Dead Meat

He died like a man,' Grushko said with some admiration. With a careless shrug he added: I had to have a word with him first, mind you: to tell him to hold his head up. But he died OK. You know what he said when they tied him to the post? He said, You can't shoot us all. He uttered a short laugh. How about that, eh? You can't shoot us all.

Supposing we did,' I said. You and I would be out of a job.'

Grushko shrugged. Might be worth it at that.'

There was something in the way he said this that made me think he might almost be serious, and I was reminded of what Nina Milyukin had said about him: that he was the kind of man for whom there was only right and wrong and nothing in between.

I told him that I had seen her, although I said nothing about my having invited her to the ballet. I hoped he might say something to confound the opinion she held of him but instead he just shook his head, as if somehow he remained disappointed in her.

She thinks you don't much like her,' I said.

He raised his eyebrows with surprise.

Do you think it's that obvious?'

I shrugged. Is it true?'

As a matter of fact, I don't like her at all,' he said flatly.

Why on earth not?'

I have my reasons.'

He regarded my obvious exasperation closely and seemed somehow to guess at what I had left unsaid. His eyes narrowed.

Let me give you some advice, my friend,' he said darkly. If you are thinking of seeing that woman '

He paused as if it had occurred to him that he might have overstepped the mark.

Not that I could stop you, mind. She's a good-looking woman and what you do is your own affair. But you and I, we ought to be friends as well as colleagues. And as someone who wishes to be your friend I should tell you that you would be best advised to leave Nina Milyukin alone.'

Is she under any kind of suspicion?'

No. She's done nothing illegal.'

Then what?

I'm afraid I can't tell you. There's a matter of some confidentiality here. A matter that I have to speak to her about. It would be unfair if I were to discuss it with you first. But trust me when I ask you to keep away from her.'

For a moment he held my perplexed stare.

It was just a thought,' I said. Something that came into my mind. You're right. I do find her attractive.' I nodded with slow acquiescence and then shrugged. All right. I'll leave her alone. On one condition.'

What's that?'

That you'll explain when you think you're able.'

Very well,' said Grushko. When this case is closed, perhaps. Ask me then.'

You know, it's funny,' I remarked, but that's exactly what she said.'

For a little while after this I sat in my office and tried to guess what Grushko had been alluding to. But before I had time to think of anything we had a call from the governor of Kresti Prison, to say that Pyotr Mogilnikov had changed his mind. It seemed that he now wished to cooperate with our investigation after all.

19

Remand Centre Iz 45/1 at Kresti, also known as Crosses', was just across the Neva from the Big House and a stone's throw from the famous Aurora cruiser, which fired the shot that signalled the storming of the Winter Palace in 1917. It was the loudest shot in history.

Built in the time of Catherine the Great, Crosses takes its name from the red-brick Byzantine cross that adorns the front of the panopticon shape. Once it had been a model of Russian penology, holding up to 800 inmates. Two hundred years after Catherine, Crosses holds 7,000 men and is an example of everything that is verminous and dehumanising about the Russian prison system.

We collected our visiting numbers at the main door and then, escorted by a prison wardress of Olympic shot-putting proportions, we made our way, one at a time, through the arrangement of locked doors and turnstiles until we reached the interview-room. Beside this was a concrete isolation cell that was the size and proportions of a safe in a large bank. The wardress selected a key from the bunch on her enormous leather belt, opened the isolation cell's massive steel door and barked an order at the man who was seated inside.

Pyotr Mogilnikov rose unsteadily to his feet and then followed us into the interview-room, which was itself not much bigger than a sauna bath.

The wardress left the three of us alone and we sat down on opposite sides of a table that had been screwed very firmly to the floor. Grushko tossed his cigarettes across the table and sniffed the air suspiciously.

What is that smell?' he said.

Mogilnikov grimaced. One of the guys in the cell,' he explained unhappily; his pet cat pissed on me.'

Is that what persuaded you to talk to us?' Grushko chuckled.

Funny,' snarled Mogilnikov and lit a cigarette. You knew, didn't you? You knew they'd try and nail me in here.'

You mean someone's tried already.'

Not as such, no.' Mogilnikov trembled as he spoke. But when I walked into my cell there was this guy, see? Razumikhin. They call him the Undertaker. He knew my name, like he'd been expecting me. And I knew, I just knew, that someone had got me into that particular cell so that Razumikhin could kill me. It didn't matter that I hadn't talked. They still want me dead.'

They're more organised than I thought,' said Grushko. They certainly didn't waste any time. Those Georgians must want you out of the way badly. Lucky for you that we were keeping an eye on you.'

Mogilnikov frowned. Who said anything about the Georgians?' He took a deep, agitated drag at his cigarette.

Maybe you've forgotten the other night,' I said.

This isn't the Georgians,' he said. Not this time.'

Who then: the Chechens?'

Mogilnikov snorted with contempt.

You really don't know much do you?' He shook his head with pity. Look, Grushko, I want a deal.'

There are no loans for the naked. Not in my book.' Grushko was beginning to look impatient. His fists were clenched so tight that his fingers were turning white and his mouth was a narrow, angry slit.

Come on Grushko. I'm good for it.'

You won't be good for propping up a fence if you're dead,' said Grushko.

Mogilnikov sighed and lit another cigarette.

I'm not an informer,' he said. But if they think I've pinched them then'

Grushko leaned swiftly across the table and caught Mogilnikov by his shirt collar. He twisted it hard and then yanked the man's head down sharply against the table top with a loud bang. He did it again for good measure.

You're just what I say you are and nothing more, you little shitbag,' he growled. If I tell you to write me an essay on your mother's sex life, you'll do it and enjoy it, or I'll toss you back on the bunk where you belong. Understand?'

All right, all right.' Mogilnikov pulled Grushko's hand away from his collar and then rubbed his head unhappily. Take it easy, will you?

Grushko sat back on his chair and tugged the sleeve of his jacket down over his shirt-cuff. He picked up his cigarettes and lit one. Smoking it he seemed to recover some of his composure.

If what I hear sounds useful,' he said, then maybe just maybe we can do a deal. My word on it. And most of the zeks in here will tell you you can't cut my word with an axe. All right?'

Mogilnikov nodded sullenly and retrieved his own cigarette from where it had fallen on the floor.

Let's start with the burglary, shall we?' said Grushko. Who handed you the apple?'

It was some Ukrainians.'

Grushko shot me a look of surprise.

I don't know their names. But from what they said, they'd spent some time in the zone. Maybe if I were to look at some photographs.'

Not so fast,' said Grushko. Before we get to look at pictures we need to hear some more story.'

It was a job to order, just like you said. I was in the bar at the Leningradskaya Hotel and these two foreheads just came up and started talking. They bought some vodka and said they'd heard of me and wanted me to do a little job for them. All I had to do was wash some keys out of a guy's pocket and then keep an eye while they turned his flat over. They told me there was a thing in it for me. Five hundred then and 500 when the job was done.

So the next day we waited in their car outside this address on Griboyedev.'

What kind of a car?' said Grushko.

An old Seagull,' said Mogilnikov. You know, one of those Buick copies.'

Grushko nodded. He liked to tie up all the loose ends.

Go on,' he said.

Well first, we saw this old couple who shared the flat leave, and then this younger couple. They had a chat for a minute and then went their separate ways. I let him get a bit up the street and then bumped into him, accidental like. While I was helping him to his feet, I dipped his pocket. Simple as that.'

The thief allowed himself a small smile of professional satisfaction.

He didn't even know they were gone,' he said. It was a neat bit of work even though I say so myself.'

Then what happened?'

We went upstairs to the flat and they turned it over like they said. But carefully, you know? They weren't hooligans. They seemed to know exactly what they were looking for. Just some papers, they said. That worried me a bit, I don't mind telling you. You see, I had the idea that these must have been important papers the sort you might want to hide, because when I stuck my head round the door to see how they were getting on they were even looking in the fridge.' He shrugged. Well, what sort of papers do you keep in the fridge? Except the ones that maybe you're not supposed to have anyway.'

How long were they in there?'

About twenty minutes. They found what they were looking for all right. They were very pleased with themselves. And then we were off.'

Grushko regarded his nicotine-stained thumbnail thoughtfully for a moment and then bit it. Pointing it at Mogilnikov he said: So where does Vaja Ordzhonikidze fit into this?'

Look, I wanted nothing to do with that, right? I want to get that straight right from the start. They threatened me. They said they'd break my legs if I didn't help them.'

When was this?'

A couple of days after we broke into the flat. They said that they'd heard Vaja liked fancy watches and they knew I had the one I'd washed off some Japanese tourist's arm. The Rolex. All they wanted me to do was ring him up and offer the watch for sale. So I did. I rang him up and arranged a meet in front of the Admiralty building. Vaja came straight down in his car, just like these two Cossacks said he would. He pulled up and I went over with the watch. When he saw it the poor bastard looked like he thought it was Christmas.

He was so busy looking at it that he didn't even notice one of the Cossacks come up on the other side of the car. The Cossack got into the passenger seat and stuck a gun in the Georgian's ribs. He was pretty sick about it I can tell you. Anyway the Cossack told him to drive somewhere and the other followed them in his car. That was the last I saw of them, and of Vaja.'

But I still don't understand why they wanted him dead,' said Grushko.

Mogilnikov paused for a moment as if he was wondering what to say. When he spoke again the explanation offered more than either Grushko or I could ever have imagined.

It was Mikhail Milyukin they most wanted dead, right? Even though they'd had those papers off him they still figured he knew too much about what they'd been up to. Whatever that was. But they thought that if they killed Vaja at the same time and in the way that they did you know, a couple of olives in the bread hole your lot would think that it was the Georgians silencing an informer. While at the same time the Georgians would naturally think that it was their old enemies the Chechens. And when a gang war broke out between them.'

The Ukrainians could sit back and enjoy the cabaret,' Grushko added. Yes, I can see it now. When the two of them were finished fighting it out, the Cossacks would come along and move into both their territories. It's clever.'

It's the honest truth, Grushko, I swear.'

In court?'

Mogilnikov shrugged philosophically.

Like my mother used to say: there's no point in worrying about your hair if they've chopped your head off. Do I have a choice?'

Frankly, no,' said Grushko. You said photographs.'

You just show me the family album.'

You'd better hope we've got their ugly mugs. Because if you can't pick some lonely-hearts you can be sure I won't think twice about throwing you back in here and then you'll be dead meat for sure.'

The thief glanced up at me and smiled bitterly.

I knew I could count on him,' he said. He's got a kind face.'

What next took place I didn't get from Grushko but from Nikolai a few days afterwards as I reconstructed the chain of events that had such tragic consequences. Now I can excuse Grushko's actions. Not only was he under a great deal of pressure from General Kornilov to make an arrest, but things were not very easy for him at home either.

