The State Counsellor

CHAPTER 6 The expropriation

Of course, Green didn't go out on to the platform to the trains. He took a seat in the cafe in the waiting room for those expecting new arrivals, ordered tea with lemon and began observing the platform through the window.

It was interesting. He had never seen so many police spies in a single spot, even during the Emperor's outings. Almost a third of the people seeing passengers on their way consisted of inquisitive gentlemen with roving eyes and rubber necks. It was clear that the police agents were especially interested in men of a slim build with black hair. Not one of these managed to reach his train unchecked - all dark-haired male individuals were taken politely by the elbows and led away to one side, towards the door with the sign that said 'Duty Stationmaster'. Evidently there must be someone behind the door who had seen Green in Klin.

The dark-haired gentlemen were released again almost immediately, and hurried back on to the platform, glancing round indignantly. But blonds and even redheads were not immune -they were also taken for checking. So the police had at least enough imagination to suspect that their wanted man might have dyed his hair.

However, they had lacked the imagination to picture Khrapov's killer turning up among the people who were meeting new arrivals, not seeing off departing passengers. The hall in which Green had taken up his post was peaceful and deserted. No police spies, and not a single blue uniform.

This was precisely what Green had been counting on when he set out to meet the nine o'clock express on which Ace was due to arrive. It was a risk, of course, but he preferred to handle all business contacts with the specialist himself.

The train arrived precisely on schedule, presenting Green with a surprise. Even before he saw Ace, Green spotted Julie in the stream of newcomers. It would have been hard not to notice those purple ostrich feathers swaying above the wide-brimmed fur hat. Julie stood out from the crowd like a bird of paradise in a flock of black-and-grey crows. She was followed by porters lugging along suitcases and hatboxes, and walking beside her with a light, dancing step was a handsome young man with his hands stuck in his pockets: a close-fitting coat with a beaver collar, an American hat, a black strip of neatly shaved moustache. Mr Ace, the expropriation specialist, in person.

Green waited for the glamorous couple to walk out on to the square and approach the cab stop, then followed them at a leisurely pace.

Walking up from behind, he asked: 'Julie, what are you doing here?'

Ace swung round sharply without taking his hands out of his pockets. Recognising Green, he nodded briefly.

But Julie had never been notable for her reserve. Her fresh, pretty face lit up in a happy smile. 'Greeny, darling, hello!' she exclaimed, throwing herself on Green's neck and planting a resounding kiss on his cheek. 'I'm so glad to see you!' And she added in a whisper: 'I'm so proud of you, and I was so worried about you. You know you're our greatest hero now, don't you?'

Ace twisted up his lips scornfully and said: 'Didn't want to bring her. Told her it was a business trip, not a pleasure party. But there's no talking sense to her.'

It was true. Julie was hard to argue with. When she really wanted something, she swooped like some exotic whirlwind, smothering you with her perfume, overwhelming you with a torrent of words, demanding, laughing, imploring and threatening all at the same time, and her mischievous dark-blue eyes glittered and sparkled with devilment. At an exhibition in Paris Green had seen a portrait of an actress by the fashionable artist Renoir. It could have been a picture of Julie - it looked exactly like her.

It would have been better for the job, kept matters simpler, if Ace had come alone. Nonetheless, Green was glad to see her. But this feeling was not right, so he knitted his brows and said, more sternly than necessary: 'You shouldn't have. At least don't get in the way.'

'When have I ever got in the way?' she asked, pouting prettily. 'I'll be as quiet as a teeny-weeny little mouse. You won't see me or hear me. Where are we going now? To an apartment or a hotel? I need to take a bath and tidy myself up. I'm sure I look a real fright.'

A fright was the last thing she looked like, as she knew perfectly well, so Green turned away and beckoned to a cabby. 'The Hotel Bristol.'

'Why not? - of course we can. Today if you like. If you can find me ten likely young blades,' Ace drawled lazily as he polished a manicured nail.

This affected air of laziness was evidently the apotheosis of bandit chic.

'Today?' Green asked suspiciously. Are you sure?' The specialist shrugged impassively: Ace never makes idle promises. We'll net half a million, at least.' 'Where? How?'

The bandit smiled and Green suddenly understood what Julie had seen in this flashy young buck: the broad smile revealed Ace's white teeth and lent his features an expression of boyish, harum-scarum devilment.

