Rostnikov vacation

THIRTEEN

The next morning, the sun shone on Moscow.

Shortly before nine, under that shining sun, tourists from both within the Soviet Union and beyond its formerly formidable borders boarded the excursion boats at the Kiev pier. There weren't many sightseers this early in the morning.

Among those boarding, however, though not together, were a tall, quite pale man whom everyone avoided as best they could and a block of a man with a limp who was ignored by the people scrambling ahead of him to get the best seats.

Porfiry Petrovich did not want the best seat, and Emil Karpo did not care.

Before the ship had pulled away from the pier, Rostnikov was seated along the port rail in a chair with its view partly obstructed by a thick metal pole.

Almost all the other passengers were in front of the ship with their guidebooks out. Rostnikov was very much alone when Karpo joined him as they pulled away from the pier and the ship began its journey.

"Have you ever taken this ride before, Emil Karpo?"

"I have not."

"Over there," said Rostnikov, pointing to the bank. "The fortress walls of the old Novo-Devichy Convent. See the belfry?"

"I see it," said Karpo.

"In the convent cathedral, Boris Godunov was proclaimed czar in 1597," said Rostnikov.

"It was 1598," Karpo corrected.

Rostnikov smiled.

"You knew that," said Karpo, looking at him.

"Perhaps," and Rostnikov, still looking at the bank. "The wife and sister of Peter the Great were imprisoned in the convent for plotting against Peter. Many famous people are buried inside those walls. I know you know this, Emil Karpo, but it gives me some small pleasure to say it aloud, so please indulge me while we wait. Sarah and I made this trip with Iosef when he was a boy.''

Karpo looked at his colleague and saw a weariness he had never seen before.

"You are ill," he said.

"I am tired," Porfiry Petrovich corrected.

"What is it that we are waiting for?" asked Karpo.

"An answer," said Rostnikov.

The ship passed the sports complex of Luzhniki, and over the cabin of the boat Karpo could see the Lenin Hills coming down to the edge of the water and, high on top, against the skyline, the massive main building of Moscow University, its tower lost for the moment in a low cloud.

"Beautiful," said Rostnikov with a sigh.

Karpo said nothing as they went under the double-level bridge.

"Yes," said Karpo, though the mystery of beauty had either eluded him or, as he thought more likely, existed only as a bourgeois fantasy.

Karpo was aware of the man approaching them well before he turned to face him.

The man was in his mid-forties, thin, balding, and dark, dressed in a blue suit with a matching striped tie.

"Colonel Zhenya," Rostnikov said, looking up and shielding his eyes against the sun with his hand in what might have been taken for a mock salute.

The KGB colonel was known to both Karpo and Rostnikov. He stood erect and played with a ring on his right hand as he spoke.

"I do not believe I have ever seen you out of uniform before," Rostnikov said.

Zhenya looked at Karpo and then at Rostnikov without moving his head.

"My presence doesn't surprise you, does it, Rostnikov?" he said.

"I am completely surprised," said Rostnikov with what might well be taken for surprise.

"You are tired from your flight, and you have not slept for almost two days," said Zhenya. "That, I assume, is why you are engaging in pallid irony."

"You are certainly right, Colonel," Rostnikov said, shifting his leg as he remembered why it was that he had not taken this river ride or any other for many years. The dampness cramped his leg in wet, relentless fingers.

"You were well aware that your conversations were monitored and that someone listening, someone who knew your background, would probably understand your little code,'' said Zhenya.

"I was counting on it, Colonel," said Rostnikov. "There, see, you are right. I should never say anything like that to a KGB colonel, especially to you."

"At least," said Zhenya, "you would not have done so before the dismantling of the Soviet Union, which is now underway."

"I should not do so now,'' said Rostnikov.' 'But I am tired.''

Emil Karpo stood silently, listening.

Zhenya looked at him and said, "Congratulations, Inspector Karpo," he said. "I understand you are a hero. You participated in thwarting the assassination of our president. Only a minor official of no consequence was wounded."

There was no irony to be detected in the colonel's words.

"Thank you," said Karpo.

"And you, Rostnikov, you are a hero, too, a silent hero, a hero behind the scenes," Zhenya said, suddenly abandoning the ring he had been playing with and moving to the rail. "You prevented a conspiracy to end the leaders of the reform. You should be very proud of yourself."

"I simply forwarded information to my superior," said Rostnikov, deciding to suffer the cramping agony in his leg rather than stand and show Colonel Zhenya that he was nervous or, worse, rising to challenge him.