Grushko's daughter Tanya had reaffirmed her intention to apply for emigration papers and this had caused another bitter argument between them. He had been especially surprised to discover that emigrating to America had not been Boris's idea, as Grushko had suspected, but Tanya's, although Boris was happy to go along with it. Grushko had a low opinion of anyone who was prepared, as he saw it, to desert his or her country in its hour of greatest need. Especially someone who was a doctor. And despite what Tanya had said about going to America being her idea, Grushko held Boris responsible. Grushko's wife was rather more sanguine about the prospect of her only daughter leaving Russia. She just wanted her to be happy and, as Tanya had argued, and indeed was almost irrefutable, there was little chance of that happening in Russia. Lena's immediate concern was the dinner party she had planned to celebrate Tanya's engagement, and it must have been around this time that she managed to buy a joint of beef at the Kutznechny cooperative food market. What this would have cost I am not sure, but probably a couple of hundred roubles and, even if she had managed to sell some fine soaps to help pay for it, I did not think that Grushko would have approved of the extravagance any more than he approved of shopping on the black market.

20

A detective is obliged to work at all hours of the day. I tend to work fairly set hours, and this might have been thought an advantage except that people like Luzhin, the advocate acting for the Georgians who we were still holding in the police cells, worked to the same sort of schedule.

On the morning of the Georgians' third day in custody, the day after Pyotr Mogilnikov decided to spill the corn about the Ukrainians, I had yet another telephone call from Luzhin regarding his clients. He reminded me that without a charge we would be obliged to release them that same afternoon. I told him to be patient and that I would call him back before lunch to let him know what was happening. But even a cursory glance at the papers in the case would have told me what I already knew: that it would not have been possible to have charged them with much more than a few minor currency violations.

The case of Ilya Chavchavadze was different. He had already been charged with the attempted murder of Pyotr Mogilnikov, and, thanks to the hard work of the ballistics department, the murder of Sultan Khadziyev. All attempts to connect the rest of the gang with these murders had so far come to nothing. Chavchavadze was adamant that these had been personal scores that he had been obliged to settle and were nothing to do with anyone else. It went without saying that he had no knowledge of a Georgian Mafia gang.

I rang Vladimir Voznosensky at the State Prosecutor's Office and explained that we needed more time to gather evidence.

We've got a witness for the arson attack,' I said, albeit a reluctant one.' That was understating it by a long way. The man who owns the restaurant. Only he's a bit scared to give evidence.'

What about this Chavchavadze character? Can't you prove he's part of the gang?'

He was photographed at the Georgian funeral,' I said. And Nikolai and Sasha saw him at a gym with other members of the gang.'

I see. It's not enough to charge the rest of them with complicity in Sultan's murder,' he said. The best I can do is get you another twenty-four hours' custody. To do that I'll have to go before the Kallinin District Court. You'll need to get Sasha and Nicolai to make statements that they believe Chavchavadze was acting in consort with the rest of them.'

Thanks, Volodya, I said. 'I'd best call Luzhin and give him the news. He'll want to argue it with the judge.

Voznosensky laughed. He can certainly try.'

While I was busy organising this extended period of custody for the Georgians, Grushko had gone to the apartment building on Griboyedev. But not to see Nina Milyukin again. This time he wanted to speak to her flatmate, Mrs Poliakov.

He met her as she was on her way out to the baker's shop on Nevsky. Mrs Poliakov had wanted to invite him inside but Grushko said that he could ask his questions while they walked.

I'm not sure that I can tell you anything,' she said meekly. As my husband explained, we don't notice very much. You know, the other day it was on the TV news that someone abandoned a baby on the corner here and I think I must have walked straight past it. Can you imagine doing such a dreadful thing? Abandoning a baby. What is the country coming to? And I didn't notice.'

Well,' said Grushko patiently, mothers were abandoning babies in Russia before you and I were born. That's how Rome got started.'

Yes, and look what happened to them.'

They came around the corner on to Nevsky Prospekt and joined the early-morning queue for bread. As usual the talk among the people waiting patiently in line, most of them women, was of rising food prices. A loaf of bread, Grushko was shocked to discover for he rarely queued for anything except vodkacost five roubles.

Do you remember when I told you that Mikhail Milyukin had been murdered?' he said, avoiding the fact that the Poliakovs had eavesdropped on his conversation with Nina Milyukin. You mentioned something about him stealing food from your fridge'

Mrs Poliakov looked embarrassed.

Please,' she said, colouring a little under her blue satin headscarf, can we forget all about that? I was upset. He wasn't a bad man at all. I was just being silly.'

No, I don't think so. Can you remember what was taken?'

Remember it?' She nodded. I haven't stopped thinking about it. That bit of beef just a small piece you understand it cost over a hundred roubles.'

Beef?' said Grushko.

You're surprised that we can afford it, eh? Well, let me tell you, we saved up for that little bit of meat. To help us celebrate our fortieth wedding anniversary.'

Grushko shook his head with puzzlement.

No, it's just that I expected something else. Something more important.'

What's more important than that?'

I see what you mean.' He smiled ruefully. But you see I thought you might have mentioned something else. A packet. A carton. Something that could have been used as a container for something else. Was anything else taken perhaps?'

Just the beef,' she sighed. Noticing Grushko's disappointment, she added, I'm sorry I can't be more help.'

Well, thanks anyway.'

He nodded politely and tried to extricate himself from the quickly growing line of people.

What's the matter?' snarled one old woman behind him as he pushed his way past her. Can't you make up your mind?'

No,' cackled another. He's like most men. No idea of what his wife buys. He's going to fetch his wife to buy their bread.'

She'll be lucky,' added a third woman. Haven't you heard? The bread's run out.'

Grushko walked quickly away.

It was generally held that we were in for a heatwave. Even through the dust on the windows the sun felt like a coal fire and I wondered whether the radiator-hose on my car could take it.

When Grushko arrived at the Big House wearing his usual dark worsted suit he looked as if he had stepped out of an oven.

Christ, it's hot,' he gasped, picking the shirt off his chest and then swatting a mosquito away from his sweat-covered face. It's a real churki's summer, this.'

I explained about the Georgians and the State Prosecutor's Office.

Maybe something'll turn up,' he said optimistically. I sure hope it does. I don't fancy having to tell the general that we had to let those bastards just walk out of here. How would that look on Zverkov's television programme?'

Nikolai and Andrei were hanging around, waiting to speak to Grushko. He glanced up at the big man.

Any luck with Mogilnikov?'

He's picked one of the faces.' He handed Grushko two photographs. Stepan Starovyd. The Wrestler. And a maybe on the other one. Kazimir Cherep, the Little Cossack.'

Better find out where they're hanging out.'

Sasha's gone to have a word with his pincher, sir,' said Nikolai. Reckons he might get a tip.'

Andrei?'

Dr Sobchak. I've found the dacha where she's staying. It's near Lomonosov. The address is here, sir.' He handed Grushko a sheet of paper.

Nikolai,' said Grushko, what do you say to a little drive in the country?'

I'd say you've picked a nice day for it.' He collected his jacket off the back of his chair.

Grushko signed the papers I had presented for Voznosensky and wished me luck. He started down the corridor but stopped before he had gone five paces.

Anyone know where we can get some petrol?'

Lomonosov is a small town about forty kilometres west of Petersburg. Like nearby Petrodvorets it is the location of yet another imperial summer palace. It took Grushko and Nikolai a while to find the place they were looking for, even though Nikolai and Sasha had built themselves a smaller dacha only a few kilometres away. Residents paid a small tax on the land where the dacha was situated but otherwise were free to build on a plot as they wished. There were no addresses as such, just plot numbers.

As with most Russian dachi, this one was little more than a wooden cabin on a large allotment of similarly gimcrack-looking constructions. Built on two storeys, the dacha was painted blue with a high, corrugated-iron roof and surrounded with a small picket fence. On the dirt track outside the gate was parked an old white Zhiguli. As they knocked on the door, Nikolai sniffed the air with distaste.

That septic tank wants emptying,' he said.

It's just the heat,' said Grushko, and then the door opened.

She was a lean, hard woman of around forty with pale blue eyes and the kind of face that was no stranger to drink.

Dr Helen Sobchak?'

Yes?'

Grushko showed her his ID.

I wonder if we might ask you a few questions?'

What about?'

Mikhail Milyukin. It won't take very long.'

She shrugged and stood to one side.

The room was barely furnished, with a wooden floor and a big cast-iron stove. Books covered the walls and a cigarette was burning in the ashtray next to a bottle of vodka. On the floor was an open briefcase.

I'm not sure I can tell you anything,' she said, closing the door behind them.

You'd be surprised how often people say that,' said Grushko. And then they manage to help us after all.'

Dr Sobchak picked up the cigarette and puffed it back into life.

This is very pleasant. Are you on holiday?'

A working holiday. I'm catching up with some paperwork.'

Grushko eyed the bottle and then the briefcase. There was something about her voice.

So I see,' he said. Well, you've certainly picked a fine week for it.' He loosened his shirt collar. The city is like a furnace. I couldn't trouble you for a glass of water, could I? It's a long drive out here.

Yes,' she said reluctantly, or there's lemonade if you'd prefer.' She raised an eyebrow at Nikolai.

Thank you very much,' he said.

Dr Sobchak stepped into the tiny kitchen to fetch the lemonade. Grushko picked a book from the shelf and started idly to flick through it.

Are you any relation?' he called to her. To the mayor?'

No,' she said, returning with two glasses and watched as the two men drained the glasses thirstily.

You mentioned Mikhail Milyukin,' she said, prompting them impatiently.

Yes, I did. We're investigating his murder. Your name was in his address book.'

He handed his empty glass to her and returned to his perusal of her book.

Yes, well, it would be,' she said. I once provided him with a few facts and figures for an article he was writing.'

When was this?'

She shrugged vaguely.

A couple of years ago.'

These would have been ' he brandished the book he was holding radio-biological facts and figures, am I right?'

That's right, yes.

You understand, we have to check out everyone who knew Milyukin,' he said. But this article he was writing: have you any idea what it was about?'

It was something to do with the Chernobyl accident, I believe.'

It may just be a coincidence, but there was another name in Milyukin's address book who is also associated with the nuclear industry: Anatoly Boldyrev. Have you ever heard of him, Dr Sobchak?'

No, I can't say I have.'

He was murdered too,' Grushko said bluntly.

The doctor's blue eyes widened a little. She took a deep breath.

Good gracious me,' she said. Well, Colonel, I don't know that you could exactly describe me as someone who is involved in the nuclear industry. Strictly speaking I'm a biologist. At the First Medical. My work is concerned with the use of radioactive tracers to study metabolic processes.'

When was the last time you spoke to Mikhail Milyukin, Doctor?'

It was a couple of years ago, as I think I said earlier.'

So you did, so you did.' He replaced the book on the shelf. Then you wouldn't know if he had been planning to write another piece, or make another film about the nuclear industry? You see we found some notes he had made about the beta emitters that might be present in the atmosphere around St Petersburg: plutonium, polonium, americium that kind of thing?

