Turkish Gambit - Fandorin 02

by Boris Akunin

  Varya started, recalling how Paladin had spoken of the father he loved so dearly, who lived in France. Could it really all be true then? She glanced at the journalist in horror. He was still as calm as ever, but Varya thought his smile seemed rather forced.

  'And by the way,' the titular counsellor continued, ‘I do not believe that you betrayed Midhat-pasha. That was some kind of subtle ploy. Now that Turkey has been defeated, he will return, crowned with the laurels of a martyr, and take up the reins of government once again. From Europe's point of view, he is an absolutely ideal figure. In Paris they positively idolise him.' Fandorin touched a hand to his temple, and Varya suddenly noticed how pale and tired he looked. ‘I was in a great hurry to get back, but the three hundred vyersts from Sophia to Germanly took me longer than the fifteen hundred vyersts from Paris to Sophia. The roads in the rear defy all description. Thank God Lavrenty Arkadie-vich and I arrived in time. As soon as General Strukov informed me that His Excellency had set out for San Stefano accompanied by the journalist Paladin, I realised that that this was Anwar-effendi's final, deadly move. It was no accident that the telegraph wires were cut. I was very much afraid, Mikhail Dmitrievich, that this man would exploit your valiant spirit and ambition to persuade you to enter Constantinople.'

  'And what exactly was it that made you so afraid, Mister Prosecutor?' Sobolev inquired ironically. 'What matter if Russian soldiers had entered the Turkish capital?'

  'What matter?' Mizinov exclaimed apoplectically. 'Are you out of your mind? It would have been the end of everything!'

  'What "everything"?' the bold Achilles asked with a shrug, but Varya spotted a glint of alarm in his eyes.

  'Our army, our conquests, Russia!' the chief of gendarmes thundered. 'Our ambassador in England, Count Shuvalov, has forwarded a coded message. He has seen a secret memorandum of the Court of St James with his own eyes. Under the terms of a secret agreement between the British and Austro-Hungarian empires, if even a single Russian soldier should appear in Constantinople, Admiral Hornby's squadron of ironclads will immediately open fire and the Austro-Hungarian army will cross the Serbian and Russian borders. You see the difficulty, Mikhail Dmitrievich? In that case we would have suffered a rout far more terrible than the Crimea. The country is exhausted by the epic struggle at Plevna; we have no fleet in the Black Sea; the treasury is empty. It would have been a total and utter disaster.'

  Sobolev could think of nothing to say.

  'But Your Excellency had the wisdom and forbearance not to proceed beyond San Stefano,' Fandorin said deferentially. 'Lavrenty Arkadievich and I need not have been in quite such a great hurry.'

  Varya saw the White General's face turn red. Sobolev cleared his throat and nodded with a serious air as he surveyed the marble floor.

  And then who should squeeze in through the door at that very moment but the cornet Gukmasov. He peered hostilely at the blue uniforms and barked: 'By your leave I beg to report, Your Excellency!'

  Varya suddenly felt sorry for poor Achilles and she looked away, but that oaf carried on and reported sten-toriously: 'Six o'clock precisely! According to orders the battalion is drawn up and Gulnora is saddled and ready! We are only waiting for Your Excellency in order to advance on the gates of Constantinople!'

  'Stop there, you blockhead!' mumbled the crimson-faced hero. 'To hell with the damned gates . . .'

  Gukmasov backed disconcertedly out of the door. It had barely closed behind him when something unexpected happened.

  'Et maintenant, mesdames et messieurs, la parole est a la defence,' Paladin declared in a loud voice. He pulled his right hand out from behind his back. It was holding a pistol. Twice the pistol belched thunder and lightning.

  Varya saw the uniform jackets of both gendarmes torn open on the left side of the chest, as though by some mutual agreement. Their carbines clattered to the floor, and the gendarmes collapsed with hardly a sound.

  Varya's ears were ringing from the shots. She had no time to cry out or feel frightened before Paladin had reached out his left hand, grasped her tightly by the elbow and pulled her towards him, protecting himself with her like a shield.

