“I see,” Korolev said, turning the car into the alleyway that led to the institute’s entrance.
He couldn’t help wondering how Azarov had gone about his research, although, at the same time, he wasn’t looking forward to finding out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The guards manning the gates weren’t the same as the ones from Monday, but as soon as they saw Dubinkin’s identity card, their resentful suspicion changed to alert welcome. The taller of the two lifted the bar that guarded the entrance and the other walked alongside the car until they reached the back door of the main building.
From the street, the Azarov Institute appeared as though it had always been there and always would be there-but to judge from the activity in the courtyard it seemed this was not entirely the case. A number of workmen were loading trucks with cardboard boxes, metal bedsteads, wooden crates of various sizes, and even what looked like a dentist’s chair.
“What’s going on here?” Korolev asked the guard, who shrugged his shoulders
“I’m not the person to ask about such things, Comrade Captain.”
“Well, who is?”
“We just guard the gate, Comrade Captain. Maybe ask inside.”
“Guard it from who?”
“Enemies, I suppose.” Although the fellow looked like he was none too sure what an enemy might look like.
“What happened to the men who were guarding the gate on Monday?” Korolev asked, a possibility beginning to occur to him.
“I wouldn’t know, Comrade Captain. This is the first time I’ve ever been here. I hoped the Comrade Lieutenant might be able to tell us what time we’ll be relieved.”
When Dubinkin explained he couldn’t help them, the guard said his farewells and they saw him open his hands as he approached his comrade, as if to say-the new arrivals know nothing either. Which was true enough, Korolev thought.
One of the workers told them a man called Danilov was in charge and directed them into the main building where he assured them they’d find him easily enough. They followed the sound of conversation along a long, oak-lined corridor to what must have been an office but which now stood empty, only the shadows on the carpet indicating where furniture had once rested-and now the carpet was itself in the process of being rolled up by three men. One of the men, a broad-shouldered fellow in a blue shirt, damp with sweat, was telling the others what to do.
“Comrade Danilov?”
“What’s it to you?” He rose to his feet, looking at them without enthusiasm. But the surly manner disappeared when Dubinkin showed him his identification card.
“I’m sorry, Comrade Lieutenant,” the man said. “I thought you might be-well-I don’t know quite what I thought. I’m Danilov, right enough.”
“What’s going on here?” Korolev asked, stepping over the carpet the two other men were continuing to roll up, apparently oblivious to their presence.
“We’re moving the place. We’re to have it finished by tomorrow-a big task, I can tell you. But we’re up to it.”
Korolev looked to Dubinkin who was nodding his sympathy to the foreman. Behind them the carpet was lifted on to shoulders and then taken from the room, heading for the courtyard. The men’s footsteps sounded loud on the now-bare floorboards.
“Where to?” Korolev asked.
Danilov looked to Dubinkin for permission to answer. It seemed he was under the mistaken impression that Dubinkin was one of those who’d ordered the institute’s relocation at a moment’s notice. Korolev had to hand it to the Chekist, as Dubinkin gave his permission with a measured nod-he thought on his feet.
“We drive the trucks up Leningradsky Chaussee to a warehouse. Other drivers take them from there. As instructed.”
“Other drivers take them from there?” Korolev asked.
“It’s secret business. That’s all we need to know.” Danilov turned to Dubinkin. “We’re to tell no one what we’ve seen. Or what we’re doing. That’s understood, of course, Comrade Lieutenant. That’s why I wasn’t sure when you came in.”
“And what about the people? The people who worked here?” Korolev asked.
Danilov shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t help you, Comrade. There was no one here when we arrived yesterday.”
Dubinkin glanced at Korolev with a look that could only be described as meaningful. And, Korolev, despite his bemusement, took the hint. Danilov had clearly been told only what he needed to know-which wasn’t much. But if anyone was going to get what he knew out of him, it was going to be Dubinkin.
“We’ll just look around,” Dubinkin said. “We’re expecting to meet someone here. All the paperwork’s gone already, I take it.”
“Paperwork, Comrade? We haven’t seen any paperwork-it must have been your lads did that. There were some of them packing up their own trucks when we arrived.”
“Excellent. Remind me which warehouse you’re driving to at the moment-we have two up there. We may have to make a change.”
Danilov gave him the address and then Dubinkin delicately questioned the man without seeming to. As it turned out, the location of the warehouse was the only useful piece of information he had.
* * *
They left Danilov to his work and walked farther down the corridor, opening the door to what had once been Azarov’s office. Their footsteps echoed on more bare floorboards. Everything had been taken from the room, except a portrait of Stalin. He looked down at them benevolently.
“This is where I met Shtange,” Korolev said. “His desk was just there.”
Dubinkin walked to the window, looking out as a truck’s engine started.
“Where do you think they’re taking everything?” Korolev asked him. “After the warehouse. And what about the people who worked here-where have they gone?”
“Somewhere we’re not meant to find them, I suspect. Although we’ll do our best, of course. I suspect Colonel Zaitsev was concerned that the security of the institute’s work might have been compromised.”
Dubinkin spoke in a resigned monotone that told Korolev the Chekist considered any hope of locating the missing institute forlorn at best.
“But there’s an investigation going on into the death of two men. Surely Colonel Rodinov can just order Zaitsev to take us to the people we want to talk to.”
Dubinkin made a noise that might have been a laugh if there’d been any humor in it.
“The only person who might be able to order Zaitsev about is Ezhov. And even then, it might have to go higher. Zaitsev’s an important man and dealing with him is a delicate business-I can’t say any more than that.”
Korolev looked around him, thinking that if an entire institute could disappear, just like that, with no explanation required-then where did that leave a Militia detective?
They walked through the building, from offices to meeting rooms, from operating rooms down deserted corridors to what looked like hospital wards, storage rooms, a canteen. Everywhere was empty or being emptied.
“What do you make of these?” Korolev asked, gesturing toward a metal door. He’d noticed that each area was divided from those adjoining it by two sets of metal doors, each with eyeholes and locks so that moving from one side to another would require both sides to cooperate.
“I imagine they segregated each area,” Dubinkin said. “That way no one knew everything that was going on. Almost like a cell structure, so that infiltration or treachery could only have a limited effect. And perhaps to make sure information wasn’t shared-that people only saw what was in front of them and never the bigger picture.”
“Yes,” Korolev said. “Shtange said something similar. That only the professor had known everything that went on in the institute.”