The Twelfth Department

CHAPTER NINE

“Papa?”

Yuri’s voice came from the other side of the bedroom. Two streets away a cockerel crowed, as it did every morning, and Korolev, as he did every morning, wondered how the bird had managed to survive this long. There were plenty of people in Moscow who’d happily eat a cockerel given half a chance, cooked or uncooked. Its owner must guard it well.

“Yuri?” Korolev said. His voice sounded like the creak of a barn door.

“You’re sure you won’t have to go to work today?”

“As I told you,” Korolev said, his eyes still firmly shut, “they’ve assigned the investigation to someone else. Which means we can do anything we want.”

“Anything?”

“Yes,” Korolev said, but he didn’t fully trust his answer. Who knew what a twelve-year-old boy might want to do?

He heard Yuri get out of bed and pad over to him.

“We could go to the zoo then, couldn’t we?”

Korolev opened his left eye to see Yuri looking down at him. Weak sunlight was streaming in through the gap in the curtains and footsteps were moving back and forth above his head as the people upstairs prepared to face the day. They wouldn’t be so loud if they put down a carpet. He should mention it to them.

“The zoo?” Korolev looked at his watch. A quarter past six already. “Isn’t it a bit early for the zoo?”

“Natasha says they feed the lions at eight.” Yuri crossed his arms and turned his face toward the window, avoiding Korolev’s gaze as if expecting a refusal. “With red meat.”

Something about the thought of the red meat seemed to cheer Yuri up, however, and he smiled slowly. No doubt he was imagining the gore.

“Red meat, you say?” Korolev allowed his open eye to close naturally.

“Blood red. She says sometimes they give them a goat. A whole goat. But not alive—at least I don’t think so anyway. Although Natasha says sometimes the goats are alive, but I’m sure that can’t be right.” Yuri paused, his mouth twisting sideways as he considered this.

“That Natasha says a lot.” Korolev turned onto his side so that now he was facing his son.

“Well,” Yuri said, “I suppose the goats might be alive—every now and then. You know, for authenticity—what good would a lion be if it didn’t remember what it was to hunt?”

“That’s a good question.” Korolev made the effort to open both his eyes now, look at his son fondly and smile. He even managed to push himself up onto his elbow. This was what it was to be young, he supposed—to think that anything was possible.

Yuri, after a moment, smiled back.

“Torn to pieces?” Korolev continued, fighting a yawn. “Now that would be a sight to see.”

Moscow’s zoo was located only a few streets from where Korolev had lived when he was Yuri’s age. And sometimes back then—not often, but occasionally—a boy might hear a lion roar—a strange and marvelous sound in the middle of a Moscow winter. The memory persuaded Korolev to push down the sheet and get out of bed.

“But I thought the zoo didn’t open until nine?”

“That’s the best thing of all, Valentina Nikolayevna called her friend there yesterday evening and she can give us a tour before it even opens. A whole zoo just for us.”

Korolev remembered something about this friend of Valentina’s from the morning before.

“So she called her, did she?” Korolev looked down at his son—the boy looked a little unsure, apprehensive even. And it occurred to Korolev that he must seem a remote figure to Yuri. They barely saw each other these days. Well, if Zhenia was going to pair up with some fellow back in Zagorsk, then it would be no bad thing if the boy took away a memory or two from this trip that was worth savoring.

“They could be alive, I suppose—the goats.” Korolev stretched his arms above his head. “It would be a shame to miss it if they were.”

Yuri said nothing—but his smile was so broad that Korolev wondered whether the youngster’s face was wide enough to hold it all in.

From then on, things moved quickly—not least because Natasha and Yuri nipped around the adults’ heels like sheepdogs, urging them here and there. Natasha and Yuri seemed to be engaged in some kind of competition as to who could have their parent ready first. As a result, washing and dressing was brisker than Korolev might have liked, while breakfast was a rushed but hearty affair. In no time at all, it seemed, they were boarding a tram, which then hurtled around the Boulevard Ring. And by 7:50 they were exchanging comradely greetings with the famous Vera beside the zoo’s newly colonnaded entrance.

Korolev’s last visit had been his only visit, even though he’d grown up not five minutes’ walk along what was now Barrikadnaya Street—back then there hadn’t been enough spare money to come to places such as this. The exception, however, had been the day before Korolev had departed for the German War—he’d had a month’s pay in his pocket and he’d decided to treat his mother while he still could.