No,' she said, beginning to sound rather irritated. I keep telling you, I knew nothing about what he was up to.'

Grushko walked over to the window and peered out at the patchwork quilt of different coloured dachi. He took a deep breath and then nodded. This really is very pleasant. Yours?

No, it belongs to a friend of mine.' After a pause she added: Well, if that's all, I'm expecting some friends any moment now, as a matter of fact'

Yes, that's all.'

They walked back up the track to where they had left the car.

Well, that's that,' said Nikolai.

Not quite.'

Grushko drove a short way along the track and then turned off to park behind a line of trees. They could just see the dacha and Dr Sobchak's car parked out front. Grushko wound down the window, opened the glove box and started to sort through his cassettes.

Nikolai regarded him with puzzlement. It seemed an odd time to stop and listen to music.

Keep an eye on the dacha will you?' said Grushko, throwing cassettes over his shoulder and on to the back seat.

You reckon she was lying, sir?'

Those beta emitters you heard me describing? They're alpha emitters.'

Nikolai looked impressed. Where did you learn that?'

From that book I was looking at when we were in there. No, Dr Helen Sobchak was very keen for us to leave, otherwise she would have corrected me, don't you think?'

He found the tape he was searching for and pushed it into the car's cassette-player.

Still, this should tell us for sure.'

It was the KGB recording of Mikhail Milyukin's telephone conversations. Grushko had played it many times and knew the tape virtually by heart. He listened for only a second and then pressed the fast-forward button on the machine until he found the excerpt that he was interested in now:

I've got a little job for you, if you're interested.'

What sort of material are we talking about?'

Dr Sobchak's voice was unmistakable. Grushko smiled with some satisfaction.

I knew I'd heard that voice before,' he said, and, winding the tape back a little, he played this small section of dialogue again.

Mikhail Milyukin spoke to Dr Sobchak three days before he was murdered,' he said, reminding himself.

Why don't we just go back in there and confront her with it?' said Nikolai.

Grushko shook his head. It might yet come to that. First let's see if there was a reason she wanted to be rid of us.' He stuck his face in the way of the sun and closed his eyes. Besides, it's a lovely day for a spot of surveillance.'

Fifteen minutes passed and Grushko sighed contentedly. No harm in waiting a little while longer, he thought. The name of the game was patience. Then an engine started and Nikolai tapped him on the leg.

So much for her guests,' he said.

They ducked down as the white Zhiguli came laboriously up the track and past the line of trees that screened them.

Grushko started his own car and, after a decent interval, followed her. At the top of the track she stopped and then turned on to the main road, heading east in the direction of the city.

Grushko was an old hand at traffic surveillance. He knew that on a country road you could hang well back and allow four or five cars in between. Dr Sobchak was not a very quick driver and he could afford to give her some space. But he was suspicious when quite soon afterwards she turned off the main road and drove into Petrodvorets.

Maybe she's going to drive around and see if she's being followed,' he said.

Maybe she's going sightseeing,' Nikolai suggested.

Petrodvorets was certainly worth a look, with its lovely palaces, extensive gardens and numerous fountains. But Grushko was not impressed by this idea.

No, we spooked her back there at the dacha and no mistake,' he said. She's not out for the drive. She's going somewhere specific, I'll bet my pension on it.'

They followed the white Zhiguli along Krasny Prospekt until it pulled up by the railway station and Dr Sobchak got out. For a moment Grushko thought she was going to board a train for the city but then she crossed the road and went in the entrance to the main park.

The two detectives left their car and, in an effort to blend in with the tourists, they removed their jackets and rolled up their sleeves before following. By this stage Grushko was intrigued.

What's she up to?' he said as they meandered through the trees, trying to look inconspicuous.

Maybe you're right, sir,' said Nikolai. Maybe she is trying to cover her tracks.'

Is that what they teach people in radio-biology?' mused Grushko. Perhaps we should have stuck a radioactive tracer on her ourselves.'

As they came round the front of the Great Palace of Peter the Great and walked along the sea canal that split the park from north to south they were suddenly aware that Dr Sobchak's leisurely pace had become something more urgent.

She can't have seen us,' grumbled Nikolai as they broke into a gentle trot.

It was then that they saw the hydrofoil.

Dr Sobchak mounted the gangway and the very next minute the white craft started to draw away from the landing point. Grushko swore loudly.

Of course,' he said. It's only thirty minutes from here to the city centre. I should have realised. Why waste petrol when she can go in and out for a couple of roubles?'

They turned and started to run back towards the station. It was several minutes before they reached the car again. As Grushko started the Zhiguli's small engine Nikolai was looking at his watch.

Can we do it?' he puffed. It had been an effort keeping up with the smaller, lighter man.

Just about,' said Grushko. But even if we don't, I think I know where she's going.'

They watched the hydrofoil dock at the pier in front of the Hermitage from a safe distance. It was mostly foreign tourists getting off, their pockets stuffed with dollars and black-market roubles, but even among so many people Dr Sobchak was easy to spot in her comparatively shabby clothes. It always amused Grushko how even Russian-speaking foreigners could imagine they might escape identification. Once he had confounded an Englishman, a fluent Russian-speaking friend of Tanya's who had bought all his clothes in Russian stores, by identifying him within only a few seconds and without one word exchanged. Grushko had explained to the man that what had given him away was the smile on his face: there was, he said, little for any Russian to smile about as he walked along the street.

Dr Sobchak stepped off the hydrofoil and turned north up Dvorkovaya towards the Lenin Museum. But she wasn't smiling.

What now?' said Nikolai as they observed her walking away in the opposite direction.

Grushko found first gear and slipped the clutch. As they drove past Dr Sobchak Nikolai knew better than to look back.

My guess is that she's going to take a tram across the bridge,' said Grushko. A Number 2, I should think.'

He stopped the car on Suvorov Square and lit a cigarette.

Are you going to tell me?' said Nikolai.

Well, can't you guess? The First Medical Pavlov University. That's where she's going.'

As Grushko had predicted she caught a Number 2 bound for Petrogradsky Region. The Kirov was the longest bridge in the city, with four lanes of traffic north and south, and the tram ran along on a track in the central reservation. They followed it across the bridge and then along Kubyseva Street.

It must be nice to be right all the time,' grumbled Nikolai.

The tram terminated on Kapayeva Street right in front of the modern red-brick building that was the University Hospital. Dr Sobchak got off and walked across the front lawn and into the entrance.

Grushko and Nikolai got out of the car and walked up to the hospital. They showed their identity cards to the security guard who met them inside the door.

The lady who just came in,' said Grushko. Dr Sobchak.'

The security guard nodded.

Where did she go?'

Up to her laboratory. That's on the second floor and along the corridor to your right as you come up the stairs. Room 236.'

Thanks.

Want me to call her up for you?'

Grushko smiled and shook his head. No, we'll announce ourselves.'

They climbed two flights of stairs and went along the corridor until they came to the open door of Dr Sobchak's laboratory. They said nothing as they watched her remove something that was frozen hard and wrapped in several layers of plastic from the fridge-freezer where Grushko guessed she kept the organic samples she used in her work.

I'll take that, Dr Sobchak,' he said, advancing into the laboratory. If you don't mind.'

She squealed with fright and dropped the package. It sounded like a rock dropping on the linoleum floor. Recovering her composure she stared malevolently at Grushko.

What the hell do you mean by following me like this?' she snarled.

He had to hand it to her. She had plenty of nerve.

Don't make it worse than it already is,' he said and picked up the cold package from the floor.

Dr Sobchak sighed and then sat down heavily on a laboratory stool. She lit a cigarette and tried to steady her nerves.

Well, what is it?' Nikolai said impatiently.

Grushko sniffed the package and then laid it down on the work bench.

It's a piece of meat,' he said and went over to the sink where he started to wash his hands carefully. It's the material Mikhail Milyukin wanted analysed by a radio-biologist.'

Nikolai moved forward to pick it up and inspect it more closely.

No, don't touch it,' said Grushko. He shook his hands free of water and dried them on a towel that was hanging beside the sink.

Just how radioactive is it, Doctor?' he asked.

She blew a column of smoke at the ceiling and then looked for a handkerchief. Wiping her eyes, she said, It has a tissue burden of plutonium that's approximately one thousand times higher than a control sample.'

Grushko lit a cigarette and flicked a match at the piece of frozen meat.

And if I were to eat this. ?'

Assuming you were able to consume 150 grams of that meat every day for a month imagine, meat every day for a month, in Russia ' She laughed out loud at the very idea of such a thing.

Just the figures please,' said Grushko. There's a good doctor.'

Why, then you'd ingest about twice your annual maximum safe dose of radiation.' She shrugged. You add that to your normal background levels of radiation and it starts to get really serious.'

Where did Milyukin get this?'

I've really no idea. He didn't say and I didn't ask. By the time I'd completed the analysis, he was dead.'

So why didn't you come forward, Dr Sobchak? And why all the lies now?'

She pursed her lips and shook her head sadly.

I didn't want to get involved, I guess. On the TV they said that the Mafia was probably behind Milyukin's death: that he'd been killed for speaking out against them. I got scared. So I decided to go away for a while. And then when you turned up and said that someone else was dead as well, I suppose I must have panicked. I thought I had better get rid of the meat, before someone found out I had it, and they got rid of me too.'

What were you going to do with it?'

Put it in the hospital incinerator. With all the human tissue.' She took a halting drag of her cigarette and shrugged. Sorry,' she said. It was stupid of me. I don't know what I could have been thinking of.' She paused and then added: Will I go to prison?'

That all depends, said Grushko, 'on whether or not you help us now. You can start by explaining how meat becomes as radioactive as this.

I've been asking myself the same question,' she said. My own conclusion was that there must have been some sort of accident at the Sosnovy Bor Reactor.'

Well, we've just had one,' said Grushko. There was that escape of radioactive iodine gas only a few weeks ago.

Doctor Sobchak shook her head.

No, to get into the food chain like this, the leak would have to have been some time ago. At least six months.'

Is that possible?' said Nikolai. Without anyone having been informed?'

There were two major accidents at Sosnovy Bor during the mid-seventies,' she said. Nobody heard about either of those for years.'

You're suggesting that there's been some sort of cover-up?' said Grushko. Like at Chernobyl?' He shook his head slowly. No, I don't buy that. Things are different now that we've got rid of the Party. Not only that but we're trying to put our nuclear house in order. Another cover-up might jeopardise our chances of screwing some money out of the Western atomic-energy people.'

You seem to know more about this than I do,' said Dr Sobchak.

Besides,' he continued, where's the percentage for the Mafia in a cover-up? Unless. Doctor, do you have a Geiger counter?'

I have a radiometer,' she said, unlocking a cupboard and removing a device that resembled a photographer's light meter. It's more sensitive than a Geiger counter.'

She held the device over the sample of frozen meat and drew Grushko's attention to the dial.