'I'll tell you where later. And how after that. First I have to take a sniff around. I've got two rich targets in Moscow covered: the treasury of the military district and the forwarding office of the state financial instruments depository. I have to choose. We can" take either of them, if we're not afraid of spilling a bit of blood. There are plenty of guards, but that's no real problem.'

'But can't you do it without bloodshed?' Julie asked.

She had already changed into a scarlet silk robe and let her hair down, but had not yet reached the bathroom. She had spurned the room booked for Ace by Green and the suitcases had been carried from the sleigh to a de luxe apartment on the piano nobile. That was her business. It was beyond Green's understanding what people found so enjoyable about luxury, but he felt no moral condemnation for this weakness.

'Better steal apples if you don't like blood,' Ace said dismissively getting to his feet. 'My share's one third. We'll go this evening. If the job's at the treasury - at half past five. If there's a delivery from the depository today, at five. Tell your men to gather at the meeting place. They'll need revolvers and bombs. And a sleigh - a light one, American-style. Smear the runners with pork fat. And a horse, of course - one that flies like a swallow. You be here. I'll be back in about three hours.'

When Ace left and Julie went to take her bath, Green twirled the handle of the Erickson telephone on the wall and asked the hotel telephonist to give him subscriber number 38-34. After the untidy evacuation from Ostozhenka Street he had made Needle tell him her number - contact via the post box was too slow for the present circumstances.

When he heard a woman's voice in the earpiece he said: 'It's me.'

'Hello, Mr Sievers,' Needle replied, using the agreed code name.

'The goods will be despatched today. It's a large delivery; all your employees will be required. They should go to the shop immediately and wait there. And they should bring their tools, the full set. We'll be needing a sleigh too. Fast and light.'

'That's all clear. I'll give instructions straight away' Needle's voice trembled with excitement. 'Mr Sievers, please, I'd like to ask you ... Can I not be involved? I would be a great help to you.'

Green said, nothing and looked out of the window, feeling annoyed. He had to refuse in a way that would not offend her.

'I don't think that's necessary,' he said at last. 'We have plenty of men, and you will be more useful if—'

He didn't finish, because at that moment two hot, naked arms gently wound themselves round his neck from behind. One unfastened a button and slid in under his shirt, the other stroked his cheek. He felt a warm breath tickling the back of his neck, then it was scorched by the touch of tender lips.

'I can't hear you,' the shrill voice squeaked in his ear. 'Mr Sievers, I can't hear you any more!'

The hand that had crept under the shirt began playing tricks that made Green catch his breath.

'... If you stay by the telephone ...' he said, forcing the words out with an effort.

'But I asked you specially! I told you that I possess all the requisite skills!' the earpiece persisted.

But in his other ear a low, chesty voice crooned: 'Greeny, darling. Come on ...'

'You ... Carry out your instructions,' Green mumbled into the mouthpiece and hung up.

Turning round, he saw a hot pink glow, and suddenly there was a fine crack in his secure steel shell. The crack spread rapidly, widening to release a torrent of something long ago locked away deep inside and forgotten, something that paralysed his mind and will.

The briefing began at half past two.

The barrister who owned the apartment where they gathered was presently in Warsaw, conducting the defence of a hussar who had shot an empty-headed actress out of scorned love. They were a large group - eleven men and one woman. One man spoke and the others listened - so attentively that the famous professor of history, Klyuchevsky himself, would have envied the orator.

The listeners were seated around him on chairs arranged along three walls of the barrister's study. Pinned to the fourth wall was a sheet of heavy paper, on which the instructor was drawing squares, circles and arrows in charcoal.

Green was already aware of the plan of action - Ace had told him about it on the way from the hotel - and so he was watching the listeners rather than the diagram. The arrangements were sensible and simple, but whether they would work depended entirely on those carrying them into effect, most of whom had never taken part in an ex and never even heard the whistle of bullets.

He could rely on Emelya, Rahmet and Ace himself. Bullfinch would do his best, but he was a greenhorn who had never smelled gunpowder. Green had no idea at all what sort of stuff the six lads from the Moscow combat squad were made of.

Green had seen two of them in the tea rooms on Maroseika Street: Nail, a worker from the Guzhonov plant, and Marat, a medical student. All they had managed to do there was give themselves away by staring too hard at Rahmet in their eagerness. The other four - Arsenii, Beaver, Schwartz and Nobel (the last two, both chemistry students, had chosen their aliases in honour of the inventors of gunpowder and dynamite) - looked scarcely more than boys. But they would be up against experienced guards. He hoped the guards wouldn't mow down the entire junior school.

