“Come in for a moment,” said Andrei. He went back to his desk, and the white phone immediately rang.
“Voronin?” said a nasal voice, hoarse from smoking. “It’s Ruhmer here. Well, how are you doing?”
“Fine,” said Andrei, gesturing for Amalia to stay: Don’t go, I’ll just be a moment.
“How’s your wife?”
“Just fine—she told me to say hello. By the way, send her two men from the service department today, something needs to be done around the house.”
“Two? OK. Where to?”
“They can call her, she’ll tell them. Tell them to call right now.”
“OK,” said Ruhmer. “I’ll do it. Not immediately, but I’ll do it… I’m totally swamped, you know, with this garbage. Do you know the official version?”
“How could I?” Andrei asked angrily
“Basically, it goes like this. An accident with explosives. While explosive substances were being carried… Or let’s say someone was driving them somewhere. Drunk.”
“I get it, I get it,” said Andrei. “That’s right. Good move.”
“Aha,” said Ruhmer. “Well, then he stumbled, or… Anyway, the details are being clarified. The culprits will be punished. They’ll duplicate the information in a minute and bring it to you. Only you just answer me this. You got a letter, didn’t you? Who else there read it?”
“No one.”
“What about your secretary?”
“I told you: no one. I always open the personal letters myself.”
“That’s right,” Ruhmer said approvingly. “That’s the right arrangement you’ve got there. But, you know, some people have made a real rat’s nest of their letters… Absolutely anyone reads them… So no one read yours, then. That’s good. You keep it well hidden, that letter—the double-zero file. One of my flunkeys will drop by right now, you give it to him, OK?”
“What for?” Andrei asked.
Ruhmer was stuck for an answer. “Well, how can I put it…” he mumbled. “It might come in handy… Apparently you knew him.”
“Who?”
“You know, the guy.” Ruhmer giggled. “That worker… with the explosive…”
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, we won’t talk about it on the phone; this lackey of mine will ask you a couple of questions, you answer him.”
“I’ve got no time for that,” Andrei said angrily. “Fritz has asked me to go to see him.”
“Ah, come on, just five minutes,” Ruhmer whined. “What bother is that to you, honest to God… You can’t even answer two questions now…”
“OK then, OK,” Andrei said impatiently. “Is that all?”
“I’ve already sent him over to you; he’ll be there in a minute. His name’s Cvirik. A senior adjutor…”
“All right, all right, agreed.”
“Just two questions, that’s all. He won’t hold you up.”
“Is that all?” Andrei asked again.
“That’s it. Now I’ve got to call around to the other counselors.”
“Don’t you forget to send those men to Selma.”
“I won’t forget. I’ve already noted it down here. See you.”
Andrei hung up and said to Amalia, “Don’t forget, you didn’t see or hear a thing.”
Amalia gave him a frightened glance and jabbed her finger toward the window without saying anything.
“Exactly,” said Andrei. “You don’t know any names and you don’t know anything about what happened.”
The door opened slightly and a vaguely familiar pale face with sour little eyes was thrust into the office.
“Wait!” Andrei said curtly. “I’ll call you.”
The face disappeared.
“You understand?” Andrei asked. “There was a big bang outside, and you don’t know anything else. The official version is this: a drunk worker, carrying explosive from the depot, the culprits are being identified.” He paused for a moment, pondering. Where have I seen that ugly mug before? And the name’s familiar… Cvirik… Cvirik…
“Why did he do it?” Amalia asked in a quiet voice. Her eyes turned suspiciously damp again.
Andrei frowned. “Let’s not talk about that now. Later. Go and call that lackey in.”
2
When they were seated at the table, Heiger said to Izya, “Help yourself, my Jew. Help yourself, my dear fellow.”
“I’m not your Jew,” Izya objected, heaping salad onto his plate. “I’ve told you a hundred times that I’m my own Jew. That’s your Jew there.” He jabbed his finger in Andrei’s direction.
“Is there any tomato juice?” Andrei asked sullenly, looking around the table.
“You want tomato juice?” Heiger asked. “Parker! Tomato juice for Mr. Counselor!”
A burly, ruddy-cheeked individual—Heiger’s personal adjutant—appeared in the doorway, jangling his spurs mellifluously, approached the table, gave a shallow bow, and set down a dew-spangled carafe of tomato juice in front of Andrei.
“Thank you, Parker,” said Andrei. “It’s all right, I’ll pour it myself.”
Heiger nodded, and Parker was gone.
“Great training!” Izya mumbled with his mouth stuffed full.
“A fine young man,” Andrei said.
“But at Manjuro’s place they serve vodka with lunch,” said Izya.
“You stoolie!” Heiger told him reproachfully.
“Why’s that?” Izya asked in astonishment.
“If Manjuro swigs vodka during working hours, I have to punish him.”
“You can’t shoot everyone,” Izya said.
“The death penalty has been abolished,” said Heiger. “Actually, I don’t exactly remember. I should ask Chachua…”
“And what happened to Chachua’s predecessor?” Izya inquired innocently.
“That was a complete accident,” said Heiger. “An exchange of fire.”
“He was an excellent administrator, by the way,” Andrei observed. “Chachua knows his job, but his boss!… He was phenomenal.”
“Yep, yep, we were pretty reckless back then,” Heiger said pensively. “Young and green…”
“All’s well that ends well,” Andrei said.
“Nothing’s ended yet!” Izya objected. “What makes you think everything’s already over?”
“Well, the shooting’s all over, anyway,” Andrei growled.
“The real shooting hasn’t even started yet,” Izya declared. “Listen, Fritz, have there been any attempts on your life?”
Heiger frowned. “What sort of idiotic idea is that? Of course not.”
“There will be,” Izya promised.
“Thank you,” Heiger said frostily.
“There’ll be assassination attempts,” Izya continued. “There’ll be an explosion of drug addiction. There’ll be affluence riots. The hippies have already appeared, I won’t even mention them. There’ll be protest suicides, self-immolations, people blowing themselves up… In fact, this has already happened.”
Heiger and Andrei exchanged glances.
“There, you see,” Andrei said. “He knows already.”
“I wonder how,” said Heiger, peering at Izya through narrowed eyes.
“What do I know?” Izya asked quickly. He put down his fork. “Hang on, now! Ah! So that was a protest suicide! I was wondering about all that bullshit! Blasters staggering around drunk with dynamite… So that’s it! But to be honest, I imagined it was an assassination attempt… Now I get it… And who was it really?”
“A certain Denny Lee,” Heiger said after a pause. “Andrei knew him.”
“Lee…” Izya said thoughtfully, absentmindedly smearing splashes of mayonnaise across the lapel of his jacket. “Denny Lee… Wait, he’s a skinny guy… A journalist?”