The Siberian Dilemma

by Martin Cruz Smith

  “Do you like animals?” Nina asked Arkady.

  “Renko loves animals,” Victor said. “He’s passionate about animals. He likes to wrap himself with a puff adder. In fact, don’t you have one here in your apartment? I know he’d enjoy it. People think reptiles aren’t affectionate, but there’s no sight more endearing than Arkady tossing a python over his shoulder. Of course, he has to keep bobbing.”

  “My brother exaggerates. I do not have a puff adder in my flat,” Nina said.

  “But she could, she could,” Victor said.

  “Professor—”

  “Please, call me Nina.”

  “Nina, did you find out who set your bears free?”

  “A pair of new zookeepers, young and idealistic. They spouted some new age shamanism. It’s as infectious as the common cold. Too bad, but I had to let them go. The main thing is that word of the incident did not get out, and for that I thank both of you. There might have been professional repercussions. I am grateful. Just a moment,” she said, and disappeared into the kitchen, then returned with a tray. “Tea? Biscuits?”

  Victor was disappointed. Vodka would have been his tea of choice.

  “I was impressed by the way you stood your ground with Sasha,” Nina said to Arkady. “As if you didn’t care.”

  “That’s my secret weapon,” he said.

  “Did you hear about the body in Gorky Park?” Nina asked.

  That got Arkady’s attention. “What body?”

  “They were excavating in back of the art museum and they dug up some bones. A partial assortment at least. Rib cage, mainly, and ankle bones. No skull. Gave the artists a fright, though.”

  “When was this?”

  “A month ago. The bones may have been in the ground quite a while. They interviewed me.”

  “Why?”

  “They weren’t positive it was a man,” Nina said. “And they want to create an exhibit around the bones.”

  “It could be a bear,” Victor said. “Every year a hunter drags in what he thinks is a murder victim.”

  “It’s the similarity of men and bears,” Nina said. “They are the only two animals that employ plantigrade locomotion. In other words, they walk on the soles of their feet.”

  “And Neanderthals,” Victor said. “Have you ever seen a reconstruction of a Neanderthal man? Ugliest bastards you ever saw.”

  “That’s prejudice,” Nina said. “It’s been scientifically proven by DNA that Homo sapiens and Neanderthals cohabited—”

  “Cohabited like rabbits,” Victor said.

  “Well, they had to be somewhat attractive,” said Nina. “Don’t think of them as ugly. Think of them as redheads with sultry eyes and ruby lips.”

  “Redheads?” Victor asked.

  “Apparently a high percentage.”

  “Imagine a winsome lass with heavy brows slipping through the ferns of a terrarium,” said Victor.

  Nina protested, “And where on the tree of evolution does Homo sovieticus fit in? It’s a sloth-like creature that hibernates in the sofa. That has to be my brother.” She added in an incidental fashion, “I looked you up, Arkady. You have a checkered career.”

  “I’m flattered. I was unaware of having any career at all.”

  “In fact, I’m quite sure I know your favorite line: ‘To be or not to be.’ ”

  “That’s a little ambitious for me.” Arkady looked for an escape route.

  “I warned you that she might find you interesting,” Victor whispered.

  “Victor tells me you worked on a factory ship,” Nina said. “How does a Moscow investigator fall so low?”

  “I had some help on the way. I was investigating a murder.”

  Arkady was beginning to feel a bit like a Neanderthal himself and was relieved when his cell phone buzzed. The caller was Obolensky. Arkady listened, then closed his phone. “I’m sorry, Nina. It was good to see you again. I have to go.”

  “Not unless you promise to come to the gallery opening tomorrow night. It might be interesting as an exhibit of the New Russian. Promise?”

  “I’ll come with you.” Victor stood.

  “No. This is something I have to do on my own. Stay and enjoy your tea.”

  Victor gave Arkady the look of a friend betrayed.