  Gogol's play The Government inspector, the tableau without words, Varya thought stupidly as she saw a strapping gendarme appear in the doorway and freeze motionless. Erast Petrovich and Mizinov were holding their revolvers out in front of them. The general's expression was angry, the titular counsellor's sad. Sobolev was frozen with his arms spread wide in astonishment. Mitya Gridnev's jaw dropped and his wonderful eyelashes fluttered. Perepyolkin forgot to lower the hand he had raised to rebutton his collar.

  'Charles, you must be insane!' shouted Sobolev, taking a step forward, 'hiding behind a lady!'

  'But Monsieur Fandorin has proved that I am a Turk,' Paladin replied sarcastically, and Varya could feel his hot breath on the back of her head. 'And in Turkey no one stands on ceremony with ladies.'

  'Ooh-ooh-ooh!' Mitya howled; then he lowered his head like a calf and rushed forward.

  Paladin's pistol thundered once again and the young lieutenant fell face down with a grunt.

  Everyone froze again.

  Paladin was pulling Varya now - backwards and off to one side.

  'If anyone moves, I'll kill them,' he warned them all in a soft voice.

  The wall behind Varya seemed to part, and suddenly she and Paladin were in a different room. Oh, yes, the strongroom!

  Paladin slammed the steel door shut and slid the bolt home.

  The two of them were alone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  IN WHICH RUSSIA IS DECRIED AND THE LANGUAGE OF DANTE IS HEARD

  The Government Herald (St Petersburg) 9 (21) January 1878

  . . . provokes gloomy reflections. Here are the essential points from a speech given by Minister of Finance, State Secretary M. H. Reitern, last Thursday at a conference of the All-Russian Banking Union: 'In 1874 for the first time in many years we achieved a positive balance of payments, with revenue exceeding expenditure,' said the minister. 'The balance of the budget for 1876 had been calculated by the State Treasury at a net surplus of 40 million roubles. However, the cost to the treasury of somewhat less than a year of military action had been one billion, twenty million roubles, and there were no resources left to fund continued hostilities. Due to the cut-back of expenditure on civil construction projects in 1877, not a single vyerst of railway line had been laid anywhere in the territory of the Empire. The sum total of the state's domestic and foreign debts had risen to an unprecedented level, amounting to . . .'

  Paladin released his grip on Varvara, and she darted away from him in horror. She heard the muted sound of voices behind the massive door.

  'Name your terms, Anwar!' It was Erast Petrovich.

  'No terms!' (That was Mizinov.) 'Open the door immediately or I'll have it blown open with dynamite!'

  'Save your orders for the gendarme corps!' (That was Sobolev.) 'Use dynamite and she'll be killed!'

  'Gentlemen,' shouted Paladin - who was not really Paladin at all - in French. 'This is hardly polite! You are preventing me from discussing the situation with the lady!'

  'Charles! Or whatever your name is!' Sobolev roared in a booming general's bass. 'If a single hair of Varvara Andreevna's head is harmed, I'll have you strung up without benefit of trial!'

  'One more word and I'll shoot her first then myself!' Paladin declared, raising his voice dramatically, then suddenly winked at Varya, as though he had cracked a slightly improper but terribly funny joke.

  There was silence behind the door.

  'Do not look at me like that, as though I have suddenly sprouted horns and grown fangs, Mademoiselle Barbara,' Paladin said in a low voice, speaking normally now. 'Of course I am not going to kill you and I would not wish to place your life in danger for the world.'

  'Indeed?' she asked acidly. 'Then what is the point of this farce? Why did you kill three entirely innocent people? What are you hoping to achieve?'

  Anwar-effendi (it was
time to forget Paladin) took out his watch. 'Five minutes past six. I needed "this farce" in order to gain time. And by the way, you need not be concerned about the junior lieutenant. Knowing your fondness for him I merely put a hole in his thigh -nothing too serious. Afterwards he will boast of his war wound. And as for the gendarmes, that is the nature of their job.'

  Varya asked warily: 'To gain time? What for?'

  'Well, Mademoiselle Barbara, according to the plan, a regiment of Anatolian infantry is due to enter San Stefano in one hour and twenty-five minutes - that is, at half past seven. They are one of the finest units in the entire Turkish guards. The assumption was that by then Sobolev's detachment would already have reached the outskirts of Istanbul, come under fire from the English fleet and pulled back. The riflemen would have struck the Russians from the rear as they withdrew in disorder. An elegant plan and everything was going without a hitch until the very last minute.'

