The Siberian Dilemma

by Martin Cruz Smith

  “It’s not as simple as that,” Kostich said. “You’re in my custody.”

  “Then you can let me go,” said Aba.

  “It’s more complicated than that,” Kostich said. “You have to be convicted to be released, to keep the paperwork straight.”

  Federov agreed. “You will still need a public defender. That could be expensive.”

  “Records have to be corrected,” said Kostich.

  “But it was a mistake,” Aba said.

  “No, it was not a mistake,” Kostich said. “It was a deception that you and your brother cooked up.”

  “You mean I’m fucked anyway?”

  “It’s serious business,” Arkady said. “I wonder if it would expedite matters if I called Prosecutor Zurin and made a personal appeal to have the charges dropped. All the charges, the arrest, time in detention, everything dropped as a misunderstanding.”

  Kostich listened with his mouth agape. “Why would he do that? He was the one with a bloody nose and a flesh wound. Besides, he hates you.”

  “Let me give it a try.” Arkady went into the hallway.

  * * *

  Zurin came on the line sounding quite hushed for one in the afternoon. “I told my secretary no calls, especially none from you. I’m lunching with the prosecutor general. This better be good.”

  “The photographs came back.”

  “What photographs? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Photographs taken January third on Lovers’ Bridge. Did your wife ever meet Señora Lupa?”

  “Wait.” Arkady heard a shifting of bedsprings on the other end and then, “Don’t try to blackmail me, you bastard.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Is there a problem?” a feminine voice asked.

  “It’s nothing,” Zurin said.

  “I thought you had the room for the day.” She had a throaty sibilance.

  “Is that Señora Lupa?” Arkady asked.

  “No.”

  “It sounds like a Cuban accent,” Arkady said. “Are you in your office?”

  “I’m going to string you up like a dog until your red dick sticks out.”

  “I hope you’re talking to me and not the prosecutor general.”

  “What do you want?” Zurin demanded.

  “I think I should be going,” Señora Lupa said.

  “No, wait, wait.” There was misery in Zurin’s appeal and the sense of bedsheets cooling.

  “I want you to drop all charges against Aba Makhmud,” Arkady said.

  “Why would you want me to drop charges? He tried to kill me.”

  “You have the wrong man.”

  “Who is it?” Señora Lupa had a sleepy voice.

  “Room service,” Zurin answered.

  “Drop the charges,” Arkady repeated. He knew that Zurin would. He was a man in love.

  * * *

  Aba Makhmud was released and so disbelieving of his good fortune, he dove into Bolot’s car.

  Arkady hardly believed it himself and stole a look in his side mirror to make sure they weren’t being followed.

  “Do you have anyplace to stay back home?” Arkady asked Makhmud.

  “My grandmother’s. You were right about her.”

  “Do you have any other friends or relatives you can stay with?”

  “Sure, plenty.”

  “How many stepped forward when you were put in jail?”

  “They were afraid of Bashir.”

  “Sometimes friends will do that.”

  “Aba can stay with me tonight for a while,” Bolot said.

  “I don’t know,” said Aba.

  “The television works.”

  Aba produced a sound that could have been “Thank you.”

  “But I will pay for Aba,” said Arkady.

  “No, he is my guest,” Bolot said. “No guest pays in my house. Besides, you’ve introduced me to Boris Benz. I hear opportunity knocking.”

  18

  Arkady scanned the beauty pageant crowd. Not seeing any sign of Tatiana, he worked his way from one end of the ballroom to the other with Bolot at his side.

  Bolot was as excited as a child given keys to a car. “There’s only one condition. All contestants have to be Siberian,” he said. “In some pageants the girls walk like royalty. In others they swivel and sway their hips. If they walk in three-inch heels, they need to wear ankle straps. Tricks of the trade.”

  Arkady wasn’t really listening. “You’ve been to many of these?”

  “They’re all heartbreakers. Contestants can starve and train for a year and end up with nothing.”

