Yak, who again piled them neatly with the Ivan the Terrible paperweight on top of them.
“We have the physical evidence downstairs,” said the Yak. “The wooden stake, the body with its crushed skull and the wound to the neck, and, as the report you just read clearly indicates, much, much more.”
“You have your supposed evidence,” said Yevgeny Pleshkov.
“What do you want of us?”
“Perhaps to save you,” said the Yak. “If you cooperate. First, I want a statement from each of you about what actually happened.
Now, if you refuse, I will be forced to proceed with legal action, which the press will certainly hear of. Yevgeny Pleshkov first. The truth.”
“You said you may be able to save us,” said Pleshkov.
“The truth, now. We will see what can be done,” said the Yak, hands still folded before him. “You have examined the evidence report. You have little choice.”
Yaklovev turned on the tape recorder and nodded at Pleshkov, who looked at Yulia and Oleg and began to speak. Pleshkov’s statement was the longest. The others reluctantly confirmed and added some of the details that Yevgeny, in his alcoholic daze, had forgotten. The box with the photos and tapes, the fight with Jurgen, the attempt to destroy the evidence were all laid out with excuses from all three presenting the statement. The German attacked first and would have killed Pleshkov, who was only defending himself. They had burned the body in panic, to preserve Yevgeny’s reputation.
“I was drunk, in the apartment of a. .” Pleshkov began.
“Prostitute,” Yulia supplied.
“Yes,” said Pleshkov. “I had just killed a man who had attacked me. I would be destroyed.”
When they were finished speaking, the trio waited for Yaklovev to probe, ask questions. Instead, he turned off the tape recorder.
Yaklovev took out the tape and replaced it with a fresh one. The taped confession went into the desk drawer. The Yak spoke slowly, not turning on the tape recorder.
“Your story does not explain the evidence. I believe that evidence clearly shows that the following took place: Oleg Kisolev and Yevgeny Pleshkov went to the Yulia Yalutshkin apartment where the German and Yulia Yalutshkin were waiting. There was an argument.
I don’t know what it was about. The German, Jurgen, said he wanted to talk to Oleg. Yevgeny Pleshkov was drunk. Oleg asked Yulia to help Yevgeny to the elevator. She did. When they were gone, the German threatened to expose the fact that Oleg Kisolev is a homosexual.”
Neither Yulia nor Pleshkov showed any sign of surprise at the Yak’s revelation, and Oleg was now sure that they had known before. Yevgeny had hinted at his knowledge of his friend’s sexuality in the past, but Yulia clearly knew. For how long? Had Yevgeny told her?