On the highest range setting the needle picks up hardly anything at all.' She turned the setting knob through 180 degrees. But on the lower range you can easily see that this material is registering significantly. About 500 milliroentgens per hour.'

Grushko held the radiometer and tried it himself. Then he looked at the underside of the instrument.

Astron,' he said, reading the name of the manufacturer. Well, what do you know? Made in the USSR, and it works.'

Twenty minutes later the two detectives stood outside the Pushkin Restaurant on Fontanka and rang the doorbell.

A glazier was replacing the window that had been broken when the restaurant was firebombed. It was only now that he had been able to obtain a sheet of glass to size.

Chazov's face fell when he saw Nikolai and Grushko.

What is this?' he whined. I've spent all week answering your questions. Can't you people just leave us alone?'

Nikolai placed a large hand against Chazov's chest and moved him gently out of the way.

This is harassment. That's what I call it. I'm going to write to the city council about this.'

You do that, Comrade,' said Grushko, and made his way through the restaurant and into the kitchens. A cockroach scuttled quickly out of his path and Grushko looked at it as he might have looked on an old friend.

Is this some kind of pet?' he said. I'm sure that roach was here the last time we came.'

The chef was a big man, almost as big as Nikolai, with large, Cossack-style moustaches and a dirty, blood-stained apron. He was busy chopping cucumbers with a butcher's knife, but when he saw the two detectives he stopped and regarded them with deliberate menace.

And where do you think you're going?' he said, pointing the large knife at Grushko's chest.

It's the militia, Yeroshka,' said Chazov. Best put the knife down, eh? We don't want any trouble.'

That's right, sir,' said Grushko. Do as he says.'

The chef wiped the sweat from his broad face with the sleeve of what had once been a white jacket.

Nobody comes into my kitchens without my permission,' he growled belligerently. Militia or not.'

Grushko noted the bottle of vodka that stood open beside the basin of cucumbers. You had to be careful how you handled a man of Yeroshka's size when he'd been drinking heavily. He could have done with a drink himself.

I don't think you were here the last time we came,' he said, and put down the radiometer.

Lucky for you I wasn't,' said Yeroshka. Otherwise I might have trimmed your ears for you and given them to you in a bag.' He picked up the bottle and took an enormous swig.

This was Grushko's cue. He grabbed Yeroshka's elbow and pressed the hand holding the knife against the joint and towards the shoulder. Done expertly it was an effective and immensely painful method of dealing with a man who was armed with what the militia called a cold weapon. Yeroshka bellowed with pain and dropped both knife and bottle on to the floor. In the same instant Nikolai sprang forward and quickly handcuffed the man.

Now sit down and shut up,' said Grushko and collected the radiometer from the worktop.

Yeroshka sat down on a case of Russian champagne and dropped his head on to his chest. Chazov placed an avuncular hand on his chef's broad shoulders.

It's all right,' he said. Take it easy.'

Nikolai hauled the fridge door open and reviewed the contents with quiet appreciation, as if he had been looking at a favourite painting.

Look, I've told you,' said Chazov. I get all my meat from a legitimate supplier.'

Grushko stepped inside the fridge and switched on the radiometer. He pointed the instrument at a carton of meat and watched the needle move from one end of the scale to the other.

What is that thing?' said Chazov. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to come out of there. This is all very unhygienic.'

It certainly is,' said Grushko. Did you know that this meat is radioactive?'

Radioactive?' Chazov laughed. Oh, I get it. This is your way of persuading me to give evidence against those bastards who firebombed me. You're as bad as they are. Well I'm not falling for it d'you hear?'

Grushko pointed to the flickering needle on the radiometer dial.

You might be right. Except for this. It's a radiometer. Like a Geiger counter only more sensitive. According to this little machine you could power a small town with what's coming off this meat of yours, Chazov. And that means this place will be closed.'

You can't do that.'

You're right, I can't. But when the officials from the Department of Health and the Department of Radio-biological Security get here, they will close you. Whether you're ever allowed to reopen again depends on you telling us where this meat came from.'

Chazov shook his head.

You must think I came down the river on a hay barge,' he sneered.

Grushko shrugged and then looked at his watch. He took out a bottle of orange pills and handed two to Nikolai.

Here it's time we were taking our potassium iodide tablets,' he said and swallowed two himself.

What's that for?' Chazov asked suspiciously.

Potassium iodide? It stops the build-up of radioactive iodine 131 in the thyroid gland,' said Grushko. That's the most sensitive human organ where radiation is concerned. Just standing next to this meat is hazardous.'

Chazov frowned and then felt at his throat.

God forbid that anyone should actually eat any,' added Nikolai.

Chazov's hand descended to his stomach. He rubbed it uncomfortably and then gulped.

I don't feel too good,' he said, eyeing the meat in his fridge with suspicion. Look, I'm getting out of here.'

Nikolai stood in his way.

Not so fast,' he said.

Grushko smiled and pointed the radiometer at Chazov's throat suggestively. He looked at the dial and shook his head grimly.

What is it?' said Chazov. What's it say? Please, you've got to let me have some of those tablets.'

Grushko held the bottle of orange pills in front of Chazov's eyes.

These?' he said. They're very expensive. And I don't know that there's enough for you.'

Chazov snatched desperately at the pills and found his hand held in Nikolai's big paw.

Well, maybe,' said Grushko, but not until you've told us where all your meat comes from.'

All right, all right.' Chazov sighed exhaustedly. His name is Volodimir Khmara. He comes in about once a week and sells me as much meat as I want. Mutton, pork, but mostly beef. A hundred roubles a kilo. All of it top-grade too. Or at least I thought it was.' He rolled his eyes at Grushko. Now will you give me those pills?'

And where does he get it, this Volodimir Khmara?'

There's a consignment, from southern Byelorussia, a couple of times a month. Khmara's part of a Cossack mob from Kiev. About three months ago they hijacked a whole load of EC food-aid and they've been selling it here and in Moscow.'

Grushko's eyes met Nikolai's. I've got this horrible idea about how they're bringing it into Petersburg,' he said.

Me too,' said Nikolai.

Now give me some tablets,' groaned Chazov. Please.'

After you've made a statement down at the Big House,' said Grushko. He handed Nikolai the bottle. And while you're at it, you can make a statement about those Georgians too. That should tidy things up nicely.'

Nikolai glanced at the bottle, pocketed it and then leaned towards Grushko.

What are they?' he murmured.

Indigestion tablets,' said Grushko. Tanya gets them from the hospital for me.' He shrugged dismissively. Well, there's not much demand for them. Not these days. Not unless you're a cop.'

He grinned amiably.

Take care of Chazov, will you?

Where are you going?'

I think I'll pay another little visit to Anglo-Soyuzatom Transit.'

21

Grushko's journey to Anglo-Soyuzatom Transit took him south-west through Leninsky Region and along Gaza Prospekt, past Petersburg's 8th Cold Store. Grushko had often driven by it and seen lorries from the Uryupin meat-processing plant unloading tons of meat under the close supervision of the local militia: without this security, much of the meat would simply have disappeared. The State Meat Board was the only wholesale meat consumer in the country, supplying all the state meat markets and, seeing the Uryupin truck, it occurred to Grushko that while he had Dr Sobchak's radiometer it would be a good idea if he checked the meat in one of the city's main cold stores for signs of radioactive contamination. The manager of the 8th Cold Store, Oleg Pryakhin, was quite used to the ingenious methods used by people trying to get their hands on the meat in his refrigerators, not to mention the many threats and bribes he had been offered. His predecessor had once sabotaged the cold-store generator in order to sell a consignment of spoiled' smoked sausage on the local black market. So he listened to Grushko's strange request without much surprise, although he had his doubts. At the same time he saw no particular harm in letting him use the radiometer, if that was what it was. But then it was not as if he would be allowing the grey-haired Colonel of Internal Affairs to remove any meat from the premises. And if there was something wrong with it then he would pass the problem on to the food and light-industry department in the Petersburg People's Inspectorate and let them sort it out.

But he was a little surprised, even disappointed when, having waved his little machine over a one-ton delivery of Doctor's Salami, the colonel told him that there was nothing at all the matter with it.

Grushko drove along the road he had taken to Dr Sobchak's dacha near Lomonosov. This was turning into quite a day. But at least now he was getting somewhere. And he was almost looking forward to seeing the look on Gidaspov's face when he told him about the use to which the Mafia was putting his expensive foreign trucks.

When he arrived at ASA, Gidaspov looked pained to see him again. Well, Grushko was used to that.

I did say I'd call,' said Gidaspov, when the convoy got back. They're still en route.'

I wonder if I might take a closer look at Tolya's truck, sir,' he said.

Gidaspov led him out to where the huge vehicle was parked on the dacha's tennis courts.

Here she is,' he said proudly. Originally built for the British army, it's an eight-tonne wheel chassis with an on-board crane to lift the barrels of waste into the container. The interior is part-refrigerated to help keep them cool. The armoured louvres on the windscreen are to prevent anyone taking a shot at the driver in the event of a terrorist attack.

Grushko climbed into the cab and sat in the driver's seat. It felt more like a limousine than a truck. He looked at all the instrumentation and nodded appreciatively. It was certainly an impressive-looking vehicle.

That's your fire-suppression system there,' said Gidaspov. And this controls the temperature inside the container.'

What about communications between the trucks?' Grushko asked. I don't see any short-wave radios.'

Er well. the British seem to be having a problem with them,' he said. You see, it would appear that all short-wave frequencies are owned by the state-security apparatus. We've been trying to get our own frequency for some time now.' He shrugged. But until we do, there are no radios. It's been several months.'

I know the feeling,' said Grushko. This was the bit he was looking forward to. What happens to the trucks once the waste is removed?'

Gidaspov pointed to another switch on the dashboard.

This operates a special decontamination process. The truck cleans its own interior automatically. Then, when the truck reaches the edge of the exclusion zone, the driver uses an onboard hose to spray the exterior with decontaminant as well.

And how efficient is that?'

The radiation levels are considered acceptable, I believe. But I'm afraid it's not my field. You'd have to speak to Chichikov to get the exact levels. He's the scientific controller here.'

Grushko smiled and showed him the radiometer.

Mind if I check it myself?'

Gidaspov frowned. Grushko was beginning to worry him.

No,' he said reluctantly. Why should I mind? We've got nothing to hide. But do you mind telling me '

All in good time, Mr Gidaspov. All in good time.' He pointed at the dashboard. We operate the container doors from in here, do we?'

Gidaspov nodded and flicked the switch. They stepped down from the cab and went round to the back of the truck. When the big doors were open Grushko climbed into the back and, with the radiometer switched on, he walked the length of the container and back again. Even after having been sprayed with decontaminant the truck's interior was registering 800 milli-roentgens, which was more than the meat in Dr Sobchak's laboratory. Grushko turned the machine off and jumped down beside Gidaspov.

And then they're just driven back here empty?'

Gidaspov was looking distinctly unhappy.

Well yes, of course. What else would you want to put inside them?'

