The Twelfth Department

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

It was always going to end this way, he supposed.

Korolev stood beside Slivka in a darkened room on the upper floor, watching another carload of men arrive. Svalov, Zaitsev’s tubby assistant, sent them up to the main house with Blanter—the boxer. Korolev closed his eyes and felt every last drop of energy drain away from him. Svalov had already surrounded the building they were in and was now looking up at it. It seemed to Korolev that he was staring at the very window they were standing at.

“We could try and run for it.” Slivka’s voice sounded tired.

“We’re surrounded and they know we’re here. They’d shoot us down.”

“That might be better.”

“For us, perhaps.”

Another car pulled in through the gates and Svalov went over to it, leaning down to speak to someone in the front passenger seat.

“Come on, let’s go and meet our fate. Leave the guns here.”

Korolev took the guard’s Nagant from his pocket and then slipped the Walther from his underarm holster. Was it fifteen years he’d had it? More. He placed Azarova’s little pea-shooter beside it. He patted the Walther farewell.

“Slivka,” he said, turning to her, “for what it’s worth, you’ve been the best of comrades.”

“And you, Chief, have been the best of chiefs.”

They walked down the stairs, shoulder to shoulder, and then along the corridor to the half-open door that led outside.

“I’ll go first,” Korolev said.

“I—” Slivka began.

“This once, Nadezhda Andreyevna, let me have my way.”

Slivka looked as though she thought he might be taking advantage of the situation, but she nodded.

One of the cars had a searchlight and as he came out with his hands held high he had to turn his eyes from the glare.

“Take off the jacket, slowly.”

The voice sounded as if it meant business and he complied.

“Who are you?”

“Korolev, captain in the Militia. From Petrovka.” And then, because he thought it couldn’t do any harm. “On temporary assignment to State Security.”

He heard the sound of a car door opening and footsteps approaching, but it was as if the searchlight had mesmerized him, he couldn’t look away from it.

“Korolev, it seems you’re one step ahead of us.”

Korolev turned to confirm the voice belonged to the man he thought it did. A familiar mustache was attached to a familiar face—only feet away.

“Dubinkin?”

“The very same—but you look as though you’ve seen a ghost, Korolev. Are you all right?”

Dubinkin had that irritating smile on his face once again—the one that told you he knew just that little bit more about you than you did yourself. And Korolev was damned if he’d play along with it.

“We’ve been worried about you,” the Chekist continued. “We wondered if you mightn’t have bitten off more than you could chew.”

Dubinkin had a cheek to feign concern, and Korolev found his irritation turning to anger. He’d face the consequences of his actions. But he was damned if he’d be made fun of.

“Did your boss Zaitsev send you here to do his dirty work?” he said, and could hear the bitterness in his voice.

“No,” Dubinkin said, with what appeared to be genuine amusement. “I’ve only ever had one boss. And Comrade Colonel Rodinov is a very pleased man this evening. Your investigation has turned from defeat to triumph. How did you know Dr. Weiss had a copy of Shtange’s report?”

“I didn’t,” Korolev said.

“Well,” Dubinkin said, smiling, “then you’re the luckiest man alive.”