  Lights darkened and a tremor of anticipation went through the crowd. It was time for the show to begin.

  A Sami girl from the reindeer country strode onto a spotlit stage wearing a headdress of pearls that swayed with every step. A Tuva girl took a deep breath and sang two different octaves at the same time to powerful erotic effect. At least Bolot seemed to think so. Arkady was too distracted to notice. An archer shot a single arrow through synchronized swinging bottles. A ballet dancer in a white tutu performed a death scene from Swan Lake.

  Boris Benz stepped up to the runway with a microphone and asked, “Out of these amazing women, how do we pick a winner? We haven’t even reached the swimsuit competition. We’ll have an interlude so that the contestants and members of the audience can get to know one another. Relax, have a drink, dance, and enjoy yourself.”

  Most guests retreated to the traditional waltz. “Money on the hoof,” Arkady’s father, the general, liked to say. He loved to waltz and occasionally dropped one of his many medals down his partner’s décolletage. A search for the missing medal was always the highlight of the evening, to hear the old man tell it.

  While they wandered among the guests, a young contestant stepped forward to offer them flutes of champagne. She wore a gold silk dress embroidered in silver and, on her head, feathers sewn into silver beads.

  “My name is Alika,” she said.

  “Where are you from, Alika?” Bolot asked.

  “From the Yakutsk, in the far north.”

  “Stunning,” Bolot said. “Would you like to dance?”

  * * *

  Arkady surveyed the room once again and spotted Boris Benz. Next to Benz stood Tatiana. She was beautiful in a long black velvet dress trimmed in ermine. The man next to her had to be her billionaire friend, Mikhail Kuznetsov. It was as if she were standing between a leopard and a jaguar, two variations of the same animal.

  “Excuse me,” Arkady said.

  Tatiana stared in disbelief.

  Arkady thought he might have made a mistake. He felt like a trespasser.

  “You found me,” she said.

  “So it seems,” said Arkady.

  He had imagined his reunion with Tatiana a hundred different ways, but not like this.

  Kuznetsov shook Arkady’s hand. “I have been looking forward to meeting you,” he said. He was a man not likely to be on the cover of Cigar Aficionado, but was the reassuring face that Siberia showed the world. Tall and slim, he was elegant in a tuxedo. Arkady, by contrast, looked definitely rumpled.

  “And where is our friend Bolot, the famous factotum?” Benz asked.

  “The last I saw him, he was dancing with a contestant from Yakutsk.”

  “You came all the way to Siberia to find me?” Tatiana was still in shock.

  “It wasn’t easy,” said Arkady.

  “I know a place where we can talk,” she said.

  “You’re going to miss the swimsuit competition,” Boris said.

  “We won’t be long.” She led Arkady to the hotel restaurant.

  Jellies and jams were already set out for breakfast. They ordered coffee and sat down in a booth.

  “I told you not to follow me,” she said.

  “You knew I would. You left a railway schedule in my apartment and circled the dates you were going to go and return. Only you didn’t return.”

  “I wasn’t fi
nished here.”

  “With what?”

  “Research,” Tatiana said.

  “With Mikhail Kuznetsov?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Finally, Arkady said, “You know you’re a very difficult person to be in love with. Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

  “I thought it was too… dangerous.”

  “What’s too dangerous?”

  “Oligarchs.” She put her hand on his. “I’m sorry. I was trying to keep you out of it, but not calling, as it turns out, was exactly the wrong way to go about it. I don’t want you here. Just being here, you endanger yourself, me, and most of all an important story.”

  “And exactly how am I ruining your chances to write it?”

  “Many of the people I’m writing about are criminals. They’re already suspicious of me and I need to gain their trust. An investigator from Moscow will automatically put them on their guard. I need to be independent.”

  “You need a bodyguard.”

  “Kuznetsov says the same thing.”

  “He’s right.”

  “How did you find me?” she asked.

  “Obolensky.”