  'What plan do you mean?'

  'As I said, it was an elegant one. First gently prompt Michel to start thinking about that temptingly abandoned passenger train. You were very helpful to me in that, for which I thank you. "Open a book and drink some hot tea" - that was magnificent. After that it was simple - the vaulting ambition of our peerless Achilles, his indomitable mettle and belief in his star would have carried things to their conclusion. Oh, Sobolev would not have been killed. I would not have allowed that. In the first place, I am genuinely obligated to him, and in the second place, the capture of the great Ak-pasha would have made a spectacular start to the second stage of the Balkan war.' Anwar sighed. 'It is a shame the plan miscarried. Your youthful old man is to be congratulated. As the Eastern sages say, it is karma.'

  'What is it that they say?' Varya asked in astonishment.

  'There now, you see, Mademoiselle Barbara, you are an educated, cultured young lady, but there are elementary things that you do not know,' her bizarre companion said reproachfully. 'Karma is one of the fundamental concepts of Hindu and Buddhist philosophy -something akin to the Christian Providence, but far more interesting. After all, the East is far more ancient, wise and complex. My country Turkey happens to be situated precisely at the crossroads of the East and the West; it is a country that could have a great future.'

  'No more lectures, if you please,' said Varya, cutting short his deliberations. 'What do you intend to do?'

  'Why, what can I do?' Anwar asked in astonishment. 'Naturally, I shall wait until half past seven. The original plan has failed, but the Anatolian infantry will arrive nonetheless. There will be a battle. If our guardsmen prevail - and they have the advantage of numbers, and the training, and the factor of surprise - then I am saved. However, if Sobolev's men hold out . . . But let us not attempt to guess the future. By the way,' he said, looking Varya in the eye earnestly, 'I know how determined you can be, but do not imagine you can warn your friends about the attack. The moment you open your mouth to shout, I shall be obliged to stop it with a gag. And I will do it, despite the sincere respect and sympathy that I feel for you.'

  So saying, he unfastened his necktie, rolled it into a tight ball and put it in his pocket.

  'A gag for a lady?' Varya laughed. 'I liked you much better as a Frenchman.'

  'I assure you that a French spy would behave in exactly the same way if so much depended on his actions. I am used to taking no thought for my own life; I have gambled it so many times for the sake of the cause. And that gives me the right to take no thought for the lives of others. In this game, Mademoiselle Barbara, the rules are the same for all. It is a cruel game, but then life is a cruel business. Do you imagine I felt no pity for the brave-hearted Zurov or the good-hearted McLaughlin? Why, of course I did, but there are higher values than personal sentiment.'

  'And exactly what values might those be?' Varya exclaimed. 'Pray explain to me, Monsieur Intrigant, what exalted ideas can justify killing a man who regards you as his friend?'

  'An excellent subject for discussion,' said Anwar, moving up a chair. 'Please, take a seat, Mademoiselle Barbara; we need some way to while away the time. And do not scowl at me in that manner. I am no ogre,-1 am merely an enemy of your country. I do not wish you to regard me as the heartless monster depicted by the preternaturally perceptive Monsieur Fandorin. He was the one who should have been neutralised in good time . . . Yes, I am a killer. But then all of us here are killers - your Fandorin, and the deceased Zurov, and Mizinov. But Sobolev is a super-killer; he is simply swimming in blood. In these men's games of ours there are only two possible roles: the killer and the victim. Do not cherish any illusions, mademoiselle; we all live in the jungle. Try to regard me without prejudice: forget that you are Russian and I am a Turk. I am a man who has chosen a very difficult path in life. And, moreover, a man to whom you are not indifferent. I am even a little in love with you myself.'

  Varya frowned, stung by the words 'a little'.

  'I am most exceedingly grateful.'