What else indeed?' Grushko lit a cigarette and regarded the truck with quiet distaste.

Tell me,' he asked. Have you ever heard of black haulage?'

Gidaspov bridled.

Of course I have. I have had many years' experience of managing freight, Colonel. But I can't see that anyone would want to put any sort of illegal cargo inside one of these trucks. After three or four days in this sort of environment, any cargo would show traces of some contamination. Even after spraying with decontaminants.'

Do your drivers know that?'

I would have thought so, yes.' But Gidaspov sounded vague.

But you're not sure?'

Well, not absolutely sure. But common sense would seem to indicate that'

Either way it probably doesn't really matter,' said Grushko. Not to the Mafia, anyway. They're not particularly fastidious about things like contamination. Not when there are such large profits to be made.'

I think it's about time you told me exactly what's going on here, Colonel, don't you?'

Yes, you're right,' said Grushko. Experimentally he ran the radiometer over his own person. It showed a small reading that he hoped wasn't enough to worry about.

A Mafia gang has been using your trucks to transport supplies of frozen meat to cooperative restaurants here in St Petersburg,' he said. EC food-aid that was destined for the people of Kiev.'

Gidaspov's mouth slackened like a deflating tyre.

You can't be serious, Colonel,' he said.

Oh, but I am. What better way for them to avoid the attentions of customs officials and militiamen on the look out for illicit food supplies? After all, nobody feels much inclined to go near anything nuclear these days. Not since Chernobyl.'

But what you're suggesting, it's monstrous,' spluttered Gidaspov. And I can't see how I mean, I'm sure our drivers would have had nothing to do with such a thing.'

The Mafia have their ways of persuading people to do what they're told,' shrugged Grushko. All the same, I shall want to see your personnel files. There may be a weak link, despite your admirable security precautions.'

Gidaspov was still finding it hard to take in. He lit one of his American cigarettes nervously.

But the meat,' he repeated dumbly. It would be hopelessly contaminated.'

Yes, you're right,' agreed Grushko. But like I said, I doubt that would worry the Mafia. After all, contamination's not something you can actually see. Just the same I think it must have worried Tolya. Perhaps that's why he became a vegetarian. Anyway, he decided to take his story to Mikhail Milyukin. He even took along a sample of the meat.'

Grushko watched the colour drain from Gidaspov's well-fed face.

I'm not exactly sure what happened next,' Grushko admitted, but somehow the Mafia a gang of Ukrainians it would seem well, they discovered that Tolya had told someone. Perhaps Tolya was foolish enough to have confided his doubts to one of the other drivers. If so, then it cost him his life. The Ukrainians grabbed him, tortured him and found that the person Tolya had told was an investigative journalist. Ogonyok, Krokodil it would have made good copy wherever it appeared. But with the sort of money involved, the Mafia couldn't afford to let that happen. There were twenty tonnes of beef on that plane from Britain. At today's black-market prices that's worth about five million roubles as much as any narcotic. So they killed them both.'

But why transport the meat here?' said Gidaspov. Why not just sell it in Kiev?'

Have you been in a cooperative restaurant in St Petersburg?' said Grushko. The prices they charge are many times higher than those people could be expected to pay in Kiev. Because of the tourists. And however badly off for food the Ukraine thinks it is, it's still a lot better off than we are in Petersburg. After all, the Ukraine is, or at least used to be, Russia's bread-basket.

Gidaspov had steadied himself against the truck. He was looking distinctly green.

Exactly where are the trucks right now, Mr Gidaspov?'

You'd better come inside,' he said.

They went back to Gidaspov's office where he showed Grushko the convoy's position on a map.

They'll aim to be here, in Pskov, by this evening,' he said. And all being well, they should be back in St Petersburg some time tomorrow night.'

Good,' said Grushko. That gives us time to prepare a welcome for them. With any luck we'll catch them red-handed.'

He looked at Gidaspov and wondered whether or not he could trust him. The man seemed genuinely shocked by what Grushko had told him, but there was no way to be absolutely sure that, left at liberty, he would not try and warn someone. Grushko knew he had little alternative but to take Gidaspov into custody until the arrests had been made.

22

That night, an elk came running through the streets of St Petersburg. Someone told me that it was usually about this time of year that they started to migrate and that instinct led them to take the same route that their ancestors had taken before Peter the Great had even thought of founding his city. For a while I sat at a window in the Big House and watched the huge bewildered beast gallop up and down Liteiny Prospekt. It made a pleasant diversion from hours spent dealing with the Georgians.

I wish I had my rifle,' said Nikolai. I could put some real meat on the table.' He lifted an imaginary gun to his shoulder and pretended to take aim at the animal. And those antlers: they would look great on my living-room wall.'

For my own part I preferred to think of the elk alive; as something magnificent. There was precious little dignity to be found in any other variety of Russian life. It was true the beast seemed to have no idea where it was going any more than it knew why it was going there. But probably it would get there in the end and in that there might have been a message of hope for us all.

After we had charged the Georgians and locked them up for the night Grushko spent an hour discussing the forthcoming operation with the OMON squad commander and General Kornilov. When finally he emerged from this meeting he asked me about Gidaspov and his secretary, who were still waiting in an adjoining office.

I can't let them go,' he said, but I can't just lock them up downstairs with the rest of the scum. That's the way we did things in the old days. What do you think?'

How about taking them to a hotel?' I suggested. A nice room with a TV and a bathroom, but no telephone, and a militiaman outside the door.'

Grushko snapped his fingers.

I know just the place,' he said. The Smolensky on Rastrelli Square. It used to be the Party VIP hotel. Now it's mostly European television crews staying there, but the place is owned by the city, so we'll get a cheap rate.'

He picked up the phone and made the arrangements. Half an hour later, Gidaspov and the girl were on their way.

Well, that was easily solved,' said Grushko and looked at his watch. Now all I have to do is go home and tell the wife that I'm going to be late for this dinner she's giving for our future son-in-law and his family tomorrow night.' He shook his head wearily. Well, it's not as if I can ask the Mafia if they can reschedule their delivery for a more convenient night, is it? All the same, she's going to have my guts for breakfast. I don't suppose you've any bright ideas on that one, have you?'

I smiled and collected my briefcase from the floor beside Grushko's desk. I took out a bar of chocolate and handed it to him.

A present from Moscow,' I said.

You must be psychic,' he breathed. But I can't take your chocolate'

It's not mine,' I said. It's my wife's. I nicked it from her when I was at home.' I shrugged. The fat cow eats too much chocolate already. Her cupboards were full of it. The music teacher must have a connection somewhere.'

If you're sure,' said Grushko and put the chocolate in his own briefcase. Thanks. It'll make a useful peace-offering.'

I shrugged modestly and hoped that there was nobody in Grushko's family who spoke German. The chocolate was already two years past its sell-by date. But then, even two-year-old chocolate is better than no chocolate at all.

The next morning everyone was in early to hear Grushko describe the evening's operation in the briefing-room. The OMON squad attended, as did General Kornilov, Lieutenant Khodyrev and Captain Novdyrov of the GAI the State Automobile Inspectorate. Alek manned the lights, Andrei the blinds and Sasha operated the slide projector. Nikolai had driven over to ASA.

May I have your attention, please,' said Grushko. This afternoon's realisation, codename Meathook, will be commanded by me and will commence at 1600 hours.'

He reached up and drew down a map of St Petersburg and its surrounding area.

There are two stages to this operation,' he explained. The first stage is as follows: Captain Novdyrov's GAI will take up a position about fifteen kilometres south of Gatcina on the M20 to Pskov. At the same time a unit of the OMON squad, myself and Nikolai, will take up a position about five kilometres further north. Just before the airport there's a Sovinterauto service station and next to it a sort of lay-by and a line of trees.

When the convoy passes the GAI, a patrol car will pursue it and bring the tail vehicle to a halt as close to our position as possible. We'll be parked behind the trees so they won't see us. The GAI men will ask the driver and his mate to step out of the cab and follow them to the rear of the vehicle, on the pretext of a faulty brake-light. But when they get there they'll find two OMON squad officers, myself and Nikolai waiting for them. Having persuaded them not to continue with their journey '

Grushko paused for their laughter.

Nikolai and I will take their places in the truck cab. Right now he should be familiarising himself with one of the Anglo-Soyuzatom trucks that's currently off the road.

We will then follow the rest of the convoy and, using walkie-talkies, we will direct the main force of the OMON squad to wherever they are planning to unload the stolen meat. We're not sure as to how many men the other side will be fielding; however you can bet they'll all be well-armed and more inclined to shoot than not. But according to our informers, there are three faces we do expect to see.' He nodded at Alek. Lights, please.'

Sasha switched the projector on. The first slide was of a mug-shot from the files.

Kazimir Cherep, also known as the Little Cossack,' said Grushko. A team leader for the Ukrainian gang here in Peter. Born Kiev, 1958. Served five years in the zone for attempted murder. And the next one, please, Sasha.'

Sasha moved the second slide into the projector.

Stepan Starovyd, born Dnepropetrovsk, 1956, also known as the Wrestler on account of his having once been the army heavyweight wrestling champion. He would have gone to the Olympics but for drugs charges that earned him two years in the zone. But rope swallower or not, he's a big boy, so don't let him put his arms around you.

These two men were almost certainly responsible for the murders of Mikhail Milyukin, Vaja Ordzhonikidze and one other man. So you can imagine how keen we are to get hold of them. Sasha?'

Grushko's audience looked at the third face from Criminal Records.

Volodimir Khmara. Born Zaporozje, 1955. A known black-marketeer. One conviction for theft. This is the character who has been selling the contaminated meat to the cooperative restaurants in Peter. And the last one, please, Sasha.'

The fourth and last photograph was different from the previous mugshots. It was a longer-distance shot of an older man wearing a black leather coat and getting out of a Mercedes that was parked in front of the Maryinsky Theatre, home of the Kirov Opera and Ballet.

Last, but by no means least, we have Viktor Bosenko. Born Dnepropetrovsk, 1946. Also known as the Black Swan because of his reputed love of the ballet. One conviction for currency offences during the late 1970s, but nothing since then. We've long suspected that Bosenko is the godfather who runs the whole Ukrainian underworld here in Peter. We don't actually know how much he's directly involved in this particular crime, but the chances are he knows about it. So take a good look at that face just in case he should put in an appearance.' Grushko looked over at Andrei, Can we have the blinds up, please?'

Sasha switched off the projector while Andrei lifted the blinds.

Any questions?'

One of the OMON squad men raised his hand.

Why the switch?' he said. Wouldn't it be simpler just to follow them?'

We can't take the chance that when the convoy reaches the city it won't be watched by the Mafia. If they see a tail then that'll be it finished. We would use a helicopter but for the fact that the air force refused to lend us one unless we let them control the whole realisation. Which would probably mean them taking the credit.'

There was a murmur of outrage and disbelief. Another hand went up.