Julie was sitting in the corner, with her eyebrows knitted in studious concentration. There was no reason at all for her to be there. As he looked at her, Green felt himself blushing, something that hadn't happened to him for more than ten years. With an effort of will, he drove the scorching memories of what had happened that day deeper, for analysis at some later time. His self-esteem and the strength of his protective shell had suffered substantial damage, but he was sure it could all be restored. He just had to think of a way. Not now. Later.

He cast a glance at Ace - not of guilt, but of appraisal. How would the specialist react if he knew? Obviously, the operation would be wrecked, since in the terms of criminal morality Ace had suffered a deadly insult. That was the main danger, Green told himself; but, glancing at Julie again, he suddenly had doubts: was it really? No, the main danger, of course, lay in her.

She had broken his steely will and iron discipline with ease. She was life itself, and everyone knew that life was stronger than any rules or dogmas. Grass grew through asphalt, water wore holes in rocks, a woman could soften the hardest of hearts. Especially a woman like that.

It had been a mistake to let Julie into the revolutionary movement. Mirthful pink playmates like that, who held out the promise of joyful oblivion, were not for the crusaders of the revolution. The travelling companions for them were steely-grey Amazons. Like Needle.

She was the one who ought to be sitting there, not Julie, who only distracted the men from the job with her bright plumage. But Needle had taken offence. She had brought the men to the apartment and left without waiting for Green. It was his fault again - he had spoken clumsily to her on the telephone.

'Well, why have you all pleated up your foreheads like accordions?' Ace laughed, wiping his dirty fingers on his black trousers of expensive English wool. 'Don't get the sulks, revolution! A hold-up needs gumption, not sour faces. You have to go at it cheerily, with your spirits up. And if anyone swallows a lead pellet, it means his time was up. Dying young is as sweet as honey. When you're old and sick it's frightening, but for one of us it's just like downing a glass of vodka on a frosty day: it stings, but not for long. You gulls don't even have to do much; Green and me will see to all the important stuff. And then it goes like this ...' - he turned to speak directly to Green. 'We sling the loot into the sleigh and scram, we go to the India Inn, where Julietta will be waiting for us. It's a trading place, a market; nobody will be surprised to see sacks there. While I'm driving the horse, you have to cover the official seals with plain sackcloth, no one will ever twig it's not bay leaves we're carrying, but six hundred grand. Once we're inside, we divvy up. Like we agreed: two for me, four for you. And then adieu, until we meet again, but not too soon. Ace will be on the spree for a long time with that kind of loot.' He winked at Julie. 'We'll go to Warsaw, then on to Paris and from there - anywhere you like.'

Julie smiled tenderly and affectionately at him, then smiled at Green in exacdy the same way. It was incredible, but Green could not read even a hint of guilt or embarrassment in her eyes.

'Now leave,' he said, getting to his feet. 'First Ace and Julie.

Then Nail and Marat. Then Schwartz, Beaver and Nobel.'

He gave them his final instructions as he saw them off in the hallway, trying to speak clearly, without swallowing his words.

'Throw the beam across at ten minutes to, no sooner and no later. Or the yard-keepers might roll it away ... Fire without breaking cover. Stick one hand out and blaze away. You don't need to shoot them, just deafen them and keep them busy ... The most important thing is that none of you should catch a bullet. There'll be no time to carry away any wounded. And we can't leave anyone behind. Anyone who's wounded and can't walk has to shoot himself. Do as Rahmet and Emelya tell you.'

When the last three had left, Green locked the door and was about to go back into the study when he suddenly noticed the corner of something white sticking out of the pocket of his black coat that was hanging on the hallstand.

Immediately realising what it was, he froze on the spot and instructed his heart not to falter in its rhythm. He took out the sheet of paper, lifted it up very close to his eyes (it was dark in the hallway) and read:

The city is sealed off by gendarmes. You must not show yourself at the railway stations and turnpikes. The blockade is under the command of Colonel Sverchinsky. Tonight he will be at the Nikolaevsky Station, in the duty stationmaster's office. Try to exploit this and strike to create a diversion.

And most important of all: beware of Rahmet, he is a traitor.

TG

Noting in passing that this note was not typed on an Underwood, like the previous ones, but on a Remington, Green began rubbing his forehead to make his brain work faster.

'Green, what are you doing out there?' he heard Emelya's voice call. 'Come here!'