Zhenya leaned on the rail. Beyond him, on the shore, Rostnikov could see the diving boards of the Moskva Swimming Pool. A man on the top board leaped off gracelessly. Zhenya turned and looked back at the two men.

"I see a question in your eyes, Rostnikov," he said. "Do you wish to ask it?''

Rostnikov said nothing, and Emil Karpo stood motionless.

' 'You want to know why I am here. You expected me, but you did not know why I would come. You were disturbed by what has happened, but you did not know quite what to conclude. I will enlighten you, Rostnikov. I will enlighten you because you have once again been used. I will enlighten you because I want you to know that you have been used." ' 'I appreciate that you would not be here if you did not intend to enlighten me," said Rostnikov.

"I did not order Georgi Vasilievich murdered," Zhenya said. "If I had, I would tell you now, for there is nothing you could do about it. That murder was ordered by the man who organized the conspiracy, which you and Karpo thwarted with the help of one of my men.'' "Misha Ivanov is one of your men," said Rostnikov.

"Yes," said Zhenya. "The notebook that you brought to Colonel Snitkonoy was a fake. Misha Ivanov planted it for you to find. Vasilievich's notebook, which was full of nonsense and would have led you in the wrong direction, was destroyed.

You are wondering two things at this moment.

First, given my own lack of sympathy for the current reforms, why did I not let the conspiracy take place and simply benefit from it? Second, if I did not want the conspiracy to take place, why did I not simply reveal it myself and take credit? I need not hide from you that I have ambitions, that I wish to serve the Revolution and not participate in its destruction. Have you figured out where we are going with this yet, Inspector?"

Rostnikov could stand it no longer. He raised himself from the chair and leaned forward with both hands on the horizontal pipe before him to keep from falling.

Rostnikov had figured it out, but it might well be essential to his survival to allow Colonel Zhenya to outwit him. Rostnikov resisted the urge to look at Karpo.

"I am in your hands, Colonel," Porfiry Petrovich said.

"The conspiracy the two of you helped to thwart was not aimed at Gorbachev and the reformers," said Zhenya. "It was aimed at the true patriots, the old guard and those of us who support the Revolution. It was not the Stalinists who planned to kill but the reformers who plotted to end opposition, to kill the Stalinists. Rostnikov, I was certainly one of the intended victims. The idea was to blame the entire operation on the CIA, Americans who wanted to keep Gorbachev in power. I needed honest policemen like you to step in. It is quite possible that you have now earned the enmity of the very people you thought you were saving from death. Now that is irony, Porfiry Petrovich Rostnikov. As a Russian, you should appreciate that. Now you may smile. Karpo, you have a question."

"Alexandrov," Karpo said so quietly that the word was almost obscured by the purring engine of the ship.

"Jerold," corrected Zhenya. "He was part of the conspiracy. He had several options. If Krivonos had succeeded, Alexandrov would have escaped and left him to his fate, assuming that Krivonos, if he survived, would identify an American as the man who had hired him to do the deed. If Krivonos failed, as he did, Alexandrov would kill him, as he did, and emerge a hero. See how honest I am being with the two of you?''

Rostnikov allowed himself a glance at Karpo, whose attention was riveted on the colonel.

"You have helped our cause, the true cause of the Revolution, to survive to do battle another day," said Zhenya. "Inspector Karpo, you, as a zealous and loyal member of the party, might, I would think, be content with this outcome that holds open hope of maintaining the old order.'' "Within the old society the elements of a new one have been created," said Karpo. "The dissolution of the old ideas keeps even pace with the dissolution of the old conditions of existence."

Zhenya shook his head.

' 'You are becoming a reformer, one of them, Inspector Karpo," he said.

"Those were not my words, Colonel," said Karpo. "They were written by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. They are part of the Communist Manifesto."

Colonel Zhenya looked first at the man known as the Washtub, who was trying to hide his pain, and then at the cadaverous creature who stood beside him and wondered how much naivete could survive. It had been foolish to seek them out, to savor his victory. It had been self-indulgent, a mistake he would never make again. Without another word, Colonel Zhenya walked to the front of the boat and lost himself in the crowd.

"Well, Emil Karpo. What do you think?"

"I do not think, Inspector Rostnikov. I enforce the law."

"And I, Emil Karpo, think too much. We are cursed by a disease of opposites. It may account for our compatibility.'' "I was not aware that you considered us to be compatible," said Karpo as Rostnikov moved slightly to his right, urging feeling and circulation back into his leg. He checked his watch. There was still an hour to go on the ride.