What no one in the organisation knew was why this frivolous creature had started helping the revolutionary cause. But Green found nothing surprising in that. Julie was just as much a victim of a villainous social system as an oppressed peasant woman, a beggar woman or some downtrodden mill hand. She fought injustice with the means available to her, and she was far more useful than some of the chatterboxes in the Central Committee.
Apart from providing highly valuable information, she could find a convenient apartment for Green's group in just a few hours, more than once she had helped them with money, and sometimes she had put them in touch with the right people, because she had the most extensive contacts at all levels of society.
She was the one who had brought them Ace. An interesting character, no less colourful in his own way than Julie herself.
The son of an archpriest who was the preceptor of one of St Petersburg's main cathedrals, Tikhon Bogoyavlensky was an apple who had rolled a very long way from the paternal tree. Expelled from his family for blaspheming, from his grammar school for fighting and from his secondary college for stealing, he had become an authoritative bandit, a specialist in hold-ups. He worked with audacious flare and imagination, and he had never, even once, fallen into the hands of the police.
When the party needed big money last December, Julie had blushed slightly as she said: 'Greeny, I know you'll think badly of me, but just recendy I got to know a very nice young man. I think he could be useful to you.'
Green already knew that in Julie's lexicon the words 'get to know' had a special meaning, and he had no illusions concerning the epithet 'nice' - that was what she called all her transient lovers. But he also knew that when Julie said something, she meant it.
In just two days Ace had selected a target, worked out a plan and assigned the various roles, and the expropriation had gone off like clockwork. The two sides had parted entirely satisfied with each other: the party had replenished its coffers and the specialist had received his share of the expropriated funds - a quarter.
At midday Green sent off two telegrams: 'Order accepted. Will be filled very shortly. G.' That one went to the central post office in Peter, poste restante. The second went to Julie's address: 'There is work in Moscow for a priest's son. Terms as in December. He will select the site. Expect you tomorrow, nine o'clock train. Will meet. G.'
Once again Needle omitted to greet him. She clearly regarded the conventions as superfluous, just as Green did.
'Rahmet has turned up. A note in the post box. Here.'
Green opened the small sheet of paper and read: 'Looking for my friends. Will be in the Suzdal tea rooms on Maroseika Street from six to nine. Rahmet.'
'A convenient spot,' said Needle: 'a student meeting place. Outsiders are obvious immediately, so the police agents don't stick their noses in. He's chosen it deliberately so we can check he's not being tailed.'
'What about tails near the post box?'
She knitted her sparse eyebrows angrily: 'You're too high and mighty altogether. Just because you're in the Combat Group, that doesn't give you the right to regard everyone else as fools. Of course I checked. I never even approach the box until I'm certain everything's all right. Will you go to see Rahmet?'
Green didn't answer, because he hadn't decided yet. 'And the apartment?'
'We have one. There's even a telephone. It belongs to the attorney Zimin. He's at a trial in Warsaw at the moment, and his son, Arsenii Zirnin, is one of our combat squad. He's reliable.'
'Good. How many men?'
'Listen, why do you talk in that strange way? The words just drop out, like lead weights. Is it meant to impress people? What does that mean - "how many men"? What men? Where?'
He knew the way he spoke wasn't right, but it was the only way the words came. The thoughts in his head were precise and clear, their meaning was absolutely obvious. But when they emerged in the form of phrases, the superfluous husk simply fell away of its own accord and only the essential idea was left. Probably sometimes rather more fell away than ought to.
'In the squad,' he added patiendy.
'Six that I can vouch for. First Arsenii - he's a university student. Then Nail, a foundryman from—'
Green interrupted: 'Later. You can tell me and show me. Is there a back entrance? Where to?'
She wrinkled up her forehead, then realised what he meant. 'You mean at the Suzdal? Yes, there is. You can get away through the connecting yards at the back in the direction of Khitrovka.'
'I'll meet him myself. Decide there and then. Your men must
be in the room. Two, better three. Strong ones. If Rahmet and I leave via Maroseika Street, OK. If I leave alone the back way, it's a signal. Then he must be killed. Will they manage? He's quick on his feet. If not, I'll do it.'
Needle said hastily: 'No-no, they'll manage. They've done it before. A police spy once, and then a provocateur. I'll explain to them. Can I?'
'You must. They have to know. Since we're doing an ex together.'
'So there's going to be an ex?' she asked, brightening up. 'Really. You are an unusual man after all. I... I'm proud to be helping you. Don't worry, I'll do everything properly'
Green hadn't expected to hear that, so he found it agreeable. He searched for something equally pleasant to say to her and came up with: 'I'm not worried. Not at all.'
Green only walked into the tea rooms at five minutes to nine in order to give Rahmet time to feel uneasy and grasp his situation.
The establishment proved to be rather poor, but clean: a large room with a low vaulted ceiling, tables covered with simple linen tablecloths, a counter with a samovar and brightly painted wooden trays with heaps of spice cakes, apples and bread rings.
The young men there - most of them wearing student blouses - were drinking tea, smoking tobacco and reading newspapers. Those who had come in groups were arguing and laughing; some were even trying to sing in chorus. But Green didn't see any bottles on the tables.
Rahmet was sitting at a small table by the window reading New Word. He glanced briefly at Green and turned over a page.
There were no signs of anything suspicious, either in the room or on the street outside. The back door was over there, to the left of the counter. There were two lads sitting without speaking in the corner by the large double-decker teapot. From the descriptions they had to be Nail and Marat, from the combat squad. The first was tall and muscular, with straight hair down to his shoulders. The second was broad-shouldered and snub-nosed, in spectacles.
Green strolled across to the table without hurrying and sat down facing Rahmet. He didn't say anything. Rahmet could do the talking.
'Hello,' Rahmet said in a low voice, putting down the newspaper and looking up at Green with his blue eyes. 'Thank you for coming
He pronounced the words strangely, with a lisp: 'sank you'. Because his front teeth are missing, Green noted. He had dark circles under his eyes and a scratch on his neck, but his glance was still the same: bold, without the slightest trace of guilt.
But what he said was: 'It's all my fault, of course. I didn't listen to you. But I've paid the price for that, even paid over the odds ... I was beginning to think no one would come. I tell you what, Green, you listen to me and then decide. All right?'
All this was superfluous. Green was waiting.
'Well then.' Rahmet smiled in embarrassment as he brushed back his forelock, which had thinned noticeably since the previous day, and started his story.