“How is Zhenya?” Tatiana asked, as if reading his mind.
“Staying out of trouble, I hope.”
“I hope so too.”
“I’m having Victor look in on him every so often.”
They stopped in at an art gallery with a bear theme: paintings of bears, stuffed bears, and wooden bears that played tug of war. The next stop was a bar.
“No bears,” Arkady said.
They ordered beef dumplings in hot broth. When Arkady leaned forward to steam his face, a bear amulet swung forward.
“Where did you get that?” Tatiana asked.
“Bolot gave it to me.”
“It’s a tooth from a bear, an amulet. It invokes the strength of the bear,” Bolot said. “Very important for an investigator for the prosecution.”
“Sometimes he acts more like a defender,” Aba said. “He saved me from prison.”
Tatiana turned toward Arkady. “You mean you’re here because of Aba?”
“Zurin wanted me to interrogate Aba for the prosecution, but Aba was innocent. Aba didn’t shoot anyone, but Zurin wanted to send him away for years. They would have, but Zurin got greedy and was caught in a honeypot.”
“ ‘Honeypot’?”
“It’s called a honeypot when you set a young woman on a middle-aged man. It’s also called entrapment.”
“Zurin will have your head on a pike when you get back to Moscow,” Tatiana said.
“Well, that’s nothing new,” said Arkady.
* * *
When they returned to the International, Aba let out a whoop of relief and headed for the bar with Bolot. Arkady had the sense of a conversation unfinished, half-frozen, as if his time with Tatiana were full of suspended words. They settled in the lobby.
“Is your story a little like a honeypot?” Arkady asked.
“In a general way it is,” she said. “Oil is the honey that lures men in.”
“Who’s in it?”
“For a start, Boris Benz and his friends in the oil transport police. There are a hundred cars per train, and each car carries one hundred thousand dollars’ worth of oil. Sometimes they allow Benz to send tanks that are only half-full so the buyers pay full price for half the oil.”
“It’s more than I expected.”
“It’s fatal if Boris is caught,” she said.
“Mikhail must know all this, right? He’s helped you with the research. What else is Benz into?”
“Everything. Nobody dares touch him. Developing new oil fields, transporting the oil, gas stations, and, on a local level, he’s building hotels and running beauty pageants.”
“So you carry out your investigations while Mikhail watches over your shoulder, and when he decides you know too much, he’ll, what, cut off your head?”
“I trust him.”
“Because Mikhail and Boris Benz are old friends and in business together?”
“I’ll know when Benz is getting greedy and Mikhail wants to be an honest biznessman.”
“Now that he’s made his first billion.”
“You’re so suspicious.”
“Maybe I think the two are brothers under the skin.”
“How can I convince you?” she asked.
“Take me to Chita.”
“Oh, no, that’s a bit too much. Mikhail won’t like that.”
“If he’s running an honest operation, he won’t care.”
21
In December of 1825, three thousand troops rose up in St. Petersburg to abolish serfdom and overthrow the tsar. Nine thousand loyalists fought back and won the battle in Peter’s Square. Over 120 of the rebels, many of them aristocrats and intellectuals, were exiled to Chita and forced to work in the silver and salt mines from six in the morning to eleven at night. Ever since, Chita had been known as a prison city, a uniformly ugly city of factories and shabby wooden houses built, in good part, by prisoners and the children of prisoners.
Like all Siberians, the people of Chita half foundered on their expectations. Some opened their chains and irons and lived the bitter lives of exiles. They felled the taiga to build their ships and mined the hills for gold, uranium, and precious stones. Finally, oligarchs arrived to drill for oil.
It took Arkady and Tatiana a little more than an hour to fly south over the Angara River and Lake Baikal to arrive at Chita in the early evening. One of Kuznetsov’s drivers picked them up.
“First time in Chita?” he asked.
“First time in a long time,” Arkady said.
“Don’t go by first impressions,” the driver laughed. “It gets worse. A few days ago an oil tanker on a train headed to Moscow exploded about two kilometers from the station. It went up in flames for no good reason. They say you could have seen the blast from the moon.”
“Does that happen often?”
“It’s Chita. Anything can happen. ‘Not yet ready for tourists,’ the guidebooks say.”
The driver plowed through drifts of snow to avoid hitting cars out on the road.
“Was anyone killed?” Tatiana asked.
“A couple of railway workers. The Russian Transport Agency put some money together for the widows. Quite generous, in fact. But they can afford it, can’t they? They’re all billionaires. So, I’m taking you to the Montblanc?”
“Yes,” Tatiana said. “My friend is going on to the Admiral Kolchak.”
“You’re not together?” he asked.
“Apparently not,” Arkady said.
