“I just don’t feel we work well together.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Korolev. I’ll see you at the same time tomorrow.”
Korolev nodded but the colonel didn’t see it. Nor did he look up when Korolev stood to leave the room.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The apartment was empty when Korolev got there, and it unnerved him-normally Valentina and Natasha would be having their evening meal at around this time. He stood for a moment in the doorway, reassuring himself, waiting for the thudding pulse in his head to slow a little and, as he did so, listened to the sounds of the building-muffled laughter from the floor above, a door closing somewhere. There was nothing wrong, he told himself, he was jumping at shadows. They’d probably just gone for a walk around the Boulevard Ring or down to the river-that was it. They might even have gone as far as the pond at Chistye Prudy, which was no great distance. He stood there for a few more minutes, thinking about what he was about to do, for the hundredth time-and considering the potential consequences.
But what choice did he have? Rodinov had as good as told him he was on his own. It might even be worse than that-it wasn’t only Zaitsev who might want to cover his tracks come tomorrow. It might well be just as much in Rodinov’s interests to ensure that Korolev’s mouth was well and truly shut; at least that way Zaitsev couldn’t question him about Rodinov’s involvement in the whole business. And, as an indirect consequence, it seemed likely that Valentina and Natasha might well be at risk. Not to mention Slivka and Yasimov.
Korolev sighed, walked through to his bedroom and felt on the top of the wardrobe for the cleaning kit and box of ammunition he kept there, along with a spare clip for the Walther. There was a chance, a small chance-that all of them would come out of this in one piece. And that chance would be just that little bit better if he had every bullet he could lay his hands on in his pockets. The Lord knew the last thing he wanted to do was go shooting at Chekists and the like, but neither was there any point in taking a feather to plow a field.
He sat down on the bed and pulled out the map he’d drawn on the basis of Azarova’s recollections, unfolding it onto the pillow. Then having checked the spare clip, he began to press loose bullets from the box into it automatically as he examined his hastily drawn outline of the location of Little Barrel’s “house in the woods.” It looked like something might just be possible. It all depended how many men they had out there-and how many Kolya could produce.
Korolev turned his attention to the Walther, taking out its clip and beginning to clean the weapon. The metallic scent of gun oil filled his nostrils and he felt the slight tremble of adrenaline that it always brought. The key to success would be swiftness. There’d be a telephone connection and that would have to be cut. And if there were any vehicles that might pursue them-he’d like to make sure they couldn’t. But still-swiftness was the best policy. Get in, find what they were looking for, and then get the hell out. It was best to presume that their presence would be discovered at some point. And it was best to be prepared if it came to a fight.
Finished with the Walther, he placed it back in its holster, underneath his arm. Then he took the small automatic he’d taken from the professor’s widow out of his pocket, turning it over in his hand. He emptied the bullets and began to strip it. The weapon didn’t look as though it had been cleaned since it had left the factory, and that had probably been a quarter of a century in the past. If Irina Azarova had fired it in this condition, she’d likely have killed herself rather than him. Still, a gun was a gun. He might need it later on.
A few minutes later and familiar voices came from the corridor outside the apartment. He looked quickly at his watch. He had to meet with Kolya in just under an hour. He put a handful of bullets and the spare clip in his pockets and walked out to them.
“Alexei.” Valentina smiled when she saw him-but the warmth in the smile slowly dimmed.
“You’ve had news of Yuri?” Her smile had now turned to concern.
“No.”
“I thought…”
Her voice faltered and Korolev realized how he must look, hard-faced and with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“I’ve had no bad news.” He stopped and looked from Valentina to her daughter, who was listening to him with an expression of determined concentration. At her throat was the red scarf of the Pioneers.
“Natasha, perhaps your mother and I could talk for a moment.”
Natasha glanced between them, but had enough sense to do as she was asked without asking why. When she’d gone into the room she shared with her mother, Korolev took Valentina by the hand and led her into his. He leaned in close to her, whispering so low he could barely hear himself.
“Look, Valentina. I have to do something this evening. The only thing is, if it doesn’t work out-it might be a mess.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
She doesn’t ask what kind of mess, Korolev thought to himself, she asks what she can do to help. And in times like these as well.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. But if I don’t come home tonight-maybe you should go to Peredelkino tomorrow, first thing. To Babel’s Dacha. Stay there for a few days. Out of the way of things. Don’t get involved in this. In fact, perhaps you’d both be better off spending the night upstairs with Shura. Just in case.”
“Is this to do with Yuri?”
“I’m answering no questions. You know that’s best. And I’ve thought it through, believe me.”
Valentina shook her head but he squeezed her hand, begged her with his eyes.
“Think of Natasha.” He put a hand to her neck, whispering into her ear. “It’s best if you know nothing, nothing at all. So if someone comes to ask you something, you can tell the truth. You knew nothing. I behaved oddly, and that was that.”
She turned her face to him, and for a moment he thought she was going to disagree with him, but instead she stepped forward into his arms and, to his surprise, her lips met his.
He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that but it seemed as though it might be forever-the moment stretching out around them. Her tears were wet against his face and the salty smell of them filled his nostrils. He held her as tight as he dared and thought how small she seemed as he held her in his arms.
“Be careful,” she said, pulling back to look him in the eyes. “Be very, very careful. And I know you’ll bring him home. I know it.”
Then she kissed him once again, on the cheek, ran the sleeve of her shirt across her face to dry it, smiled a crooked smile, and left the room.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Korolev walked quickly through the long-shadowed streets, squinting against the low-hanging sun. He didn’t want to think about what had just happened-but whenever his concentration slipped, there it was, a surge of emotion of a kind that wouldn’t be much use to him where he was going. Tomorrow he could think about it, and what the future might hold for them. But today was today and tomorrow might never come.
He turned down a side street and then made his way through an archway that led into a courtyard he knew had another doorway at the far end. He crossed the open space quickly, startling a group of citizenry who were sitting on a circle of upturned logs taking in the last of the sun. And then he was past them, ignoring the hard looks from men who stood to see what stranger had come in among them, and before any of them could summon the energy at the end of a hot day to question him on his reasons for being there he’d reached the far end of the courtyard and disappeared through the carriage doors, out into an alleyway. He turned left and left and then slowed his pace as he approached the street he’d originally turned off from. He looked to see if anyone might have been following him, but there was no one, and he found himself exhaling a long breath that he seemed to have been holding in since Bolshoi Nikolo-Vorobinsky. Then he took one more look around and, satisfied, made his way quickly across the street to a small lane that would eventually, with more cut-backs and false trails, take him to Kolya.