Won't you be recognised through the windscreen, sir?'

No, the windscreen is protected by armoured louvres.'

Another hand,

After the realisation, what's going to happen to all that meat?'

I'm glad you've asked me that,' said Grushko. On no account must anyone touch any of the meat.'

There was a loud groan of disappointment at this particular piece of news. Grushko raised his voice.

The meat is radioactive, he said. 'Let me be quite clear about this: the meat is unfit for human consumption.

That never stopped anyone,' quipped someone.

It may look all right,' Grushko continued, but, to quote an old saying, never believe what you can see with your own eyes.a__ I discussed the matter with General Kornilov and he agrees with me that the best thing would be if Anglo-Soyuzatom Transit were to dispose of the meat in the same way that they already dispose of other nuclear waste. So let's leave it to the experts, shall we?'

In another place, at another time, we might have been more shocked to discover the whole character of the crime that had brought about the death of Mikhail Milyukin. This cynicism is not just attributable to our low expectations of the Mafia. It is also referable to our inherent national distrust of the most ordinary commodities. For everyone except foreigners, the consumption of food and drink has become increasingly hazardous. Even something as ordinary as water is not to be relied upon: nobody is ever foolish enough to drink the tea that is laughingly called tap-water without boiling it very thoroughly. The same caution cannot be said to apply to alcohol substitutes, however, which annually claim the lives of thousands of people.

Food scares are common enough. Just before I went to St Petersburg, Muscovite health-inspectors had found dead dogs and cats being sold as rabbit meat in the Rozhdestvenska Street market. And most people are becoming used to the sight of reporters from national TV filming Chernobyl chickens the radiation-mutated two-headed variety in the state meat markets.

High levels of pesticides and nitrates mean that fruit and vegetables are no less hazardous than meat. One radio journalist has estimated that a person can commit suicide by eating fifteen cucumbers. Many shoppers carry small chemical-detection kits strips of chemically sensitive paper that enable the housewife to take a quick toxicity reading before purchase.

Of course for many of us probably it is already too late. Our pale grey skins and red eyes, so different from those of sleek and healthy foreigners, seem to indicate as much. My own father died of cancer at the age of only forty-seven. My mother is virtually crippled with bronchitis. My sister, with whom she lives, has an incurable liver disease from years of hard drinking.

At the Central Board's hospital in Moscow they told me that I have high blood pressure and advised me to give up salt. I said that I never touched the stuff: life was already quite bitter enough without adding any salt to it. Then the doctor charged with making my medical report listened to my lungs and suggested that I might try to cut down on my smoking. He had a cigarette in his mouth at the time. I had read about this thing in the West called passive smoking' and asked him if he had heard of it.

Just being around Russian cops, I told him, was probably worth about a packet of twenty a day.

Nobody thinks long-term any more. You take your pleasures where and when you can find them. As we all left the briefing-room I heard several men from the OMON squad joke that, radioactive or not, meat was still meat and that it might just be worth the risk to taste a good bit of British beef. At least I assumed they were joking.

One of the three vans that had been earmarked for the realisation was found to be completely unroadworthy, and there was no time to get a suitable replacement. Thus it was that I found myself sitting in an Intourist coach parked a short way off the M20, just south of Gatcina. Grushko didn't seem to mind. He said nobody would expect the militia to use a tourist bus to mount an operation against the Mafia.

Besides,' he added, it's air-conditioned and we can listen to the radio. There's no telling how long we'll have to sit here.'

Several times during the next hour or so I saw him look at his watch and I wondered how much his wife's dinner party was on his mind. A look at my own watch seemed to confirm that he wasn't going to be just late for dinner. He stood in danger of missing it altogether.

A policeman's lot. I thought about all the occasions on which I had let my own family down and for the first time since leaving Moscow it didn't seem so hard to see why my wife had started an affair with the music teacher. At least he would never be late for dinner. It was true what they said: sometimes the only things that made the job worthwhile were the people you did it with.

The OMON squad commander, Lieutenant Khlobuyev, stared hard at his walkie-talkie as if willing Captain Novdyrov to call in and report that the convoy was on its way to us. Nikolai smoked another cigarette and tapped his big foot in time with the music on the radio. The other three OMON squad officers, deprived of their usual comforting Schwarzenegger video, stared out of the windows of the coach. Dmitri checked the batteries for the video-camera with which he would film the whole operation. The bus-driver dozed behind his steering wheel: to him we were just another bunch of passengers, of lesser interest than a tour-group of Americans that might have offered him some hard currency by way of a tip. Andrei looked up from cleaning his pistol and cleared his throat.

A man goes into his local meat market and says to the butcher, Can you cut me some very thin slices of sausage?a__ And the butcher says.'

Several of us came back with what the butcher said, in unison: Bring me the sausage and I'll cut it as thin as you like.

That joke is so old,' groaned Nikolai.

You tell one then,' Andrei muttered.

I don't know any jokes,' he said. Not since I lost my memory. By a coincidence, though, it happened when I was standing outside my local meat market, just the other day. D'you know, I looked in my empty shopping bag and I swear I couldn't remember if I was about to go in the shop, or if I had just walked out of it.'

Even Grushko smiled at that.

The walkie-talkie crackled in Khlobuyev's hand. But it was only Lieutenant Khodyrev to say that the Department of Health had found samples of the contaminated beef in the Kallininsky, Zverkovsky, Vasilyostrovsky and Kuznechny cooperative markets. Everyone was silent for a moment, but before the news could quite sink in Novdyrov had contacted us to say that the convoy was passing him even as he was speaking.

Grushko drew his gun.

All right, everyone,' he said. This is it. Let's get into position.'

The bus-driver sat up and operated the automatic doors and switched off the radio. Those of us, myself included, who were staying on the bus watched as Grushko, Nikolai, Khlobuyev and one of his men climbed down the steps and crept forward to the line of trees that screened us from the road. They had chosen their spot for the ambush well. Between the trees and the four-lane highway was a short area of waste ground, long enough on which to have parked not one but several trucks.

I picked up my walkie-talkie handset and called Sasha. He and two van-loads of the OMON squad were waiting somewhere on the M10 where it entered St Petersburg parallel with the M20.

The convoy's on its way to us,' I told him. Stand by.'

We heard the siren on the GAI patrol car before we saw anything. Then the roar of the big Foden trucks as they started to slow down. The sky between the trees was suddenly filled with the black, rectangular shapes of the first three trucks as they pulled into the side of the road and finally drew to a halt a long way further up the lay-by, with a loud hiss of their hydraulic brakes. Behind these three, almost immediately opposite our coach, we saw the blue flashing light of the GAI car as it drew to a halt in front of the fourth Anglo-Soyuzatom truck.

Grushko's teams were running for the back of the truck even before it had quite stopped moving. This was the weakest part of his plan, for he was gambling that the eyes of the driver and his mate would be looking at the patrol car in front of them instead of what was happening in their wing-mirrors.

Minutes passed and just as I was beginning to think that something must have gone wrong, I heard the sound of the patrol-car doors closing and then saw the blue light extinguished. As the GAI car sped away, the trucks began to re-start their engines and slowly the convoy started to move again. Seconds later I heard Grushko's voice on the walkie-talkie.

Passengers on board,' he said gruffly. I'm going to leave this channel open for a while,' he added, so you can hear what's going on.'

It's lucky we've got these armoured louvres on the windscreen,' he said to Nikolai. If there's any shooting we might be very glad of them.'

A loud bang against the side of our coach announced the return of the OMON squad men with their two prisoners. As they shoved them on to the coach I noticed that one of the crew had a bloody nose. I raised my eyebrows at Lieutenant Khlobuyev. He shrugged and said as if by way of explaining the man's injury, I just thought it might be useful to find out if they were carrying beef on board.'

And are they?'

He nodded and pushed his man roughly down the centre aisle to the back of the coach. I called Grushko to let him know.

See if you can persuade them to tell you where we're going,' he said.

I went down to the back of the coach where both men were already handcuffed to the handrails of the seats in front. Neither of them said anything. Sunk in gloom, each man leaned forwards and buried his face against his manacled forearms. I relayed Grushko's message and then walked back up the aisle to the driver.

Right, let's get going,' I told him. Just stay on the main road until I say different.'

He nodded, lit a cigarette and then started the engine. Having gunned the motor a couple of times he steered us slowly off the track and on to the M20. I sat down in my seat and looked at Andrei.

I've been on one of these before,' he said. We went on a sightseeing tour.'

It takes all sorts to make a world,' I murmured and, when Andrei went to help question the truck's two crewmen, I turned my attention back to Grushko's own travel commentary.

We're just passing the airport,' he announced.

This is a nice truck,' said Nikolai. I hardly felt that pothole. And this seat it's better than my old armchair. All it needs is a few cigarette burns and I'd be right at home. Light me one, will you?'

Hearing a slap and a loud yell from the back of the coach I turned round. Lieutenant Khlobuyev had one of the crewmen by the hair and, filmed by Dmitri, he started to bang the man's head against the coach window. The driver paid no attention. It wasn't his coach, after all.

There you go,' said Grushko.

One thing I still don't understand,' said Nikolai. Tolya gives Milyukin a sample of contaminated meat. Milyukin hands it over to Dr Sobchak for analysis.'

Right.'

But the meat that was stolen from the flat. that belonged to the Poliakovs?'

Yes. But of course the two Ukrainians had no idea that Milyukin had already taken the meat to Sobchak. They opened the Poliakovs' fridge and found a piece of beef. They weren't to know it wasn't the right one. Beef is beef and, after all, it wasn't as if there was any other meat in the fridge.'

So the Poliakovs just bought it in the local market?'

I heard Grushko swear violently.

Sasha?' he said urgently. Sasha, are you there?'

Where are you, sir?'

Never mind that now. Look, call Lieutenant Khodyrev and get her to send someone round to my flat straight away. I reckon my wife's bought some of that contaminated meat from a cooperative food market. She's probably serving it up as we speak.' He swore again. Look, I don't care how she does it, but on no account must anyone eat that beef. Have you got that, Sasha?'

Yes sir. I'll call you as soon as we hear anything.'

Do that. And for Christ's sake, hurry.'

Grushko said nothing for several minutes. Then Andrei came back up the aisle and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

We've got a rough location out of our friends,' he said.

I handed him the walkie-talkie.

There's a warehouse in Kirovsky Region,' he told Grushko. Somewhere off Stacek Prospekt. The two crewmen are not exactly sure where, because they usually just follow the truck in front of them. Anyway, there's this cold store that used to belong to the State Fish Board, until the Mafia paid someone hard currency for the place. They reckon it's pretty well protected too: about thirty or forty armed men on average.'

Grushko grunted. Andrei shrugged and handed me back the handset.

What's the matter with him?' he murmured.

He's worried his wife might have bought some of that contaminated meat,' I explained. And that right now his family might be sitting down to eat it.'

Home cooking,' sniffed Andrei. It'll be the death of us all.' And so saying he returned to the back of the coach and sat down.