  “The keeper of secrets.”

  “So, who are the oligarchs you’re writing about besides Kuznetsov? I hope it’s not Benz.”

  “Among others. Oil; it’s always oil. The people at the top change, but it’s always about oil.”

  “Have you got an exclusive story on who has control of the oil fields in Siberia?”

  “They’re all over the map.”

  “That’s right. I’m guessing your story also has something to do with people who actually live in these places.”

  “It’s an ecological nightmare. They’re razing the land around prospective wells and displacing the people who live within fifty miles of them.”

  “And Kuznetsov is helping you.”

  “He’s an oilman and a good source of information.”

  “Is that all?”

  “He’s become a friend. I’m also helping him with a book he’s writing.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “The paper can’t continue paying for my research, so I’m staying in one of Mikhail’s properties here. I know what you’re thinking, but he lives elsewhere.”

  “So Victorian.”

  Bolot bounded into the restaurant. “Ah, there you are. You missed the swimsuit contest, the best part!”

  “Sit down,” Arkady said. “This is my friend Tatiana Petrovna. Tatiana, Rinchin Bolot, my friend and colleague.”

  Bolot was touched. Every time Arkady introduced him, he was promoted to another level.

  “Now I understand why my friend here has been looking for you,” he said.

  She laughed. “And I understand that you are his factotum, whatever that is.”

  It was a long time since Arkady had seen her laugh.

  “I should get back to Aba.” Bolot stood up.

  “Let me show you around Irkutsk tomorrow,” Tatiana said to Arkady. “It’s more interesting than you think.”

  “Of course,” said Bolot, who was as eager as a wet dog.

  19

  Arkady looked out his window at the melting ice sculpture of a dove. Or of a pigeon. Or a dirty sock. Hard to say. It was pathetic how finding Tatiana had elated him. He tried to sleep after his few minutes with her, but there was no hope. Instead, he called Victor, his partner on sleepless nights.

  “You landed right in the middle of Tatiana’s sacred research,” Victor said. “No wonder she’s angry. She’s always been a pain in the ass about that kind of thing. Don’t you know anyone who can look out for Tatiana so you can come home?”

  “I know someone who would like to look out for Tatiana.”

  “Another man?”

  Arkady ignored the insinuation.

  “I need to find out more about Boris Benz and Mikhail Kuznetsov. They’re both contenders for oil east of the Urals.” Benz and Kuznetsov had made their initial fortunes in the world of oil rigs, where a missing finger was a badge of honor.

  “Here’s the problem,” Victor said. “Tatiana is fatally attracted to dangerous stories, and you are attracted to her. It makes for inevitable consequences.”

  “I just need a little help, thank you.”

  “I have the impression that Benz is capable of murder,” Victor said. “From what I hear, Kuznetsov has clean hands. He’d hesitate. On the other hand, are they enemies or are they partners in crime?”

  “Oddly enough, they appear to be best friends.”

  “One of them obviously wants you out of the way. Which one?”

  “I have no idea. I just landed here.”

  In frustration, Victor changed the subject. “How is our friend Aba?”

  “He’s free, but his brother, Bashir, might kill him out of sheer bad humor.”

  “The ones who intrigue me are Prosecutor Zurin and the voluptuous Señora Lupa. My respect for the prosecutor has doubled.”

  “He’s fooled us all. You haven’t heard from Zhenya, have you?”

  “No. I’ll go check in on him. Anything else?”

  “Would you see what you can find out about Mikhail Kuznetsov? I can’t believe he’s as clean as people say.”

  20

  The next morning Bolot and Aba joined Arkady in the hotel dining room.

  “Thank you, but do I really want to go for a walk in the world’s coldest city?” Aba asked. “No, thanks.”

  “You’d rather wait in the lobby?” asked Arkady.

  “I’ll take my chances with all these fellows.” Aba nodded to a group of Chinese uranium miners.

  “So you just came for the breakfast,” Bolot said.