  'There now, I have expressed myself clumsily,' said Anwar with a shrug. 'I cannot possibly allow myself to fall in love in earnest; it would be an unforgivable and dangerous indulgence. Let us not talk of that. Let me rather answer your question. It is distressing to deceive or kill a friend, but that is a price which must sometimes be paid. I have had to do things . . .' He twitched the corner of his mouth nervously. 'However, if one commits oneself absolutely to a great idea, one is obliged to sacrifice one's personal attachments. One hardly needs to go far to seek examples! I have no doubt that, as a progressive young woman, you are inclined to view revolutionary ideas sympathetically. Am I not right? I have noticed that in your Russia the revolutionaries have already started shooting occasionally. But soon a genuine clandestine war will begin - you may take the word of a professional on that. Idealistic young men and women will start blowing up palaces, trains and carriages. And inevitably, in addition to the reactionary minister or the villainous governor, they will contain innocent people - relatives, assistants, servants. But that is all right if it is for the sake of the idea. Give them time and your idealists will worm their way into positions of trust, and spy, and deceive, and kill apostates - and all for the sake of an idea.'

  'And just what is your idea?' Varya asked sharply.

  'I will tell you, by all means.' Anwar leaned his elbow against the shelves full of bags of money. 'I see salvation not in revolution, but in evolution. But evolution needs to be set on the right path; it has to be given a helping hand. This nineteenth century of ours is a decisive period for the fate of humanity - of that I am profoundly convinced. The forces of reason and tolerance must be helped to prevail, otherwise serious and needless convulsions await the Earth in the very near future.'

  'And where do reason and tolerance dwell? In the realms of your Abdul-Hamid?'

  'No, of course not. I am thinking of those countries where a man learns to respect himself and others a little - not to bludgeon others into agreement, but to convince them through argument, to support the weak and tolerate those who think differently from him. Ah what promising processes are in train in Western Europe and the United States of North America! Naturally, I do not idealise them - far from it. They have a lot of filth of their own, many crimes and a lot of stupidity. But they are heading in the right general direction. The world has to follow the same course, otherwise mankind will founder, sink into an abyss of chaos and tyranny. As yet the bright spot on the map of the world is still very small - though it is expanding rapidly. But it needs to be protected against the onslaught of darkness and ignorance. A grandiose game of chess is being played out, and I am playing for the white pieces.'

  'And I suppose Russia is playing for the black?'

  'Yes. Today your immensely powerful state constitutes the main danger to civilisation - with its vast expanses, its multitudinous, ignorant population, its cumbersome and aggressive state apparatus. I have taken a keen interest in Russia for a long time; I learned the language, I travelled a lot, I read historical works. I studied your state apparatu
s, became acquainted with your leaders. Try listening to our own darling Michel, with his aspirations to be the new Bonaparte! The mission of the Russian people is to take Constantinople and unite the Slavs? To what end? So that the Romanovs might once again impose their will on Europe? A nightmarish prospect indeed! It is not pleasant for you to hear this, Mademoiselle Barbara, but lurking within Russia is a terrible threat to civilisation. There are savage, destructive forces fermenting within her, forces which will break out sooner or later, and then the world will be in a bad way. It is an unstable, absurd country that has absorbed all the worst features of the West and the East. Russia has to be put back in its place; its reach has to be shortened. It will be good for you, and it will give Europe a chance to carry on developing in the right direction. You know, Mademoiselle Barbara' - Anwar's voice trembled unexpectedly - 'I love my poor unfortunate Turkey very much. It is a country of great missed opportunities. But I am prepared deliberately to sacrifice the Ottoman state in order to deflect the Russian threat to mankind. To put it in chess terms, do you know the meaning of the term "gambit" ? No? In Italian gambetto means a "a trip", as in "to trip someone up" - dare il gambetto. A gambit is an opening in a game of chess in which a piece is sacrificed to the opponent in order to obtain a strategic advantage. I myself devised the sequence of play in this particular game and I opened by offering Russia fat, appetising, weak Turkey. The Ottoman Empire will perish, but Tsar Alexander will not win the game. Indeed, the war has gone so well that all may not yet be lost for Turkey. She still has Midhat-pasha. He is a quite remarkable man, Mademoiselle Barbara. I deliberately left him out of the action for a while, but now I shall reintroduce him . . . provided, of course, that I am allowed the chance. Midhat-pasha will return to Istanbul unsullied and take power into his own hands. Perhaps then even Turkey will move from the zone of darkness into the zone of light.'