The Twelfth Department

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

When Slivka left for the night, Korolev called Rodinov to give him the daily report he’d requested and, to his surprise, he was put straight through. Korolev told the colonel of each twist and turn the day had brought and, because it was Rodinov he was speaking to, he didn’t leave too many of them out. It turned out the men looking for Yuri were most certainly not Rodinov’s.

When he’d finished, there was silence on the other end of the line. It carried on for so long that Korolev began to wonder if he’d been cut off. “Comrade Colonel?”

“I’m thinking, Korolev. Just thinking.”

There was another long pause but this time Korolev allowed it to run its natural course.

“This investigation is becoming complicated,” Rodinov said, just as Korolev had resigned himself to waiting on the line for all eternity. “Well, it’s more than just an investigation now-it would be better described as a chess game. You are obviously one of the pieces and it seems the other side has decided you are worth attacking-indirectly, so far. But you should know things may get more difficult for you.”

“More difficult than my son being missing and the Twelfth Department’s men looking for him?”

“You’re still at liberty, Korolev, and as far as we’re aware, so is your ex-wife. And your son, for that matter. And we don’t know for certain these men were from the Twelfth Department. Although I’d be surprised if they weren’t.”

Korolev held the phone tight in his grip-there were many things he wanted to say, and not one of them he could.

“Do you play chess, Korolev?”

“I’ve played it, but not for many years. Maybe once or twice with Yuri.”

“That’s a shame-I think you’d be a good player. Solid, mostly, but capable of identifying an opportunity when it comes along. More importantly you know how to be brave when you need to be, to risk defeat in order to achieve victory.”

“If you say so, Comrade Colonel.”

But Korolev suspected that in a chess game like this defeat was permanent.

“You’re in a difficult situation, Korolev. Your former wife’s situation is also precarious. And, it seems to me, your son is in a difficult position as well.”

Korolev felt his hand grip the telephone so hard it seemed possible he would crush it, but he somehow managed to hold his tongue.

“I think I can intervene in your wife’s predicament-I’d like to take her off the board, if that were possible.”

Korolev didn’t know what the colonel was suggesting and didn’t think he could ask either.

“But with regard to your son we must accept it’s a strong possibility that they’ll find him before we do. And if they do find him first, Korolev, the question is-how will they use him?”

That wasn’t a question Korolev much wanted to consider, let alone answer. The colonel was silent again-no doubt thinking. Korolev wondered if the colonel had a son, and just what he’d be thinking if it was his child out there on the streets of Moscow being hunted by Chekists.

“Well, Korolev,” Rodinov said eventually. “Whatever happens, you must remember that your best chance of coming out of this in one piece is with me. You probably already know too much to be allowed to survive long if Zaitsev wins. Will you remember that?”

“I will, Comrade Colonel,” Korolev said.

“Good. And from now on you’ll report to me face-to-face. The telephone isn’t ideal for this kind of conversation. Five o’clock tomorrow-at the side entrance to the Lubyanka. In the meantime, carry on as you’ve done so far-it’s having an effect, it seems. I wish you luck, Korolev.”

The colonel hung up and for a moment Korolev sat listening to the hum of the telephone line in his ear and feeling more alone than he ever had.

Except that wasn’t entirely the case. There had been one other time. Nineteen sixteen-the summer-he’d been cut off during some pointless battle that had raged for the best part of a week. He’d spent two days in a shell hole between the lines, knowing if he stuck his head above the ground he’d be shot at by both sides. Just him, half a bottle of water, and four dead men. Or what was left of them. And German and Russian shells falling around him as each side tried to work out if the other was coming at them.

He sat there for a moment, remembering it-and coming to the conclusion that his current situation was worse. In 1916, his son hadn’t been in the shell hole with him.