  “Don’t worry, I can entertain myself. I bet there’s a bookstore in this hotel. I can buy something to read.”

  The miners became animated with sideways looks when Tatiana glided by. She could turn heads when she wanted to.

  “And who is this young man?” she asked.

  “My young protégé. His name is Aba,” Bolot said.

  “I hope you’re going to take a walk with us,” she said to Aba.

  There was something about a beautiful woman that made a young man reckless.

  “Sure.” Aba stuffed a roll into his jacket pocket.

  “Better wrap up,” Tatiana warned him.

  “Chechens don’t get cold,” Aba said.

  They walked along the Angara River under a low ceiling of clouds. Any other river would have been subdued by the cold; the Angara heaved itself along its banks.

  Irkutsk was a university town full of students circulating from coffee shops to their first classes of the day. Walls were plastered with notices for chamber music, karaoke, flamenco. What impressed Arkady was the number of Buryat students. Many of them had made the leap from herding reindeer to an urban lifestyle in one generation.

  Aba pointed to a blue mansion with white wooden lacework that made it look as light as a cloud.

  “It was a rich man’s city built by exiles and serfs,” Tatiana said. “To begin with, Siberia was a land of Mongolians before most of them were slaughtered by the Cossacks. So mix together Mongolians, Slavs, and now Chinese, and the population changes. It’s always changing.”

  Tatiana walked ahead and Arkady caught up to her.

  “What does Tatiana have against Arkady?” Aba asked Bolot. “She doesn’t act like a girlfriend.”

  “She has her reasons, I suppose.”

  “I wouldn’t take it if I were him. On the other hand, she’s pretty hot.”

  “Don’t talk that way if you prize your head.”

  “Any other advice?” Aba asked, loud enough for all to hear.

  “Warn anyone you see with a blue nose to head for shelter.” Bolot wiped his own nose. “It’s the first sign of frostbite.”

  * * *

  Tatiana was cold, as if covered by a fine frost. Arkady had the sense that she was as trapped as he was. Their hands almost touched as they walked, but she rem
ained distant.

  “You know, don’t you, that Benz is a killer and Kuznetsov is his best friend?” said Arkady.

  In a low voice she said, “I know that. You may be right about Benz, but that doesn’t mean that Kuznetsov is the same. A lot of people think he’s just what the country needs. I told you he’s writing a book, didn’t I?”

  “A fairy tale?”

  “The truth.”

  “Where do Serge Obolensky and Russia Now fit in?”

  “When the time comes, I’ll give him an exclusive article.”

  “About Mikhail?”

  “Among other things. I’ll also write about Putin’s Siberian watch dogs who arrested him.”

  “Can you be objective about him?”

  “I think so.”

  “What else will you write about?”

  “Bears.”

  “Bears?” It wasn’t as if he didn’t believe her, but he had to laugh. “There’s a bear problem in Siberia? You came out here from Moscow to write an exposé about oligarchs. Now you’re writing about bears?”

  “That’s right. Bears are causing problems at the Global oil mines.”

  “That could be climate change,” Arkady said. “Bears are showing up in places where they haven’t been seen for years. Is Kuznetsov helping you?”

  “He grew up here.”

  “I see. Then he would naturally have an advantage in tracking the local wildlife.”

  “I don’t expect you to believe me.”

  “I’m trying to, but you’re asking me to start from a crazy premise. Money laundering, smuggling, even murder. These things I understand. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, because sometimes I see things that other people don’t. So you see bears? I do too.”

  “But I’m writing about real bears,” she said. “They’re not hallucinations.”

  Arkady shrugged. “My hallucinations are real to me.”

  Aba and Bolot caught up to them.

  Aba let his teeth chatter as a demonstration of his misery. “It is really fucking cold,” he said. “The snot in my nose is running like pearls.”

  “That’s the poet in him speaking,” Bolot explained.

  Something about Aba reminded Arkady of Zhenya.