The Twelfth Department

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Korolev was able to persuade the garage at Petrovka to send a car to the Militia post across the square and occupied himself during the time it took to arrive by calling Yasimov. His old friend looked grim-faced when he pulled up outside his building not fifteen minutes later.

“This better be important-I’ve had half the kommunalka threatening to kill me over you disturbing their sleep with your phone call,” Yasimov said, opening the car door. His eyes widened when he saw the state Korolev was in.

“A long story,” Korolev said, “and not all of which I can tell you.”

But he told him what he could-and the fact that Yuri was alone somewhere out near Babel’s summer house and how he was back on the Azarov case. Yasimov didn’t ask any questions, only nodded.

“We’ll find him-don’t worry.”

* * *

Korolev drove as if the devil himself were snapping at the rear bumper of the Packard. He threw the heavy car round one corner so hard that its chassis rose onto two wheels, teetering for a moment on the point of turning over before it crashed back down.

“Lyoshka,” Yasimov said. “We’ll never get there if we’re dead.”

Korolev took his point and slowed to a more reasonable speed-but even so, he barely lifted his foot from the accelerator the whole journey. By the time he’d reached Peredelkino he was drenched in sweat from the heat of the engine and the effort of bullying the car to do his will. But he at least retained enough good sense to coast down the slope toward the dacha, rolling to a silent stop about fifty meters away.

By now the darkness had given way to a shadowy half-light. Not the slightest breeze moved through the silent trees but the birds must already be stretching themselves in their nests to greet the day. Korolev and Yasimov walked along the gravel drive that led toward the house, their footsteps the only sound, and Korolev hoped his hunch that Yuri would have stayed close to the house-at least until dawn-was right. After all, this was the only spot he knew apart from the river. They moved as quietly as they could, but they must have been making more noise than he thought, because a white face appeared at the caretaker’s window. Not long afterward, Lipski opened the door to his small house, looking at Korolev with sympathy.

“They let you go?”

“They really did just want to talk to me.”

Lipski’s glance took in Korolev’s battered face but he said nothing.

“I see.” Lipski ran fingers through his thick beard. “I’ve kept an eye out but there’s been no sign of him-I’m sorry.”

* * *

They searched the woods, calling Yuri’s name, until the sun came up and it was time for Korolev to leave.

“Mitya,” Korolev said to his friend, “I have to go-if he’s still in the locality, my guess is he’ll try to take a train to Moscow.”

“I’d better get down to the station, then.”

“If he manages to get that far, he’ll try and make his way to Bolshoi Nikolo-Vorobinsky-can you call Valentina Nikolayevna? Just in case. Tell her what’s happened and ask her to make sure people keep an eye out for him?”

Yasimov nodded, then put a hand on Korolev’s arm.

“Don’t worry, brother. We’ll find him for you-see if we don’t.”

But Korolev couldn’t shake the fear he felt for his son, despite the reassurance Yasimov offered him