'One moment!' he shouted back. 'I'll just go to the lavatory'

In the water closet he leaned against the marble wall and began counting off the points to consider, starting with the least important.

Where had the letter come from? When had it arrived? When Green went to the station he was wearing Rahmet's short coat, not his own black one - he had taken a bomb with him just in case, and Rahmet's coat had handy pockets. The black coat had been hanging on the hallstand all day long. That narrowed the circle somewhat. Everyone who was in St Petersburg could be excluded. And so could the Moscow lads - provided, of course, that TG was a single person, and not two or more. Perhaps this 'G' stood for 'group' too? Terrorist Group? Meaningless. All right, he'd think about it later.

Sverchinsky. It was an excellent idea - if not for the ex. Kill a high-ranking gendarme officer and at the same time divide the police's attention. A diversionary strike was just what was required. After all, the important thing was not to escape from Moscow themselves, but to get the money through. Time was short. But would they have enough men for both operations? That would only be clear after the ex.

And then he came to the most difficult thing in the note: the part underlined in blue pencil.

Rahmet, a traitor? Was that possible?

Yes, Green told himself. It was.

That would explain the glint of challenge and triumph in Rahmet's eyes. He hadn't been broken by the gendarmes, he was working his way into a new role. Mephistopheles, Dick Turpin or whoever he imagined himself to be.

But what if TG's information was wrong? TG had never been wrong before, but this was a matter of a comrade's life.

Since the day before, Green had made sure that Rahmet didn't leave the apartment. Today he had ordered Emelya to keep a close eye on the former Uhlan to see if he started acting suspiciously after his nocturnal escapade.

The plan had been to give Rahmet the riskiest job at the expropriation. What could be better than action for showing if a man was honest or not? But as things stood now, he couldn't take Rahmet to the ex.

Having reached his decision, Green pressed the copper knob of the flush mechanism, that latest innovation of sanitary technology, and walked out of the lavatory.

Rahmet, Emelya, Bullfinch and Arsenii, the son of the apartment's absent owner, were standing in front of the charcoal diagram.

Aha, at last,' said Bullfinch, his eyes aglow with excitement as he turned to Green. 'We're worried about whether you and Ace can manage. After all, there are only two of you, and there's an entire gang of us.'

'It's far too risky,' said Rahmet, supporting the boy. And then, aren't you trusting this Rocambole from a priest's family a bit too far? What if he does a flit with the money? Let me go with you, and Emelya can throw the bomb.'

'No, I'll throw the bomb!' Bullfinch exclaimed. 'Emelya has to give the lads their orders.'

Is it the danger he's afraid of, or something else? Green thought, about Rahmet. In a dry voice that brooked no objections, he said: Ace and I will manage, just the two of us. Emelya will throw the bomb. Once it's thrown, run round the corner. Don't wait for it to explode. Just yell first, so everyone knows you've thrown it. Get down behind the wall and tell them when to shoot. And Rahmet's not going to the expropriation.'

'What do you mean by that?' Rahmet exclaimed furiously.

'You can't go,' Green explained. 'It's your own fault. They're looking for you. All the police agents have your description. You'll only get us killed. Stay here, by the telephone.'

They moved off at a quarter past four - a little earlier than they were supposed to.

Outside in the yard, Green looked back.

Rahmet was standing at the window. He saw Green looking and waved.

They walked out of the gateway into the lane. 'Damn,' said Green. 'Forgot my cleaning rod. Got to have it -what if a cartridge gets stuck?'

Crimson-faced with excitement, Bullfinch chirped up: 'Let me run and get it. Where did you leave it? On the locker, right?' And he turned to dash off; but Emelya grabbed hold of his collar.

'Stop, you little hothead! You can't go back. This is your first operation - it's a bad sign.'

'Wait in the sleigh, I'll just be a moment,' Green said and turned back.

He didn't walk straight out into the yard; first he glanced out cautiously from the gateway. There was no one standing at the window.

He ran quickly across the yard and up the stairs to the piano nobile. The door had been specially oiled and it didn't squeak.

Leaving his boots on the staircase, he walked into the apartment without making a sound. He crept stealthily past the dining room and heard Rahmet's voice from the study, where the telephone was.

'Yes, yes, twelve, seventy-four. And quickly, please, miss, this is an urgent matter ... Security? Is that the Department of Security? I need—'

Green cleared his throat.

