The Twelfth Department

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Korolev was crouched in the shadow of the bus-hidden, he hoped, from the main house, yet with a good view over the rest of the area inside the walls. About five minutes previously, there’d been the faintest of sounds from the main gate, then nothing-Kolya’s two bruisers must have dealt with the guard. Not long after that, Korolev had seen Goldstein slip across the lit area heading up toward the trucks; then he’d watched as Mishka and Korolev crouched beside the side door to the new building for no more than fifteen seconds, before it opened and they were in. Someone must have found a set of keys on the main gate guard-which meant they were ahead of schedule.

He looked across at Slivka, standing under a low tree, invisible unless you were looking straight at her, except for perhaps the slightest reflection of light from the shoulders of her jacket. If the walking guard kept to the route Goldstein had described, he’d pass between them. All they could do now was wait-and perhaps pray. Korolev found his hand halfway to his shoulder to cross himself when he stopped, remembering that Slivka was probably looking over at him. His hand hung there for a moment before it occurred to him that he’d more to be worried about than Slivka seeing him bless himself.

No, Slivka wasn’t someone he needed to fret about. He’d told her everything on the way out about the report, about how Madame Azarova had killed Shtange. He’d even told her about his meeting with Rodinov and the dead end the report had turned out to be. The one thing he hadn’t told her about was Goldstein’s part in the business-but that had hardly seemed polite, what with Goldstein sitting in the car beside her. Now he looked across at her and finished what he’d started, his fingers touching his shoulders, his forehead, his lips, praying she made it out of this in one piece. He’d certainly do his best to see to it.

His mind had wandered a little perhaps, so that when a door shut somewhere inside the house he was surprised. He breathed deeply, pulled the cosh from his pocket, hefted it, and reminded himself exactly what he had to do.

Now there came the sound of voices. A man’s and a woman’s. He looked across at Slivka and thought he saw her hand move-but if she meant to tell him something, he couldn’t make it out. He prepared himself, bending his knees slightly-imagining the blow and exactly where it would land.

“I’ll come with you-could do with a breath of fresh air.”

A woman’s voice. Korolev cursed under his breath, feeling a surge of alarm, but he calmed himself, thought it through. They couldn’t let the guard go past-there was no choice. Not with his friend gagged, tied, and out for the count at the main gate. Not with the door to the new building open and Mishka and Kolya busy at work. He beckoned Slivka to come forward, to distract them, and she nodded her agreement.

The footsteps were almost upon them now, one heavier, one lighter. Korolev held his breath as the pair came into view, both of them smoking, their pace slow and companionable.

“Comrades, have you a light?” Slivka asked as she stepped out from the shadow of the tree, calm as you like, and the guard was actually holding out his cigarette to her when Korolev’s blow hit him between the neck and the ear, exactly where he’d envisaged it. The fellow went down faster than a drunk on an icy pavement.

The woman turned toward him, her mouth opening to scream and he was already swinging the cosh back to deal with her, God forgive him, when Slivka took a hold of her, pulling her back, one hand over her mouth, while with the other hand she showed the woman her pistol.

“Quiet now, Comrade,” Slivka whispered in her ear, her voice gentle, “and all will be well. Make one noise though-and you won’t make another. Understand?”

The woman’s eyes were fixed on Korolev and it occurred to him that his face must be clearly visible in the light that was spilling over the top of the bus. It seemed her eyes were begging him for something.

“I asked whether you understood,” Slivka whispered again, pressing the barrel of the Tokarev into the woman’s cheek. The woman nodded, once.

“Take her over to the trees,” Korolev managed to say, wondering for the first time why the hell he hadn’t had enough sense to make sure he and Slivka had covered their faces. If they did manage to rescue Yuri from this place-who would Zaitsev first suspect? Korolev. And now there was a witness as well. He felt sick to the pit of his stomach.

He leaned down and checked the guard’s pulse. There was one-which was good. The last thing they wanted was a fatality during the course of the evening. He took the guard under the arms, pulled him up and then swing him over his shoulder, stumbling as he did so. The fellow was no featherweight and Korolev, it seemed, wasn’t as young and strong as he’d once been-but he made it as far as the bushes, where he dropped the guard down as softly as he could, searching him quickly and finding a bunch of keys and a packet of cigarettes. He took both-and the Nagant revolver from the fellow’s holster for good measure. Then he tied the guard’s hands behind his back and lashed his feet together. Finally he gagged him, leaving him on his side, curled up like a child-still out for the count.