I was not man enough to do what I came here to do, and just coward enough to try and kill myself and end this misery. But he stopped me. Sergei Kirov could have done anything in that moment, anything, but his only instinct was to stop me from killing myself—me, the man he suspected as an agent of the Okhrana, come here to harry and harass and judge him. He tried to save my life….
Taking a deep breath, Fedorov composed himself, the eyes of both Troyak and Zykov heavy on him now, their concern obvious. He could see the question in their eyes, and how they were waiting for him to tell them what was to be done.
“Easy, Sergeant,” he said to Troyak. “This is not what it seems. It was just an accident. Corporal, take that pistol outside and return to your watch. Gather the other men in the front room. We’re moving out. Sergeant, you can release that young man.”
“But sir—”
“That is an order, Sergeant. He means me no harm. None of this was his doing. It was just an accident. See to your men. Make certain that all the equipment we brought is accounted for, and find Orlov. I want the entire squad assembled in the outer room in ten minutes. And for now, I want those ten minutes here with Mironov.”
Troyak was not comfortable with the situation as he saw things, but he knew an order when he heard one, and also knew another ‘but sir’ wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Something had clearly happened here, but he would not sort it all out now.
“Shall I send in a guard?” he asked, his eyes still looking Fedorov over searchingly, as if to make sure there were no other wounds.
“No Sergeant. I’ll be quite alright. Just see to the men, and make sure there is not so much as a ball of lint from our trousers left behind. We move in ten.”
“Aye sir.” Troyak moved now, synapse, reflex. He saluted and then gave Zykov a nod of his head, saying nothing more.
There were no other wounds, at least not in the flesh, thought Fedorov. He stooped slowly, picking up the chair, Mironov’s eyes on his every move, dark and serious.
“Sit with me,” said Fedorov in a low voice, but he could see Mironov hesitate. “No interrogation,” he said again. “I… I must thank you for what you just did. I….”
Fedorov sat down, his head lowered with shame. Mironov stood there, watching him for a moment, and then he walked over, sitting down at the table, and the two men sat there a moment, just looking at one another in silence. This time, the pistol was gone.
If that inner voice from the man Fedorov once was could not stay his hand, this man could. He could not bring himself to kill Sergei Kirov, and like that awful moment that had come to Karpov on the weather deck of the ship as he fired his pistol at Tovey’s distant cruiser, Fedorov had fired off every last argument and reason in his mind, and the last he kept for himself. He would take his own life in payment for the terrible change he had brought to the world. Mironov was innocent.
“I know you will not understand what I am about to tell you,” said Fedorov quietly. “I came here to kill you…. Yes… that was why that pistol was in my hand. But when it came right down to the moment, I simply could not do this thing. You are correct, Mironov. You have done nothing wrong, and I could not sit here as your judge and executioner. I’d sooner take my own life than do that.”
Mironov nodded, his face betraying his confusion. “Kill me? But why? You were ordered to do so by the Okhrana?”
Fedorov managed a wan smile. “You might say that,” he said. “Let me just say that it was not anything you did that put that pistol in my hand. It was simply fear of something you might do—one day.”
Mironov was beginning to understand. “They couldn’t find the printing press,” he said, “but they know it is out there somewhere. They are probably still looking for it.”
“Yes,” said Fedorov, “and one day they will find it, and arrest you again. You will see the inside of a prison more than once in the days ahead, but you will survive.”
“They want to kill me? For that?”
“No… No, not for that. It is very complicated. How can I explain?” Fedorov looked over his shoulder, finding the silent door shut tight at the bottom of those stairs.
“Do you see that door?”
“Of course.”
“You remember what I told you yesterday? I said that you should never go up those stairs again. Get as far from here as you possibly can, but you and I both know that won’t happen. In a moment I’m leading my men up to the second floor, and you are free to go. No harm will come to you, but I know exactly what you will do. You will not be able to resist the urge to follow me, for curiosity is a very powerful thing. You have already seen far more than you should have, but what is done, is done.”
“I don’t understand,” said Mironov. “They ordered you to kill me, but you refused. Well, my friend, I can help you now. Come with me, you and all your men. There are places we can go where they won’t find us. You’ll see.”
Mironov knew it was risky to say what he did, but something in the desperation he saw in Fedorov’s eyes told him that this man was not a dark servant of his enemies. He did not know about the other men, but this one could be a new ally for the cause, for the revolution. The man was clearly conflicted, and unwilling to carry out his orders, so much so that he thought to take his own life instead. He was ripe fruit for the revolution.
“No, I cannot go with you. I have duties elsewhere. Now Mironov, listen carefully. Remember what I warned you about yesterday—do not forget it. In a moment I will take that stairway up, and you must not follow me this time. It is very dangerous there. If ever you find yourself near this place again, you must be very careful, very cautious. You will find what seems like madness at the top of those stairs, and one day you will understand. You will reach a place there where I can no longer go. You will see a world there that I was once born to, but now I am an outcast, and I can never return there again. No, I live in another world now, and I must return there to carry on the fight. I thought I could change things—change everything, reset the clock and the whole world with it, but it seems I cannot. So I will leave with my men in a moment, and we will return, to do the only thing left for us now—to fight and win. You fight too, here and now. You win through, Sergei. I have every faith in you. I know you will surmise what to do, and have the strength to do what I could not.”
Mironov looked at him, a puzzled expression on his face, not understanding, but sensing some deep truth in the man’s words and tone, sensing some ordained fate that was his, and his alone to find and grasp. It was a feeling more than a thought. It was a reflex, just like the impulse that prompted him to stop this man from raising that pistol to his own head to end his life. Something about him, this man named Fedorov, was right and good, and he could see now that he meant him no further harm. He was telling him the truth with every word he spoke, though he could not sort them through to find their meaning.
“So I will say it to you one more time,” said Fedorov, “just as I said it to you before. Do not go to St. Petersburg in 1934! Beware Stalin! Beware the month of December! And if you ever walk that stairway again, be as careful and cautious as you possibly can. No matter how dark and forsaken you may ever come to feel in the days ahead, no matter how hopeless the situation may ever seem, know that you can win. You can win, and you must never give up. Go with God now, Sergei Kirov. Go and live, Mironov. Live!”
Fedorov had sat at fate’s game table, hearing her ash grey whisper, seeing the bony hand push another stack of chips out onto the center of the table. Fate had called Fedorov’s bet, and now he would do the same, doubling down. He had said what he had said. It was over and done, and now he would return to the world he had created, and he would return to the war. Every thought of fixing the world and redeeming his own darkened soul was now banished from him. He had only one cause in his heart now, one mission. They were going back up those stairs, come what may, and they were going to fight that goddamned war, and win.