“Is there something on your mind?” Valentina asked him. They were following Vera, who, at the children’s insistence, was taking them straight to the lion enclosure. Valentina’s voice was gentle and she took his elbow as if to reassure him that whatever he was thinking of, it was nothing to worry about.

“I was just recalling the last time I was here.”

He looked around him and thought it was strange that he could remember, as though it were yesterday, the weight and feel of the uniform he’d been wearing, the heat of the day, the sound of church bells somewhere near and, oddly, the smell of a woman’s perfume—and yet he couldn’t recall anything about the place itself. It was as if he’d never been here before. Oddest of all was that he’d no recollection of his mother—and that afternoon had been the last time he’d seen her.

“Dead,” Yuri said, and Korolev looked down at him in surprise, wondering if he’d been talking aloud. But Yuri only had eyes for the lions and the creature they were devouring. Korolev followed his gaze and couldn’t tell what animal the carcass might have been.

“A sheep,” Vera said, as if reading his mind.

“We must have come on the wrong day,” Natasha whispered. “Or perhaps it had a heart attack when it saw the lions.”

“I hope you’re not suggesting we’d ever feed a live animal to them, Natasha. That would be barbaric.”

Vera spoke firmly but Korolev saw Natasha exchange a glance with Yuri that seemed to say: “That’s what she wants you to believe. The truth is something else again.”

“When was that?” Valentina asked Korolev. “The last time you were here?”

“Before the Revolution—a long time ago.”

“We’ve made many improvements since then,” Vera said. “Now we have an area devoted to the animals that underpin the fur industry—so that we can demonstrate nature within its socialist and industrial context.”

Korolev couldn’t help but exchange a glance with Valentina, who looked away quickly and covered her mouth as if she might be about to cough.

Not far along from the lions were the elephants—four of them. The huge creatures used their trunks to pick up carrots, two and three at a time, and place them in their mouths—all with a dexterity that had Yuri rubbing his nose in speculation.

“So much food,” Valentina said, in a quiet voice—not for the children’s ears, nor Vera’s either. No one must have told the elephants that belts needed to be tightened if they were to complete the Five Year Plan in record time. Or maybe elephants weren’t subject to the Five Year Plan. Perhaps they worked to a completely different schedule of industrial development—one that allowed them to guzzle as many carrots as they wanted to.

At Vera’s suggestion a young keeper, a bit of an athlete it seemed, persuaded the largest of the beasts to rear its head back and took a hold of her tusks, before using them to do chin-ups. The keeper looked over to the children, proud of his bulging biceps no doubt, and Korolev found that his mouth had curled with disdain of its own accord. He rearranged it into what he hoped might be a polite smile.

“Look, Mama—look,” Natasha squealed, delighted by the buffoon.

“Do you see him?” Yuri said, turning to Korolev to point him out as well. Korolev nodded approvingly, although his instinct was to go over and give the fellow a good shake. Not least because it seemed to him that the rascal wasn’t performing for the children, but rather for Valentina. And that sly smile he’d pasted on his handsome face had more than a suggestion of charming sweet-nothings about it, damn him.

“Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen,” the children counted and with each number Korolev’s mood darkened further. It was a shame elephants weren’t carnivorous, really—it would be upsetting for the children, of course, but they’d recover in time. Children were surprisingly resilient to that kind of thing.

Korolev decided it was best to turn away before he said something unfortunate and, as he did so, he spotted none other than Count Kolya, Chief Authority of the Moscow Thieves, standing on the other side of the small square, looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Korolev couldn’t believe his eyes for a moment—but it was Kolya all right, and the Thief wasn’t only looking right back at him, he was waving him over.

It occurred to Korolev that it would be unusual for Kolya to be out on his own and, sure enough, a quick glance around the environs revealed little Mishka, Kolya’s right-hand man, sitting in companionable silence with an outsized fellow, just past the polar bears. There’d be others nearby as well, he didn’t doubt—Kolya wasn’t a man who liked to take unnecessary risks.

Korolev said nothing to Valentina and the children, who anyway were all still beaming at the damned elephant keeper, and took a stroll over to Kolya, taking his time about it and allowing his gaze to wander over the surroundings—just in case.

The Thief nodded as he approached and Korolev was struck by how much older Kolya looked than when he’d last seen him—but the dark eyes were as intense as ever, and his presence just as menacing. Kolya might pretend gregariousness when it suited him, but he hadn’t become overlord of the criminal clans through charm alone.

“Korolev, it’s nice to see you in the company of friends. I worry about your solitary existence sometimes.”

Kolya spoke quietly, almost as if he were sincere.