  * * *

  Tatiana’s office at Russia Now had been trashed: desk drawers pulled out and contents upended. Her computer lay on its side in the corner. Obolensky’s office was in no better shape. Books and all the magazine’s prestigious awards had been swept off the shelves, his couch and chairs stabbed and disemboweled. Writers and editors crowded around like witnesses at a car wreck. Even the suckerfish in the aquarium seemed to hold its breath.

  Obolensky had called Arkady rather than the police station.

  “Has this happened before?” Arkady asked.

  Obolensky motioned his reporters out of the room. “About once a year. Sometimes one of us is mugged on the street outside. We know how to take care of ourselves.”

  “Did you report those incidents?”

  “No, and I won’t report this either.”

  “Why not?”

  Obolensky waited until the last reporter had shuffled out. He paused to clean his glasses. “I wasn’t completely honest with you before.”

  “No?”

  “I talked to Tatiana. She is covering an important story. You were right about that.”

  “What is she covering?”

  “Mikhail Kuznetsov.” Obolensky paused to let that sink in. “Mikhail Kuznetsov,” he repeated, “an idealistic oligarch who spent five years in a Siberian prison for daring to criticize Putin and his cronies. He may run for president.”

  “He doesn’t have a chance,” Arkady said.

  “Kuznetsov’s not only running for president; according to Tatiana, he’s running for his life. That makes him a moving target.”

  “And makes her a moving target,” said Arkady.

  “Anyone who challenges the Kremlin runs the risk of being murdered.”

  “Kuznetsov is a complicated man. He has two sides at least. Is Tatiana waiting to see who kills him? Is that the plan?”

  “With Tatiana, the plan changes all the time. Originally she was only going to Irkutsk to interview Kuznetsov. Three weeks in and out. Then she gained his trust and it became a much bigger story.”

  “No doubt, and in the end Russia Now wins more prizes, while Tatiana has risked her life. I can see why you didn’t tell me before.”

  “Because I know you. I knew that as soon as you heard, you’d go out looking for her.”

  “So?”

  “And you would be out of your depth in Siberia. If you want to help, stay here and find the hooligans who did this. That can be the first step to finding out who is threatening her.”

  Arkady smiled. “Such a lovely decoy—such a waste of time. Why haven’t I been able to reach her on the phone?”

  “Kuznetsov doesn’t know about you and we thought it best to keep it that way.”

  “Who is ‘we’?”

  “I’m not going to get into an argument over semantics.”

  “For a man of letters, you should be better at this.”

  Obolensky clenched his fists, and for a second Arkady thought the publisher would attempt something physical. He was, after all, a big man. But Obolensky changed his tack.

  “Renko, try to think beyond yourself. This story will make Tatiana famous for the rest of her life.”

  “She doesn’t think in those terms.”

  “Of course, she does. Tatiana is a writer. I’m a publisher. I know how writers think.”

  It was as if Obolensky had swum into dark water and touched a stone. An admission without words, perhaps.

  “You’re left-handed,” Arkady said.

  “As a matter of fact, yes, I am.”

  “And a redhead when you had hair.”

  “Yes.”

  “Nearsighted.”

  “Okay.”

  “You have eithe
r a blond mistress or a dog that sheds hair. I will go with the dog. That’s the end of my parlor tricks. For real results, you’ll have to give me real information.”

  8

  A skeleton walked in Gorky Park. Supported by rods and wires, it followed the whim of a technician manipulating a remote control.

  “This is the brilliant part,” Nina said. “I told you how they found ancient bones during the excavation of the Gallery? They took that as the starting point of new evolution. The contribution from the zoo was advice in how to put it all together. A transformation, I should say.”

  “Brilliant,” Arkady said.

  It was a transformation, he thought, but into what? An automaton? A hairy beast? At the flick of a toggle switch, it stepped inside the gallery hall, stopped, and moved its head from side to side.

  The technician said, “It’s like any kid’s robot, only much bigger.”

  “Personally, I prefer your lemurs,” Victor said.

  “Remember what a derelict building this was?” Nina asked Arkady.

  “I remember,” said Arkady.