Ten minutes passed and Grushko radioed that the convoy had reached the outer suburbs of the city on Moskovsky Prospekt. Nikolai was doing his best to distract Grushko from troubled thoughts.

There's this old priest, right? he said. 'He's been out shopping all day and he's tired, so he stops for a minute to lean against a wall and closes his eyes. After a few minutes he opens them again and by now a queue of about fifty people has formed up behind him. A couple more minutes pass and then the Ivan standing right behind the old priest asks him what they're queuing for. And the priest explains that he'd just stopped to have a rest. Well, why didn't you say so?a__ says the man. And the priest says, It's not every day that you find yourself standing at the head of the queue.a__ Nikolai laughed enthusiastically.

Grushko was losing his patience.

Talk to me, Sasha,' he said through clenched teeth. What the hell is happening?'

Just a minute, sir,' said Sasha. I'm speaking to Olga now.'

There was a long, long pause during which I imagined Grushko's family seated around their dining table watching Lena carve the precious joint of meat. A loud knock summons Tanya to the door where she finds herself confronted by several men wearing radiation suits and carrying a radiometer before them like some small ark of the convenant. The guests jump up with horror as the men make their entrance and then they yell with outrage as the contaminated meat their dinner is thrown into a plastic bag. I almost wished I could have been there to see it myself.

Someone's been to your house, sir,' said Sasha finally. Everything's all right. Nobody ate a thing.'

Just like any other Russian meal, then,' said Nikolai.

Grushko breathed an audible sigh of relief.

Thank you,' he said quietly. Thanks, Sasha.

It's just as well you're wearing a flak-jacket,' said Sasha. Because your wife's going to shoot you. According to Olga she thought it was your idea of a joke. But you were right. The meat was radioactive.'

There was not time for Grushko to react to this latest piece of information.

We're turning off,' said Nikolai.

Grushko waited a second and then said: We're now heading north west on Krasnoputilovskaya towards Autovo.'

I heard Sasha tell his driver to head west, along Taskentskaya.

I think we're being tailed,' said Nikolai. That car's been with us since the airport.

I leaned towards the bus-driver.

I heard,' he said negligently. Krasnoputilovskaya.'

He twisted the wheel round to avoid a horse that had strayed on to the road.

Meat, is it?' he said when we were back in lane. There's plenty around, if you know where to look. Believe me, a man who drives this road need never go hungry.'

I recalled my own car journey from Moscow to St Petersburg. In principle the M10 was the country's most important arterial road and yet in places it was little more than a two-track highway upon which a wide variety of animals pigs, goats, cattle and chickens were allowed to stray. I wondered how a coachload of Americans would have reacted to the prospect of their bus-driver's lethal opportunism.

Heading north on the MI 1 and Stacek Prospekt,' said Grushko.

Heading up Trefoleva,' said Sasha.

By now the coach was in the outskirts of the city and, as if to underline the fact, we hit a tramline standing proud of the road surface with a loud bang.

We have you in sight,' said Sasha. Passing the end of Trefoleva.'

He's signalling left,' said Nikolai.

Sasha, we're turning left on to '

Oboronnaya,' said Nikolai, prompting him.

Drive straight across Stacek,' Sasha told his driver. And then to Grushko: We'll stay parallel with you on Trefoleva.'

This looks like it, sir, said Nikolai. 'We're slowing down.

We're here,' said Grushko. It's between Gubina Street and Sevastopol Street.'

Sasha instructed the driver of the second OMON van to turn up Sevastopol Street and then his own driver to drive on to the end of Trefoleva.

We'll turn right on to Barrikadnaya,' he announced, and then come at them from both ends of the street.'

This is it everyone,' said Grushko. Let's get these bastards.'

23

Grushko told me later that his first thought on seeing the first truck back into the cold store was that the militia might be outgunned. It seemed that there were gangsters everywhere, some directing the trucks, some starting to take the cartons of meat out of the containers and some just holding guns and looking out for trouble. As the second and then the third truck reversed through the steel shutters a man whistled loudly and beckoned Nikolai to drive towards him.

Nikolai slipped the clutch and followed the man's directions until he was best placed to reverse into the loading bay. Hearing another whistle from behind he glanced in his wing-mirror and saw a second man waving towards him.

Stall it,' said Grushko. They mustn't bring that shutter down behind us or the squad won't be able to get in.'

Nikolai engaged gear, took his foot off the gas and then released the clutch pedal. The big truck jerked spasmodically as the engine cut out.

He turned the key in the ignition and without touching the accelerator he made a show of trying to get started again. With a Russian-built truck he might have succeeded in flooding the engine. But the Foden had electronic ignition and started first time.

Isn't that just great,' said Nikolai. A reliable truck.'

Where the hell's Sasha?' said Grushko.

Nikolai started to move the truck back into the cold store. When he was only half way through the door, he stalled it again and this time he removed the keys and pocketed them.

Behind them there were shouts and someone started to beat impatiently on the side of the truck's container.

You'd better find your party invitation,' said Grushko.

Nikolai took out his automatic and worked the slide.

Here comes our friend,' he said, glancing in the mirror.

What the hell's going on?' said a voice outside the driver's door. C'mon. Move this thing.'

Grushko and Nikolai stayed put.

Through the armoured louvres Nikolai saw the man frown and then stand back as he began to realise that something was wrong.

The electronics have gone,' Nikolai shouted. Everything's stuck. We can't even get the door open.'

But the man was already drawing his own weapon. He shouted something to another man and then levelled his gun at the driver's door.

What do we do now?' said Nikolai.

Sit tight,' said Grushko. Let's hope this thing is as tough as they said it was.'

Nikolai leaned across the seat, out of the line of fire.

They heard a burst of automatic gunfire but nothing hit the cab. Then there was another volley of shots and some shouting.

Either this thing is tougher than we thought, or that's Sasha,' said Grushko.

Gradually a voice began to make itself heard with a loud hailer.

This is the militia. You are surrounded. Put down your weapons. Walk into the open and lie down with your hands behind your heads. I repeat, you are surrounded.'

About time,' said Grushko and reached for the door handle.

He opened the door a crack and peered out. Men were already dropping their weapons and raising their hands as, from every side of the cold store, came the men of the OMON squad.

Grushko jumped down from the cab and walked towards one of the trucks. The rear doors were open and inside the container he could see hundreds of cartons of meat, some of them still carrying the distinctive EC roundel of yellow stars on a blue background. Beside this same truck was a group of two or three men with their hands raised and among them, wearing a smart suit, his fingers studded with gold rings, was a face Grushko recognised from his own briefing. It was Viktor Bosenko. In his hand he was holding not a gun but a walletful of money.

Well, well,' smiled Grushko, not just the caviar. We got the whole rotten sturgeon.'

Behind him the OMON squad started to kick the feet away from under some of those Mafiosi who were not quick enough to lie down. Bosenko remained standing. He grinned and took a step towards Grushko and away from his own men.

I think there's been some sort of mistake here,' he said. We thought you were the Mafia.'

That's a good one.' Grushko laughed. You thought we were the Mafia.'

Sasha appeared at Grushko's shoulder, scanning the gangway near the cold store's ceiling for signs of further resistance.

Viktor Bosenko took another step forward.

But, thank God, you're the militia,' he said. Look here, officer, I'm sure I can explain this to your satisfaction. We're just businessmen trying to protect what's ours, that's all.' He shrugged as if he was trying to seem accommodating.

Maybe we can come to some kind of an arrangement?' He lowered his hands carefully and, opening the wallet, took out a whole fistful of dollars.

Some compensation for you and your men. For your time and trouble. And to thank you for your protection. You know, there's nearly five thousand dollars here. What's that to you and your men? Maybe two years' salary for everyone?'

Grushko looked at Bosenko with growing incredulity. Then he snatched the dollars from his hand and threw them in the Ukrainian's grinning mouth.

To my face?' he snarled. You'd try and bribe me to my face? In front of all my men?'

The punch came up from Grushko's waist and caught Bosenko flush underneath the jaw. As Bosenko hit the ground Grushko sprang forward to catch him by the lapels and hit him again.

Arriving on the scene it seemed to me that Sasha was moving to restrain Grushko. His yell of warning was lost in the larger sound of a gunshot and Grushko found himself supporting the man who had seemed to be holding him. He turned and saw one of Bosenko's men escaping through the back door, gun in hand. Grushko let Sasha slip on to the floor and went after him.

There was blood running out of Sasha's mouth. Nikolai dropped down on his knees and tried to turn his friend over on to his stomach in the coma position, to stop him drowning in his own blood. Sasha winced and held Nikolai's arm.

I told you,' he wheezed. I told you these flak jackets are no good.'

Then he jerked convulsively, as if hit by a small bolt of electricity, and was dead.

Stepan Starovyd, the Wrestler, came out of the cold store on to a cobbled alleyway. Seeing a distinctive blue OMON squad uniform he fired once again, and caught his man in the leg. Then he ran toward the Yekateringofka Canal and a pier where he knew Bosenko kept a small boat. Hearing the sound of running footsteps behind him, he spun round and squeezed off a couple of wild shots. The slide locked open on the last of them.

Grushko picked himself off the street and moved towards the Ukrainian.

The Wrestler could see that it was quite useless. There were men from the OMON squad behind the man he had fired at. But instinctively he continued to back away from Grushko towards the canal. He grinned sheepishly and started to raise his hands.

He was still backing away when Grushko shot him. The .45 calibre hollowpoint hit him square in the chest and carried him across the edge of the canal. The Wrestler was dead before he hit the dirty water, with such a look of surprise on his big, strong face that it was still there when, the next day, they put him on the section table at the Bureau of Judicial Medical Examinations.

Grushko walked over to the canal's edge and looked down at the floating body. Then he spat into the water.

Nikolai met him as he walked back towards the cold store.

Sasha?' said Grushko.

Nikolai shook his head.

No, I thought not.'

Inside the cold store the OMON squad had lined up all the Ukrainians against the wall and, filmed by Dmitri, were searching them for concealed weapons.

Grushko stood over Sasha's body, hardly caring that his feet were surrounded by a spreading red flag that was the dead man's blood. I went over to him, hoping to think of something kind to say and, finding myself speechless at the waste of it, could merely shrug and shake my head like some disappointed pensioner. But Grushko's soul was made of more extrovert stuff. He said it as he saw it and, truth to tell, at the time the words from Pushkin's epic poem, Eugene Onegin did not seem so affected as they do when I recall them now:

The storm is over, dawn is paling, the bloom has withered on the bough; the altar flame's extinguished now.

Nikolai lit a couple of cigarettes and handed one to Grushko.

Come on, sir,' he said. Let's go home. It's all over.'

Grushko gave him a baleful sort of look and Nikolai shrugged philosophically.

Well, until the next time anyway,' he added.

Grushko sucked hard on the cigarette.

Nikolai Vladimirovich,' he said, you've been reading my bloody horoscope.'