Rahmet dropped the mouthpiece and spun round.

For a moment his face looked odd - without any expression at all. Green realised Rahmet didn't know if the fatal words had been overheard and didn't know what part he ought to play -comrade or traitor. So that was what Rahmet's real face looked like. Blank. Like a classroom blackboard that has been cleaned with a dry rag, leaving dusty white smears.

But the face was only blank for a second. Rahmet realised that he had been found out, the corners of his mouth extended into a mocking leer and his eyes narrowed contemptuously.

'What is it, Greeny - don't trust your comrade-in-arms then? Well, well, I never expected that from an old softy like you. Why are you standing to attention like a little tin soldier?'

Green stood there stock-still with his arms at his sides and didn't even move a muscle when the cornflower-blue man snatched a Bulldog revolver out of his pocket.

'What are you doing here on your own?' Rahmet lisped, '- without Emelya or little Bullfinch? Or did you come to prick my conscience? The trouble is, Greeny old boy, I don't have a conscience. You know that. A pity, but now I'll have to eliminate you. Handing you in alive would have been far more impressive. What are you gawping at? I hate you, you blockhead.'

There was only one thing Green still had to find out - whether Rahmet had been collaborating with the Okhranka for a long time or had only been recruited yesterday.

He asked him: 'How long?'

'Let's say from the very beginning. You lifeless, long-faced bastards have made me feel sick for ages. And especially you, you thick-headed dolt! Yesterday I met a man far more interesting than you.'

'What does "TG" mean?' Green asked, just in case.

'Eh?' Rahmet said in surprise. 'What's that you say?'

There were no more questions, and Green didn't waste any more time. He flung the knife that was clutched in his right hand and dropped to the floor, to avoid being winged by a shot.

But there was no shot.

The Bulldog fell on the carpet as Rahmet clutched with both hands at the handle protruding from the left side of his chest. He lowered his head, gazing in amazement at the incongruous object, and tore it out of the wound. Blood flooded the entire front of his shirt; Rahmet stared round the room with blank, unseeing eyes and collapsed on to his face ...

'Let's go,' said Green, taking a running jump into the sleigh, flopping into his seat and then slipping the small chest under it. The chest held everything they needed: detonators, false documents, spare guns. 'The rod fell under a chair. Barely managed to find it. Together as far as Khludovsky Lane. You get out there, I go on to meet Ace. And one more thing: don't come back here. After the ex, go to the lineman's place. And Arsenii too.'

Ace was already strolling along the pavement dressed as an undistinguished commercial traveller in a beaver-skin peaked cap, short coat, checked trousers and foppish white-felt boots. Green was dressed, as they had agreed, like a shop assistant. 'Where the hell have you been?' the specialist shouted at Green, getting into his role. 'Tether the horse over there and get yourself over here.'

When Green came close, the bandit winked and said in a low voice: 'Well, you and I make a right pair. When I was still a young 'un I used to like fleecing geese like us. If only you could see Julietta - you'd never recognise her. I dolled her up like a real common little lady, so they wouldn't gape at her in the India. What a ruckus - a real scandal! Didn't want to make herself look ugly, no way she didn't.'

Green turned away in order not to waste time on idle conversation. He surveyed their position and decided it was ideal. The specialist knew his job all right.

Narrow Nemetskaya Street, along which the carriage would arrive, ran in a straight line all the way from Kukuisky Bridge. They'd be able to see the convoy from a distance, and there'd be plenty of time to take a good look and get ready.

Lying across the road just in front of the crossroads was a long timber beam of exactly the right thickness - a man on horseback would ride by without any trouble, but a sleigh would have to stop. Fifty paces further back on the right there was a gap between the buildings: Somovsky Cul-de-Sac. The gunmen should be there already, waiting in ambush behind the stone wall of the churchyard. A head appeared round the corner: Emelya, taking a look.

Ace's plan was a good one - sound and simple: there was no reason to expect any complications.

It wasn't quite getting dark yet, but the light at the edges of the sky was already dimming slighdy, turning a murky grey. In half an hour the twilight would thicken, but by then the operation would already be over, and darkness would be very handy for the disengagement.

'It's five o'clock,' Ace announced, clicking shut the lid of an expensive watch on a thick platinum chain. 'They're just leaving the despatch room. We'll see them in about five minutes.'

