“I didn’t tell you this before but I had a strange encounter on Tuesday morning-at the zoo.” Korolev was almost thinking aloud. “With your esteemed uncle.”
Korolev did not esteem Count Kolya, although he occasionally found himself respecting the man in a strange sort of way, and even half a year on from the discovery, it still made him shake his head in amazement that Slivka should turn out to be the niece of none other than the Chief Authority of the Moscow Thieves.
“That’s strange. I thought I caught a glimpse of a familiar face today as well. He’d a cap pulled low over his face but I’m sure it was little Mishka. I think he might have been keeping an eye on me. Or on this building anyway.”
Korolev was reminded that he’d yet to take off his own cap and so removed it. The gesture wasn’t out of deference to Slivka’s presence-he didn’t really consider her to be female when they were working-but because he wanted to give his head a vigorous scratch in the hope that it might activate a few brain cells.
“I want to talk to him-Kolya that is. Can you get in touch with him?”
“I might be able to, I’ll try anyway.”
“Tell them it’s urgent-however you go about it. The thing is,” Korolev mused, rubbing away at his bristly top-covering, “Kolya said that he’d some things to tell me about the institute and what went on there, and that it had something to do with the Azarov case. And this was on Tuesday morning-before Shtange was murdered. I said he should go and bother someone else with his story because-well-because back then we were trying to get away from this case as fast as we could. But the reason I’m reminded of Kolya is because of the scalpel wound. Isn’t it the sort of thing a Thief would do? He told me men had died there and, now I’ve seen the cell blocks, I don’t doubt he was telling the truth. What if Thieves were held there? And if Thieves were operated on at the institute in the name of research then I think that scalpel wound is exactly the sort of thing a Thief would do. A message to show why the man was killed. And, there’s something else, I think there were other patients there as well…”
And then Korolev told her about the smaller beds-the ones that could only have been big enough for a child. And he knew things were bad when a detective like Slivka had to sit down and hold her head in her hands so that he couldn’t see her face.
“And the strangest thing of all, Slivka,” Korolev said, putting coincidences together and finding they fitted a little too well for his liking. “When Yuri and I ran into those orphans out at Peredelkino, young Kim Goldstein had a scar not too dissimilar to the one someone put on Shtange’s cheek for him. Now what do you make of that?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
When Slivka left for the night, Korolev called Rodinov to give him the daily report he’d requested and, to his surprise, he was put straight through. Korolev told the colonel of each twist and turn the day had brought and, because it was Rodinov he was speaking to, he didn’t leave too many of them out. It turned out the men looking for Yuri were most certainly not Rodinov’s.
When he’d finished, there was silence on the other end of the line. It carried on for so long that Korolev began to wonder if he’d been cut off. “Comrade Colonel?”
“I’m thinking, Korolev. Just thinking.”
There was another long pause but this time Korolev allowed it to run its natural course.
“This investigation is becoming complicated,” Rodinov said, just as Korolev had resigned himself to waiting on the line for all eternity. “Well, it’s more than just an investigation now-it would be better described as a chess game. You are obviously one of the pieces and it seems the other side has decided you are worth attacking-indirectly, so far. But you should know things may get more difficult for you.”
“More difficult than my son being missing and the Twelfth Department’s men looking for him?”
“You’re still at liberty, Korolev, and as far as we’re aware, so is your ex-wife. And your son, for that matter. And we don’t know for certain these men were from the Twelfth Department. Although I’d be surprised if they weren’t.”
Korolev held the phone tight in his grip-there were many things he wanted to say, and not one of them he could.
“Do you play chess, Korolev?”
“I’ve played it, but not for many years. Maybe once or twice with Yuri.”
“That’s a shame-I think you’d be a good player. Solid, mostly, but capable of identifying an opportunity when it comes along. More importantly you know how to be brave when you need to be, to risk defeat in order to achieve victory.”
“If you say so, Comrade Colonel.”
But Korolev suspected that in a chess game like this defeat was permanent.
“You’re in a difficult situation, Korolev. Your former wife’s situation is also precarious. And, it seems to me, your son is in a difficult position as well.”
Korolev felt his hand grip the telephone so hard it seemed possible he would crush it, but he somehow managed to hold his tongue.
“I think I can intervene in your wife’s predicament-I’d like to take her off the board, if that were possible.”
Korolev didn’t know what the colonel was suggesting and didn’t think he could ask either.
“But with regard to your son we must accept it’s a strong possibility that they’ll find him before we do. And if they do find him first, Korolev, the question is-how will they use him?”
That wasn’t a question Korolev much wanted to consider, let alone answer. The colonel was silent again-no doubt thinking. Korolev wondered if the colonel had a son, and just what he’d be thinking if it was his child out there on the streets of Moscow being hunted by Chekists.
“Well, Korolev,” Rodinov said eventually. “Whatever happens, you must remember that your best chance of coming out of this in one piece is with me. You probably already know too much to be allowed to survive long if Zaitsev wins. Will you remember that?”
“I will, Comrade Colonel,” Korolev said.
“Good. And from now on you’ll report to me face-to-face. The telephone isn’t ideal for this kind of conversation. Five o’clock tomorrow-at the side entrance to the Lubyanka. In the meantime, carry on as you’ve done so far-it’s having an effect, it seems. I wish you luck, Korolev.”
The colonel hung up and for a moment Korolev sat listening to the hum of the telephone line in his ear and feeling more alone than he ever had.
Except that wasn’t entirely the case. There had been one other time. Nineteen sixteen-the summer-he’d been cut off during some pointless battle that had raged for the best part of a week. He’d spent two days in a shell hole between the lines, knowing if he stuck his head above the ground he’d be shot at by both sides. Just him, half a bottle of water, and four dead men. Or what was left of them. And German and Russian shells falling around him as each side tried to work out if the other was coming at them.
He sat there for a moment, remembering it-and coming to the conclusion that his current situation was worse. In 1916, his son hadn’t been in the shell hole with him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Korolev didn’t go straight home, even though he was exhausted. He stood on the street outside Shtange’s apartment building and thought about where Yuri might be. He had a few ideas. He looked back at the two goons in the Emka. They were looking tired now as well-or perhaps just bored. Well, if he did manage to find Yuri, he’d be damned if these two runts were going to take him away. He’d a temporary assignment to the NKVD, signed by Nikolai Ezhov himself. That must make him a colleague to these two-perhaps even their superior. Anyway, he was coming to understand that there might be some unexpected advantages to this temporary assignment of his. He tipped his hat to the men, and received two blank stares in response. Not very comradely, all things considered.