  An old warehouse was now wrapped in a translucent polycarbonate skin and turned into a venue for exhibits of conceptual art. Models wearing little more than tails and patches of leather served vodka and caviar. They filtered in and out of rooms while, as a contemporary touch, free jazz played in the background.

  Victor speared something on a tray. “I think this one tried to escape. It’s either a shrimp or a finger.” He grabbed a vodka. “Seriously, Oedipus would rip out his eyes by their roots rather than witness this gluttony.”

  “Maybe we should come back on another night,” Arkady suggested.

  “Nonsense. I’m sure Victor can hold it together. The Gallery has a wonderful lineup of artists and celebrities.”

  “I just saw a man who controls half the timber in Siberia. Boris Benz,” Victor said. “That’s a thrill. But don’t go near him. He surrounds himself with bodyguards, his old prison mates. They cover up his dirty work. I wonder why he’s here.”

  “Maybe he appreciates art,” Arkady said.

  “More society than art,” Nina said. “On the social calendar, this is the place to be.”

  “You sound like your brother,” Arkady said.

  “Some of them are genuine art collectors and also happen to be supporters of the zoo. I don’t make judgments beyond that.”

  Who did? Arkady thought, The gallery was full of the rich and beautiful, balding but well-greased men with cowboy boots and silver buckles and loud ascending laughs that said, “You can’t touch me. I am too rich, I am too powerful, I am too high to fall.” They hung around together like a regular boys’ club. They were all success stories. Some of them had made their fortune by evicting pensioners from old buildings and constructing the tallest buildings in Moscow. Others, like Boris Benz, had despoiled the arctic wilderness to drill for oil. Benz had broad shoulders and a slack, easy smile. Just for a moment his eyes met Arkady’s.

  Nina led the way to the skeleton. “I want you to meet our guest of honor. I know you saw him when he came in but I want you to take a really good look.”

  “Someone I might know?” asked Victor.

  “Oh, I sincerely hope not.”

  The tech hit “pause” and the skeleton came to a stop.

  It was more than a robot and less than a man. Life-size and with the long stride of human legs. The cranium was round but long in the snout, its eyes a pair of ruby-red diodes.

  “It’s not a human,” Arkady said.

  “Yes and no,” said Nina.

  Arkady had seen a good number of dead men; an investigator did. This one walked stiffly with the aid of a nearly invisible network of electrical wires. Close up, he seemed to be a man. The jawbone was missing and, likewise, the collarbone had been carried away by some ancient scavenger. The arms were powerful, the hands chewed down to tarsal bones. A forearm was broken and healed, signifying a violent encounter with enemies. But a Homo sapiens or Neanderthal?

  “Bear,” Arkady guessed.

  “That’s right,” Nina said.

  “Which part?” Victor asked.

  “The head, ankles, and chest are from a bear,” Nina said. “The rest is human or Neanderthal, but it opens up possibilities. Evolution could have gone many different ways. It’s like a time machine that goes sideways as well as forward and back. Hunters considered themselves brothers to the bear. When they hunted, it was part of a complicated ritual. There was dancing and singing and communication on a spiritual level.”

  “Not like today,” Victor said. “Today you just open a can of beer.”

  That brought the spiritual level down. Victor left and browsed among quail eggs and caviar while Nina defended her skeleton.

  “We said that Neanderthal man couldn’t speak, but he could, or fashion tools, but he could, or create art, but he could. We said his brain was a different shape, and that’s true, but it could have had its own advantages. Some of it survived for a reason. Maybe someday we’ll know.”

  “You’re sympathetic,” Arkady said.

  “I just want to know why. I think this creature of ours could have been a survivor. He would have had his turn.”

  This was a different and more interesting Nina, but before she got any further, she was accosted by Gallery guests who wanted to have their pictures taken with what they already called “Bear Man.”

  Arkady couldn’t help but be embarrassed for the creature, and he moved on to another exhibit. He found himself standing in front of a waxwork of a naked woman sitting on nails. Beside him stood Boris Benz.