He was taut and collected, his eyes sparkling merrily. Fate had played a cruel joke on the archpriest by planting a wolf cub like that in his family. Green was suddenly struck by an interesting theoretical question: what was to be done with characters like Ace in a free, harmonious society? Nature would still carry on producing a certain proportion of them, wouldn't she? And innate natural traits couldn't always be corrected by nurture.

There would still be dangerous professions, he thought; people with an adventurous bent would still be needed. That was where Ace and his kind would come in useful: for exploring the depths of the sea, conquering impregnable mountain peaks, testing flying machines. And later, after about another fifty years, there would be other planets to explore. There would be plenty of work for everyone.

'Clear off!' Ace shouted at a yard-keeper who was grunting as he struggled to roll the beam aside. 'That's ours; the cart'll be back in a minute to pick it up. Ah, these people, always looking for something they can pick up without paying for it.'

Faced with this furious assault, the yard-keeper withdrew behind his iron gates, leaving the street completely deserted.

'The money's coming; our little darlings are on their way,' Ace drawled in an unctuous voice. 'You get across to the other side. And don't go too early. Take your lead from me.'

At first all they could see was a long, dark blob; then they could make out individual figures - everything was exactly as Ace had said it would be.

At the front - two mounted guards with carbines over their shoulders.

Behind them - the despatch office's financial instruments carriage: a large enclosed sleigh, with a driver and two other men, a constable and a delivery agent.

Riding beside the carriage - more armed guards, two on the right, two on the left. And bringing up the rear of the convoy was a sleigh, which they couldn't make out clearly from where they were standing. It ought to be carrying another four guards with carbines.

Emelya came out from round the corner and leaned against the wall, watching the procession as it passed by. He was holding a small package: the bomb.

Green stroked the fluted handle of his Colt with his finger as he waited for the front riders to notice the beam and come to a halt. The clock above the pharmacy showed nine minutes past five.

The horses stepped indifferently over the barrier and ran on, but the driver of the carriage roared out 'Whoah!' and pulled hard on his reins.

'Where are you going?' the constable yelled, half-rising to his feet. 'Can't you see that beam? Dismount and drag it out of the way. And you give a hand too,' he added, nudging the driver.

Once he saw the convoy had halted, Emelya began strolling slowly towards the final sleigh from behind, like a curious onlooker.

When the two guards and the driver bent over and grabbed hold of the beam, Emelya took a short run, hurled his bundle and shouted in daredevil style: 'Hey-up!' He had to shout so that the guards would realise who had thrown the bomb. That was crucial for the plan.

Before the bundle had even touched the ground or the guards had realised what this strange object flying towards them was, Emelya had already spun round and set off back towards the corner.

The boom wasn't particularly loud, because the bomb was only half as powerful as an ordinary one. The power to kill wasn't needed here; this was only a demonstration. A powerful blast would have stunned the guards, or concussed them, but right now they had to have their wits about them and be quick on their feet.

A bomber!' the constable yelled, looking back over the top of the carriage. 'There he goes - ducked round the corner!'

So far everything was going according to plan. The four men sitting in the sleigh (not one of them had been hurt by the blast) jumped out one after another and went dashing after Emelya. The other four, who were still sitting in their saddles, swung their horses round and set off whistling and hallooing in the same direction.

The only armed men left near the carriage were the two who had dismounted, now caught with the beam clutched in their hands, and the constable. The driver and the delivery agent didn't count.

Just a second after the pursuers turned into the cul-de-sac, a sharp crackle of revolver shots came from round the corner. The guards would be too busy to think about the carriage now. They would be stunned by the gunfire and their own fear; they would just lie down and start blazing away.

Now it was up to Ace and Green.

They stepped into the roadway almost simultaneously, each from his own side of the street. Ace shot one guard twice in the back and Green struck the other on the back of his head with the butt of his revolver - with Green's strength that was enough. The beam dropped on to the trampled snow with a dull thud and rolled away a little distance. The driver squatted down on his haunches, covered his ears with his hands and started howling quietly.

Green waved his revolver at the constable and the delivery agent, who were sitting on the coach-box, transfixed. 'Get down. Look lively'

The agent pulled his head right down into his shoulders and jumped down clumsily, but the constable couldn't make up his mind whether to surrender or carry out his duty: he raised one hand as if he were surrendering, but fumbled blindly at his holster with the other.

'Don't play the fool,' said Green. 'I'll shoot you.'

The constable flung his second hand up in the air, but Ace fired anyway. The bullet hit the constable in the middle of his face, transforming his nose into a blackish-red hole, and the constable collapsed backwards with a strange sob, slapping his arms against the ground.

