A Whisper to the Living

15

General Misovenski sat red faced and in full uniform to impress Colonel Igor Yaklovev, who was dressed in a gray suit and matching tie. The General wanted to remind the Colonel who the superior officer was at this table. The General had already pressed home his superiority by indicating where he and Yaklovev would lunch.

Now they sat over brandy after a meal of cold borscht with cucumbers, beets and sour cream, and chicken tabak.

“A satisfactory conclusion to the Maniac murders now that he has been identified?” asked the General.

“Yes,” said the Yak. “The Maniac taken out of the picture, no trial, which might suggest a lack of investigation by your office, your team presented to the world as coming to the rescue of my chief investigator. Your highly efficient team came into the room and almost killed my Chief Investigator.”

“It could not be helped,” said General Misovenski. How is your man-Rostnikov, right?”

“He was shot in the shoulder and leg,” said the Yak. “Fortunately, it was his artificial one. It resulted in only cosmetic damage.”

“You were clearly and emphatically in support of the elimination of the Maniac.”

“I was.”

A look of sudden concern passed over the General’s face.

“You are not wearing a wire, are you, Colonel? I should not take it kindly if you are.”

“I assure you I am not,” said the Yak, sipping the amber drink. “However, I was the last time we met.”

“You are joking.”

“No.”

The General sat back and adjusted his collar. His medals jingled oh, so quietly.

“This seriously challenges our friendship.”

“We are not friends,” said the Yak. “We are business associates.”

“I am your superior officer.”

“Yes.”

“And if I were to order you to turn over your recording?”

“I would gladly give you a copy.”

“But there would be more. You are treading on dangerous ground, Igor Yaklovev. What do you want?”

“For you to continue to protect my office and provide assistance as we need it. And, in the future, be very careful when you have your men fire guns when my inspectors are present.”

“Yes, what else?”

“Chief Inspector Rostnikov wants your Major Aloyosha Tarasov to be punished.”

“For what?”

“You and I know full well that he murdered his wife, pushed her from a window.”

“Why does this interest your Inspector Rostnikov?”

“He wants justice.”

The General shook his head.

“He is my best officer.”

“Yes.”

“I will take care of it. Anything else?”

“No.”

General Misovenski finished his brandy and considered himself most fortunate to have gotten away with so much and to have paid so little for it. Of course the Colonel had the tape, which could be brought forth at any time. There was no use searching for the tape. There were probably half a dozen copies well hidden anyplace in the world.

“I should like you to consider becoming my deputy,” said the General.

“I would prefer not.”

“I could order you.”

“We could take the decision to a higher authority.”

The General was well aware of a supposed direct connection between Yaklovev and the Prime Minister. He was not prepared to challenge it.

“Well,” said the General. “I can do one more thing.”

“Yes.”

“I can pay for this marvelous lunch.”

“Thank you.”

The General motioned to the waiter to come over with the check.

“Coffee and a light fruit compote?” asked the waiter.

“Yaklovev?”

“No, thank you.”

The Yak had not mentioned the other tape in his possession, the one that would damn Pavel Petrov. He might never mention it.

The General waved the waiter away, placed his hands on the table palms down, and, with a smile, said, “You are a devious man. Take care of yourself, Yaklovev. Take very good care.”