24

Nina Milyukin had not mistaken Grushko. She had recognised him for what he was, a man of one book the Book of the Law and Morals as he saw it, without benefit of equity, without mercy. Beware of a man of one book. That was how I began this story and now I must explain why.

A few days after we had arrested the Ukrainians he must have telephoned Nina and arranged to meet her at Mikhail's grave in Volkov Cemetery. I can't imagine that it would have been her idea to meet him there. That must have been part of his design. Did she guess what he wanted to say to her? I think she must have done. Perhaps she may even have thought that Grushko was one of them. After all, he was a Colonel of Militia. But if she did think that then she was quickly disabused of that idea.

He found her laying a single carnation one was usually all that anyone could afford on the bare earth covering Mikhail Milyukin's coffin. Before she knew he was there he tossed the file he had brought with him beside her flower. Nina recognised it immediately. The sword and the shield stamped on the file's buff cover were notorious. But she did not pick it up. She looked at the file almost as if it would have burned her to touch it.

I thought that you might like to dispose of this yourself,' said Grushko. Now that he's dead it would seem that they have no further use for you.'

They?' she said pointedly.

Oh no,' said Grushko, shaking his head, not me. I've never been part of that.' He lit a cigarette and watched her as, reluctantly, she bent down to pick the file up.

You know, I couldn't work out why you were being so reticent with us. I mean, there we were trying to find your husband's killers and you said nothing. But of course when I saw that file everything suddenly started to make sense. It's shame that makes one silent, isn't it?'

They gave this to you?' she said angrily. Just like that? I don't believe it.'

I had the very same thought myself,' said Grushko. How could you do it? How could you spy on your friends, on your own husband?'

It's easy to ask that now,' she said bitterly. A lot of people can be brave in retrospect. But believe me, it wasn't so easy to say no to the KGB.' Her eyes flashed. I've had to live with the fear of them all my life. Virtually the first thing I remember being scared of were the people who arrested my father.'

That's a nice story,' said Grushko, but it doesn't explain how you came to work for them.'

You've read the file,' she sighed.

Yes, but it says you were passing them information as long ago as 1974, when you were still a student. That's a long time.'

They said that they had proof that my mother was a dissident: that she regularly passed on copies of forbidden books. You think I was going to let them send her away too?' Nina shook her head. It wasn't unusual, what I did. You should know that.'

She opened her handbag and took out a packet of cigarettes. She lit one and smoked it without much enjoyment.

For a while after university they left me alone. I was never that useful to them. I'm not the kind of person who ever remembers what anyone has said. But then, after I married Mikhail, they contacted me again. They said they would stop him from working because he was a Jew. Well, don't you see? He could never have stood that. His work was his whole life. It was only little stuff, nothing important: foreign journalists Mikhail knew. What they were saying. Who they met. But after a year or two Mikhail noticed something, I think. He never said anything, but I'm sure he suspected something.'

That's why he became secretive with you about his work, isn't it?' said Grushko. It wasn't because he didn't want you to worry about him. It was because he wasn't sure if he could trust you or not.'

You see?' she shrugged. In a way, I was telling you the truth. I really didn't know anything after all.'

So then what happened?'

If Mikhail went out, he didn't tell me where he was going, or who he was seeing. Nobody came back to the flat. I stopped being much use to them. So they went after Mikhail himself. They wanted him to spy on an English journalist, someone they suspected of having an intelligence connection. And he told them to go to hell. He said they could do what they liked. They made all sorts of threats. And of course he was scared. But Mikhail was stronger than me.'

No, not stronger,' said Grushko. Just better.'

I don't know why I'm explaining myself to you,' she said. Or why you think you're any better than those bastards in the KGB. Are your own hands really so very clean, Grushko?'

I can still look my friends in the eye.'

Then you've been lucky.' Suddenly she seemed afraid. Does anyone else ?'

You needn't worry,' he said cutting her off. There's just you and me and your conscience if you have one.'

You know what I hope?' she said. I hope that one day you find out that someone close to you has betrayed you. I wonder if you'll be more forgiving then.'

Oh, I can forgive you,' said Grushko, snapping his fingers. Just like that. But him?' He pointed at Milyukin's grave. Well, I guess we'll never know, will we?'

Tears welled up in Nina's china blue eyes.

You cruel bastard.'

Grushko grinned. A mind-reader as well as an informer. There's no end to your talents.'

He left her standing there.

The newspapers say that suicide has become a political weapon. The conservatives in the Congress of People's Deputies were quick to associate the collapse of the old system and economic hard times with an increase in the number of people taking their own lives. It was up ten per cent since 1987. If you were a democrat, would knowing that make you less inclined to kill yourself?

They also say that women are less inclined to commit suicide than men. Perhaps someone should have told Nina Milyukin. A few hours after her meeting with Grushko she drank a whole bottle of strong vinegar and died. It was a common, albeit painful method of killing yourself, if you could still find a bottle of strong vinegar in the shops. When several people telephoned Militia Station 59 to ask them where they might buy this vinegar, Lieutenant Khodyrev was forced to put out a statement saying that the bottle was an old one and had been in Nina Milyukin's cupboard for several years.

The newspapers and television agreed that grief made her do it. Of course by then I knew different.

The heatwave ended a couple of days later. A cool breeze stirred the leaves of the poplar trees in the Summer Gardens where I had taken to walking and St Petersburg seemed like the most beautiful city on earth. It did not seem like the kind of city you would pick to commit suicide in.

When I discovered what Grushko had said to Nina Milyukin I was angry and told him I thought he had behaved abominably.

With a woman who betrayed her husband like that?' he said. I don't think so.'

My wife betrayed me,' I said, but it doesn't give me the right to judge her. God knows, maybe I drove her to it.'

That's different,' he said. Nina Milyukin wasn't just someone who failed in her duty as a wife. She failed in her duty as a human being. She was false. She lived the worst kind of lie.'

Where have you been?' I said scornfully. The whole bloody country's been living a lie for the last seventy years. We have to put all of it behind us if we're ever going to make it something better. And that includes the Nina Milyukins of this world.'

The more I thought about it the angrier I became.

You know what you did? You said what Mikhail Milyukin had purposely left unsaid. He knew she was spying on him, but he chose to stay silent. He felt it was better to have her reporting what he did to the KGB than not to have her at all.'

I shook my head sadly. You've thrown away a valuable life,' I told him. I hope you can live with that.'

After that I stayed out of his way for a while, liaising with Vladimir Voznosensky at the State Prosecutor's Office and busying myself with the preparation of the numerous cases we had against the Georgians and the Ukrainians. But at Sasha's funeral he came up and took me aside for a minute.

You were right,' he said. There was no need to say what I said. It was unforgivable.'

I wasn't right,' I said, and told him how I had been planning to see more of Nina Milyukin. But maybe we were both wrong.'

They gave Sasha a burial with full honours. A militia detachment fired a salute over his grave. And the city council gave his widow a cheque for two thousand roubles. It was just four months' pay.

After the funeral several of us went back to Nikolai's house for a drink. It wasn't much of an evening. At an early stage Nikolai lifted a glass and said Good health', and Grushko glowered at him and replied, Are we drinking, or talking?' But gradually, as more vodka was consumed, things eased up just a bit and Grushko described how his daughter seemed determined to go and live in America.

Why should anyone want to go and live in America?' he said. That's what I'd like to know. Then he looked at me meaningfully and added: 'At least here you can always blame someone else when something goes wrong.

25

As my reverie ended, the compartment door opened with a rush of air and noise and the carriage attendant came to offer us tea from her samovar. As if to atone for my poor company I paid for two glasses and handed one carefully to my attractive travelling companion. Then the door closed, leaving us alone once again.

She smiled. Thank you.'

Where are you from?' I asked her. For a moment she was silent, her hands cupped around her glass as she sipped the steaming hot tea.

From Moscow. I'm a ballerina. I was with the Kirov, but now I'm going back to the Bolshoy. What about you?'

I'm a policeman.' Briefly I described my trip to St Petersburg.

I wondered whether or not to add that I had really been sent to St Petersburg as part of an undercover investigation, to look for any evidence of corruption in Grushko's department. Perhaps these things are best left unsaid, even today when there is so much honesty and openness in government. Some people find it hard to understand this kind of work. But with all investigations into police corruption you have to put duty ahead of personal relationships. Like the time I had to pretend to be corrupt myself in order to trap another policeman. That wasn't pleasant. The man, who lost his job and went to prison, had a wife and family. Besides, it was not as if I had found any evidence that Grushko and his men were on the take. Far from it. To me, it seemed that Kornilov had merely wished to be quite certain that his men were thoroughly honest. That was understandable. The nature of Grushko's work made him and his men vulnerable to corruption. So I had little to feel too guilty about. After all, as Grushko himself would have agreed, an honest police force was the only way that the Mafia would ever be broken. Even so, I could have wished that there had been an opportunity for more honesty between us, although right to the last I think Grushko had always suspected who I was and what I was really up to.

I shrugged. Now it was me trying to make conversation. I would have been driving back to Moscow now, except that the head gasket went on my car again.'

Again?'

Yes, I'd just got it back on the road after the last one went.'

She laughed, shook her head and the air was filled with the smell of her perfume which was like nothing I'd ever encountered before. That's too bad.

Well, at least I've had the chance of meeting you.'

Oh, there's nothing much interesting about me.'

No? I should have thought being a dancer was interesting.'

She grimaced. Hard work.'

I love the ballet. Someone in Central Board offered to get me tickets for the Kirov, only I never found the time to go.'

I'll arrange some tickets for you to come and see me at the Bolshoy, if you like.'

Just the one would be fine.'

She took out a notebook and a pencil. Tell me your address and I'll send you one.'

I thought for a minute. I could always stay with my mother and my sister for a few days, but I couldn't see how I could go and live there permanently any more than I could have gone back to my wife. I explained about how my wife and I were seeking a divorce and that she had better send the tickets to the police headquarters on Petrovka.

She made a note of the address and then looked concerned.

But where will you live?' she asked.

I'll find somewhere I expect,' I said and changed the subject. Are you married?'

Divorced.'

You know,' she added tentatively, if you're looking for somewhere, there's a spare room you could have.'

Really? No, I couldn't.' But my thoughts were already racing ahead to something altogether more connubial. Did beautiful ballerinas ever fall for policemen outside of the movies? I thought it more likely that my tone-deaf daughter would become a concert pianist. Could I?'

It's not much of a place,' she said. Besides, it might be handy to have a policeman around. After all, it's not very safe these days.' She showed me the air-pistol she carried in her handbag. You know, I often come back quite late at night.'

Look, are you sure? I mean, you don't really know me. I mean, I could be absolutely anyone.'

But she had convinced herself of the merit of her idea.

Yes,' she said thoughtfully. It might be quite nice to come home and know that there was a policeman in the place.'

Well, you know what they say,' I said. It's a lot cheaper than owning a dog.'

THE END