Ace grabbed hold of the delivery agent's coat collar and dragged him to the back of the carriage: 'Open it, serviceman, if you want to live!'

'I can't, I haven't got a key,' the agent whispered through lips white from terror.

Ace shot him in the forehead, stepped over his body and smashed the sealed lock with another two bullets.

There were six sacks inside, just as they had been told there would be. Green hastily scratched the letters 'CG' on the carriage door with the handle of his Colt. Let them know.

While they were carrying the loot to the sleigh, he asked as he ran: 'Why did you have to kill him? And the other one had surrendered too.'

'No one stays alive if he can identify Ace,' the specialist hissed through clenched teeth, tossing another sack over his shoulder.

The driver, who was still squatting down, heard what he said and made a run for it, hunched over.

Ace dropped his load and fired after him, but missed, and before he could fire again Green knocked the gun out of his hand.

'What are you doing?' The bandit clutched at his bruised wrist. 'He'll bring the police!'

'It doesn't matter. The job's done. Give the signal.'

Ace swore and whistled piercingly three times, and the shooting in the cul-de-sac was immediately cut by half - the whistle was the sign that the gunmen could stop firing.

The horse set off at a gallop with its studded hooves clattering and the light sleigh, not at all encumbered by its paper load, slid off weightlessly along the icy roadway.

Green looked back

A few dark, shapeless heaps on the ground. Orphaned horses nuzzling at them. The empty carriage with its doors ajar. The clock above the pharmacy. Twelve minutes after five.

That meant the expropriation had taken less than three minutes.

The India Inn stood on a dingy depressing square beside the Spice Market. A long, single-storey building - not much to look at, but it had a good stable and its own goods warehouse. This was where merchants stayed when they came to Moscow for cinnamon, vanilla, cloves and cardamoms. The entire area around the Spice Market was impregnated with exotic aromas that set your head spinning, and if you closed your eyes to blot out the snowdrifts stained yellow by horses' urine and the lopsided little houses of this artisans' quarter, you could easily imagine that you really were in India, with sumptuous palm trees waving overhead, elephants swaying gracefully as they strolled past, and a sky that was the colour it ought to be: an unfathomable, dense blue, instead of the grey and white of Moscow.

Ace's calculations were right yet again. When Green walked into the hotel carrying two heavy sacks, nobody gave him a second glance. A man carrying samples of his wares - nothing out of the ordinary there. How could anyone possibly guess that what the dark-haired shop assistant was carrying in his sacks was not spices for trading but two hundred thousand roubles' worth of brand-new banknotes - while they were driving from Nemetskaya Street, Green had covered the sealing-wax eagles and dangling lead seals with plain, ordinary sackcloth.

Julie looked strange in a cheap drap-de-dame dress, with her hair set in a simple bun at the back of her head. She flung herself on his neck, scorching his cheek with her hot breath, and murmured: 'Thank God, you're alive ... I was so worried, I was really shaking ... That's the money, right? So everything's all right, is it? What about our men? Are they all safe and well? Where's Ace?'

Green had had time to prepare himself, so he bore the rapid, ticklish kisses without a shudder. Apparently that was perfectly possible.

'On guard,' he replied calmly. 'Now we'll bring in two more each, and that's it.'

When they brought in the remaining four sacks, Julie rushed to kiss Ace in exactly the same way, and Green was finally convinced that the danger had passed. He wouldn't be caught out again; his willpower would withstand even this test.

'Do you want to count it?' he asked. 'If not, choose any two. We'll take four to the sleigh and I'll go.'

'No, no!' Julie exclaimed. She kissed her lover on the lips once again and dashed over to the window sill. 'I knew everything would be all right. Look, I've got a bottle of Cliquot cooling outside. We have to raise a glass.'

Ace walked over to the sacks lying on the floor. He swung his foot and kicked them one at a time, as if he were checking how tightly they were packed. Then he turned slightly and swung his foot, with the same springy movement, but three times as hard, straight into Green's crotch.

For an instant the sudden pain made everything go dark. Green doubled over and another crushing blow landed on the back of his head. He saw the floorboards right in front of his eyes. He must have fallen.

He knew how to handle pain, even pain as sharp as this. He had to take three convulsive breaths in, forcing the breath back out each time, and disconnect the zone of pain from his physical awareness. Once he used to spend a lot of time practising with fire (burning the palm of his hand, the inside of his elbow, the back of his knee) and he had completely mastered this difficult art.

