“None at all,” said Andrei. “That isn’t a case. It’s just nonsense, some kind of mystification.”
“Why is it mystification, when there’s testimony from witnesses? When there are victims? People are disappearing, Voronin!”
“I can’t see how it’s possible to conduct a case based on legends and rumors,” Andrei said morosely.
The boss strained and coughed, wheezing and whistling. “You’ve got to use your brains, Voronin,” he hissed. “Rumors and legends—yes. A mystical atmosphere—yes. But what for? Who needs that? Where did the rumors come from? Who started them? Who’s spreading them? What for? And most important of all—where are the people disappearing to? Do you understand me, Voronin?”
Andrei plucked up his courage and said, “I understand you, boss. But this case isn’t for me. I prefer dealing with simple criminal matters. The City’s swarming with lowlifes—”
“And I prefer growing tomatoes!” said the boss. “I adore tomatoes, and for some reason you can’t get them here for love or money… This is your job, Voronin, and no one’s interested in what you prefer. You’ve been given the Building case, so kindly get on with it. I can see for myself that you’re a fumbler. Under different circumstances I wouldn’t have given you the Building case. But under the present circumstances I am giving it to you. Why? Because you are one of us, Voronin. Because you are not just going through the motions, you’re fighting a battle here! Because you didn’t come here for your own sake but for the Experiment! There aren’t many people like that, Voronin. And that’s why I’m going to tell you something that officers of your rank aren’t supposed to know.”
The boss leaned back in his chair and said nothing for a while, with his chest whistling even more loudly and his teeth completely bared in a grin.
“We fight against gangsters, racketeers, and hooligans, everyone knows that. That’s good, it’s necessary. But they aren’t our danger number one, Voronin. First, there’s a natural phenomenon that exists here, it’s called the Anticity. Ever heard of it? No, you haven’t. And you shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have heard of it. And don’t let anyone ever hear of it from you! It’s an official secret with a ‘double 0’ number. The Anticity. We have information that there are settlements of some kind to the north of us: one, two, several—we don’t know. But they know all about us! There could be an invasion, Voronin. It’s very dangerous. The end of our City. The end of the Experiment. Espionage is being committed, sabotage and acts of subversion are being attempted, panicky rumors and calumnies are being spread. Is the situation clear, Voronin? I can see that it is. To continue. Here, in the City itself, there are people living beside us and among us who didn’t come here for the sake of the Experiment but for other, more or less selfish reasons. Nihilists, internal recluses, elements that have lost faith, anarchists. Not many of them are activists, but even the passive ones represent a danger. The erosion of morals, the breakdown of ideals, attempts to set some strata of the population against others, corrosive skepticism. Example: a good friend of yours, a certain Katzman…”
Andrei started. The boss shot a dark glance at him from between puffy eyelids, paused, and continued.
“Iosif Katzman. A curious individual. We have information that he often sets out and travels in a northerly direction, spends some time there, and then comes back. In so doing, he neglects his own direct responsibilities, but that’s none of our business. To continue. Conversations. This is something you must be aware of.”
Andrei nodded involuntarily but immediately realized what he was doing and put on a stony face.
“To continue. The most important thing for us. He has been spotted in the vicinity of the Building. Twice. Once he was seen emerging from it. I hope I have adduced a good example, successfully linking him with the Building case. You have to get to work on this case, Voronin. This, Voronin, is a case that I can’t hand to anyone else now. There are people no less devoted than you, and with far more sense, but they’re busy. All of them. Every last one. Up to their eyes in work. So you push on with the Building case, Voronin. I’ll try to relieve you of the other cases. Tomorrow at 1600 hours come back to me to report and present your plan. Go.”
Andrei got up.
“Oh yes! A piece of advice. I advise you to pay some attention to the Falling Stars case. Advise you very earnestly. There could be a connection. That case is being handled by Chachua now; drop into his office and familiarize yourself. Consult him.”
Andrei bowed awkwardly and set off toward the door.
“One more thing!” the boss said, and Andrei halted right in front of the door. “Bear in mind that the solicitor general is taking a special interest in the Building case. A special interest! So apart from you, there’s someone else from the Public Prosecutor’s Office, and he’ll still be dealing with it. Try to avoid any lapses arising from your personal inclinations, or the opposite. Go on, Voronin.”
Andrei closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall. He could feel a sort of obscure emptiness inside himself, some kind of indeterminate void. He’d been expecting a severe reprimand, a huge dressing-down from the boss, maybe even the boot or a transfer to the police. Instead of that it seemed like he’d actually been praised, singled out from the others, trusted with a case that was considered a top priority. Only a year ago, when he was still a garbage collector, a bawling-out at work would have cast him into an abyss of woe and despair, and a responsible assignment would have raised him up on high to a peak of exultation and feverish enthusiasm. But now he sensed a kind of indefinite twilight inside himself; he cautiously attempted to figure himself out and at the same time feel out the inevitable complications and inconveniences which were, of course, bound to arise in this new situation.
Izya Katzman… A blabbermouth. A windbag. A vicious, venomous tongue. A cynic. And at the same time—there was no way around it—totally unmercenary, kindhearted, absolutely unselfish, even to the point of stupidity, basically helpless when it came to worldly matters… And the Building case. And the Anticity. Damn it all… OK, we’ll figure this out…
He went back to his office and was rather nonplussed to discover Fritz there. Fritz was sitting at Andrei’s desk, smoking Andrei’s cigarettes, and carefully leafing through Andrei’s cases, extracted from Andrei’s safe. “Well then, did you get the full works?” Fritz asked, looking up at Andrei.
Without answering, Andrei took a cigarette, lit up, and inhaled deeply several times. Then he looked around for somewhere to sit and saw an empty stool. “Listen, where’s that guy?”
“In the slammer,” Fritz replied contemptuously. “I sent him off to the slammer for the night, with orders not to give him anything to eat, drink, or smoke. He coughed up the goods, meek as a lamb, a complete confession, and he named another two we didn’t even know about. But to wrap things up the slimeball has to be taught a lesson. I’ll give you the record of interrogation.” He tossed a few files from one spot to another. “I’ve filed the record, you’ll find it yourself. Tomorrow you can hand it on to the Prosecutor’s Office. It has some curious things he told me in it—they’ll come in handy sometime.”
Andrei smoked, looking at that long, well-groomed face and those keen, watery eyes, and he couldn’t help admiring the confident movements of those large, genuinely manly hands. Fritz had grown recently. There was almost nothing left in him of the pompous young noncommissioned officer. The rather blunt insolence had been replaced by focused confidence; he no longer took offense at jokes; he didn’t put on a stony face and didn’t play the jackass at all. At one point he had become a frequent visitor to Selma’s place, and then they’d had some kind of bust-up, and Andrei had had a few words with him as well. And Fritz had calmly withdrawn.