“I worry about you too, Kolya. I worry about how you’ll fare in the Zone.”

“In the Zone? I think you know how I’ll fare,” Kolya said, shrugging. “I’ll do just fine—a prison camp is like a holiday for me.”

Korolev took the opportunity to scan the area around them once again—it wouldn’t be healthy for him if he was seen chatting away to a man wanted for any number of criminal acts. It was just the kind of meeting that could be misconstrued these days.

“How did you get in here, anyway?”

“I have acquaintances in strange places, Korolev—and not only you, either. Don’t worry, we were careful. I wanted to talk to you and when it turned out you were coming here, I made my way over. I wasn’t far away.”

Korolev glanced over at Mishka. He hadn’t looked for a tail earlier, but it was doubtful he’d have seen Mishka even if he had.

“Well,” he said, “I’m listening.”

“This investigation of yours—into the Azarov killing. I’ve some things to tell you about it.”

Korolev felt the muscles in his shoulders tense at the mere mention of the Azarov business—he’d almost forgotten about the aborted investigation, not without effort, and yet here it was, rearing its ugly head again already.

“I’m off the case, Kolya—it’s nothing to do with me.”

“Really?” Kolya said. “Is that how it is with you, these days?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not the Korolev I know, is all. You’re the Ment who always gets his man, come hell or high water.”

“I’m also the Ment who keeps my nose out of anything to do with State Security.”

That made Kolya smile, understandably—his thick mustache curving upward in what Korolev suspected was something close to mockery. It struck Korolev, not for the first time, how similar Kolya was in appearance to Stalin. It made him wonder, sometimes.

“Really, Korolev? Every time I meet you you’re up to your neck in Chekists.”

“Well, I’ve learned my lesson.”

Kolya came closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Listen, Korolev, if you knew what went on at that institute—believe me, it would interest you.”

“You think so, do you?”

“I’m certain of it, or I’ve misjudged you. And I don’t misjudge men often.”

Kolya pulled at his mustache with his tattooed hand. Korolev saw the circled crown of a ranking Thief on one of the fingers and remembered who he was dealing with.

“Kolya, even if I did give a damn about this institute—I’d have to ask myself why you of all people would come and tell me about it. In my experience you’ve never done anything that hasn’t been for your own benefit—in some way or another.”

“You see, I knew you’d be interested. And why shouldn’t I assist the forces of law and order when we both seek the same thing?”

“The forces of law and order are looking into the matter, believe me—I’ve seen them at it.”

“No, they’re not, Korolev. The men who’ve taken over your investigation have no interest in law or order, and certainly not in justice. You, on the other hand? You there’s hope for.”

Korolev shrugged his shoulders.

“There’s nothing I can do, Kolya. Even if I hadn’t been ordered off that investigation, I’d still avoid it. That case is trouble.”

“Oh—it’s trouble all right. I don’t deny that—but a man like you doesn’t mind such things. You’ve a son, Korolev—other men do too. And men’s sons have died there. Don’t you owe something to them? What if your son ended up in such a place?”

“I owe no one anything when it comes to Professor Azarov and his institute, and even if I did I couldn’t do anything about it, Kolya. That’s all there is to it.” Korolev nodded a farewell and turned away. “Put Mishka in with the wolves before you go.”

Kolya said something in response that sounded like it might be a threat, or perhaps a curse. Korolev wasn’t sure which and didn’t much care—it was true what he’d said. There was nothing Korolev could do. Nothing at all.

“Someone you know?” Valentina looked at him inquiringly as he rejoined the others.

“Unfortunately,” Korolev said, deciding to forget about the conversation, even as another part of his brain couldn’t help but wonder what it might have been that Kolya had gone to such lengths to try to tell him.

“You’re worried about something.” Valentina slipped her hand inside his elbow again, as naturally as if they’d been together for a lifetime. He felt his whole being fizz at her touch and he was sure he was blushing. He must be.

“I was worried the elephant would lose his tusks the way that idiot kept tugging on them,” he said, coming out with the first thing that came to mind.

Valentina’s peal of laughter made everyone turn to look at her.

“Korolev, you make me laugh sometimes.”

“I make myself laugh sometimes as well,” he said, his voice gruff with embarrassment. How was it that here he was, well past forty and a hardened cop of long standing, and this woman could make him feel like a schoolboy once again?

He turned to find his son examining him carefully, and he wasn’t the only one—Natasha wasn’t hiding her interest either. He summoned all his courage and returned their gaze with what he hoped was a calm demeanor.

He had the impression neither of them was fooled.