  “It’s pain. It’s an exhibit of pain,” said Benz. “Or is it an exhibit of pleasure?”

  “I suppose it all depends,” Arkady said.

  Voices in the room were hushed simply because of Benz’s presence. No introduction was offered. None was needed. Everyone on earth knew who Boris Benz was, while Arkady was resoundingly inconsequential. A handshake would be nothing but a grace note.

  “Are you a devotee of modern art?” Benz asked.

  “Actually, this looks more like the Spanish Inquisition.”

  “A good point. I hear you saved our bears.”

  “Masha and Sasha?” Arkady asked.

  “I’m a patron of the zoo. You must be one hell of a shot to bring down a charging bear.”

  “I’m surprised you heard about it.”

  “Nina told me.” Benz leaned closer to Arkady’s ear. “I wish I’d been there. I would have brought an elephant gun and split that fucking bear in half.”

  That wasn’t a sentiment that Arkady expected to hear from a zoo patron.

  They moved to the next room, where a motorcycle was crushed into a cube and a mirror hung in a glittering multitude of pieces.

  “By the way, I think I met a friend of yours,” Benz said.

  “Really? Who?”

  “A highly intelligent woman named Tatiana Petrovna.”

  “When?”

  “A few weeks ago. I’m going to take her ice boating on Lake Baikal. She’s intrepid.” Benz smiled. “I warned her that her nipples would freeze.”

  Arkady stopped. “Are you sure this was Tatiana Petrovna?”

  “The famous journalist, yes. She mentioned you.”

  “Where was she staying?”

  “Last I heard, she had taken up residence with Mikhail Kuznetsov. But who knows?”

  “Where?”

  “Siberia.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “No.”

  Arkady had more questions, but he caught sight of Victor weaving toward them. He had left Victor untended for no more than ten minutes, which was time enough for him to down ten vodkas.

  “Asshole,” Victor said.

  Benz’s bodyguards began to close in. At least, Arkady thought it was Benz’s bodyguards; they all looked the same in their Italian suits.

  “Excuse me? What did you say?”

  “I said you’re a greedy asshole.” />
  Benz looked around and laughed softly. “Do I know you?”

  “No, but I know you for what you are.”

  Benz seemed to be considering options. He could simply walk away or beat Victor to a pulp. Boris Benz was, after all, a hyper-athlete. By comparison, Victor was a physical wreck.

  Arkady took Victor by the arm. “You’re drunk. We’re going now.”

  “This is your friend?” Benz asked Arkady. “Do him a favor. Take him far away.”

  Arkady felt badly for Nina, whose professional relationship with Benz and the zoo might be an important one.

  “You understand who I am?” Benz asked Victor.

  “Go fuck yourself,” Victor said.

  “Why?” Benz asked.

  “On general principles.”

  “We are definitely going,” Arkady said.

  * * *

  Dropping Victor off at his apartment was like depositing a bag of bones. Arkady was halfway back to his car when he remembered that the feral cats behind Victor’s house depended on Victor to put out milk. He was such a contradiction. He couldn’t take care of himself, but he made sure the feral cats never went hungry.

  And what had Arkady learned? What progress had the senior investigator made? That Tatiana seemed to be making excellent progress in her own research. That she was probably still in Siberia. That she seemed to have forgotten their rendezvous in Moscow. That it was pathetic how jealous he was.

  9

  A few errant snowflakes drifted into the chess club as people rushed in from the cold. Arkady felt suffocated by the smell of damp wool. This was the home of what Zhenya labeled “wood pushers,” mediocre players with middle ratings. Cabinets glittered with ancient silver trophies.

  Everyone knew Zhenya’s reputation as a hustler, and his presence at a chess tournament was virtually a scandal. Every other player had at least a master’s rating, while Zhenya had no rating at all, had no use for it, didn’t need it, and let it be known that he only entered the tournament to please his girlfriend, Sosi, who sat by his side and fanned out her purple hair to a mystical length.