But the blows were still raining down - on his ribs, his shoulders, his head.

‘I’ll kill you, you louse,' Ace kept repeating. ‘I’ll trample you into manure! Trying to make a gull out of me!'

There was no time to fight the pain. Green turned into the next blow and took it in his stomach, but he grabbed the felt boot and kept hold of it. From close up the boot didn't look so white: it was smeared with mud and spattered with blood. He jerked it towards himself, knocking Ace off his feet.

He let go of the boot so that his fingers could reach Ace's throat, but his adversary rolled aside and dodged out of the way.

They jumped to their feet at the same moment, face to face.

It was bad that his revolver was still in the pocket of his coat. There it was, hanging on the hallstand - a long way away, and it was pointless in any case: he couldn't fire in the room, it would bring everyone in the hotel running.

Julie froze motionless by the wall, with her eyes staring in horror and her mouth open, one hand clutching the bottle of champagne while the fingers of the other automatically tore away the gold foil.

'You bloody bitch,' the bandit said with an angry smile.

"Thought you'd swap your Ace for a spot card, did you? Take a look at him, the ugly freak. He looks like a corpse.'

'You imagined it all, Ace,' Julie babbled in a quavering voice, '- imagined the whole thing. Nothing happened.'

'Don't lie. "Nothing happened"! Ace has the eye of a falcon where treason's concerned -1 can sense it straight away. That's why I'm still walking around and not rotting in jail.'

The specialist leaned down and pulled a knife with a long, slim blade out of his boot.

'Now I'm going to carve you up, dead-eyes. Slowly, one little scrap at a time.'

Green wiped his split eyebrow with his sleeve so that the blood wouldn't blind him and held out his bare hands. He'd used his knife on Rahmet. Never mind; he could manage without a knife.

Ace moved closer, taking little steps, easily dodged a right hook and ran his knife across Green's wrist. Red drops began falling to the floor. Julie howled.

'That's for your starters,' Ace promised.

Green said: 'Quiet, Julie. You mustn't scream.'

He tried to catch hold of his opponent by the collar, but again only grabbed empty air and the sharp blade ran through his undershirt and stung his side.

'And that's for the soup.'

With his left hand Ace grabbed a carafe off the table and flung it. To avoid it hitting his head, Green had to duck down, losing sight of the specialist for a moment. The knife immediately took its opportunity, whizzing past right beside his ear, which was suddenly aflame, as if the contact had set it on fire. Green raised his hand - the top of his ear was dangling by a thin strip of skin. He tore it off and threw it into the corner. Something hot streamed down his neck.

'That was the meat course,' Ace explained. 'And now we'll get to the dessert.'

Green had to change his tactics. He retreated to the wall and stood there motionless. He had to ignore the knife. Let it cut. Throw himself towards the blade, seize his opponent's chin with one hand and the top of his head with the other, then twist sharply. Like in 1884, in the fights in the Tyumen transit prison.

But Ace was in no hurry to come at him now. He stopped three steps away, shuffling his fingers, and the knife flickered through them like a glittering snake.

All right, Julietta, now who do you choose?' he asked derisively. 'Do you want me to leave him for you? Never mind that he's all battered and cut up, you can lick his wounds for him. Or will you go with me? I've got money now, heaps of it. We could leave old Mother Russia and never come back.'

'I choose you, you,' Julie answered immediately, sobbing and rushing towards Ace 'I don't want him. It was just playing a game - seeing if I could do it. Forgive me, Acey, my sweet, you know the way I am. Compared to you he's nothing, just slobbered all over me, nothing interesting at all. Kill him. He's dangerous. He'll set all the revolutionaries on your tail; there'll be nowhere in Europe you can hide.'

The bandit winked at Green.

'Do you hear the smart woman's advice? Naturally, I was going to finish you off anyway. But you can thank Julietta for one thing. You'll go quick. I was going to play with you a bit longer - slit your nose and your eyes

The specialist didn't finish. The green bottle descended on his head with a crunch and he collapsed at Green's feet.

Ai! Ai! Ai! Ai!' Julie screeched shrilly, at regular intervals, staring in fright, first at the broken neck of the bottle, then at the man on the floor, then at the blood frothing up as it mingled with the spilled champagne.

Green stepped over the motionless body, took Julie by the shoulders and shook her firmly.