The Montblanc was a stylish hotel sheathed in black marble. It suggested business conducted on the run and no downtime. Perhaps a massage. A doorman huddled inside the lobby, away from the cold. When Tatiana got out of the taxi, she pointed toward dark oblivion.
“Your hotel is a couple of blocks in that direction.”
The Montblanc seemed to be an establishment familiar to her. A bellman took her bags and in long strides she walked through its automatic doors. There were no other cars.
“I’ll walk the rest of the way,” Arkady said.
He didn’t need any more humiliation from Tatiana. It was no use trying to rekindle a fire that was damp. He was tired. Instead of just turning around and leaving immediately, he would sleep and then take the first plane back to Moscow. Whatever story she had dug up was all hers.
As he walked, blocks stretched to infinity, breath crystallized, and daylight faded. The neighborhood deteriorated from stores and restaurants to bars and dives. Graffiti in Russian and Chinese was scrawled across empty buildings. Footsteps moved in and out of the dark and finally a sign for the Admiral Kolchak appeared. It had to be a joke, Arkady thought. Kolchak had been the White Russian commander and a bitter enemy of the Red Army. At the end of the war he was shot and pushed under the river that ran by the hotel.
A circle of elderly women hunched over a mahjong table in the lobby. Signs were written in Mandarin and Russian, and the young clerk behind the desk wore a plastic tag with her name, Saran.
“I’m staying one night and this is my only luggage.” Arkady displayed his bag and ID.
The clerk lifted her eyes. Sea Serpents of the Deep lay in front of her on the desk. Devil sharks and giant squid had all her attention.
She hardly acknowledged Arkady, picked up the key card, and led him to a room on the second floor with just enough space for a bed and a sink. He resisted the miniature bottle of vodka that was offered, although he thought that with very little effort he could feel abysmally sorry for himself.
* * *
The phone rang. “Can you come down?” Tatiana asked.
They found an empty mahjong table at the far end of the lobby.
“I’m sorry I had to put you through hoops like that. I had to be convincing to them.”
“Who is ‘them’?”
“I think maybe Kuznetsov’s enemies.”
“But you’re not sure? And they’re following you?”
“I don’t know, but it’s Kuznetsov’s hotel, and I have the feeling that whoever it is expects
me to check into the Montblanc alone.”
“It sounds like it’s Kuznetsov himself who wants to be sure you’ve checked in alone. You’re trapped in the bear’s den. Is it worth it?”
“It is if I want to write my story.”
“Is this a story about how a pair of oligarchs made their first million dollars?”
“Billion dollars.”
“Billion. Thank you. And what about Boris? Isn’t he pals with Putin? Don’t they go out in the taiga and shoot bears together?”
“Mikhail has Boris under control.”
Arkady wasn’t sure about that. Benz put Arkady in mind of the proverbial snake that bit according to its nature.
“Well, I’ll tell you where Kuznetsov fits in: he’s fallen in love with you,” he said.
“You think so?”
“I recognize the signs.” Arkady made an intuitive leap. “Or is it more complicated than that?”
“I admire Mikhail. Benz can steal a fortune; Mikhail can change Russia.”
That was not a direct answer but Arkady was not sure he could stand total honesty.
“Change Russia? That’s a bold statement.”
“You don’t know him,” she said.
“I feel like a mere mortal.”
“You’re being cynical.”
“I hope so. I hope I’ve learned something from my years in Moscow.”
“This is Siberia.”
“Siberia, the home of the gulag.”
“Speaking of the gulag, I brought you something.” She pulled a folder from her purse and passed it to Arkady. “It’s the first half of Mikhail’s book.”
Arkady weighed the pages in his hand. “What the devil am I supposed to do with this?”
“He just wants your opinion.”
“Kuznetsov wants the opinion of an investigator? About what? Politics, high finance, the arts?”
“It’s a memoir of sorts. You should be flattered. He doesn’t show this much interest in just anyone’s opinion.”
“Including the police?”
“Anyone. It’s up to you. I have to go back. It’s almost eleven, and they’ll wonder where I am,” Tatiana whispered. “Take a look at it at least.”
“Will I see you again? Or do we have to continue with this game of hide-and-seek?”
“Of course not,” she said. “I’ll meet you at the Montblanc for breakfast.”
22
The next morning Arkady watched everyday traffic from his hotel window. Chinese construction workers pushed barrows up and down ramps. Girls in uniform walked hand in hand on their way to school. A sandwich wrapper skipped on the breeze in a tug-of-war, and life seemed alive simply because he had finally made contact with Tatiana.
“I’m just awaiting orders,” Bolot said when Arkady called.
“How is Aba?”
“The boy is no problem. He writes most of the day, no trouble at all. Did you know there was such a thing as a rhyming dictionary?”
“No.”
“Neither did I, but Aba consults one all the time.”
“He’s writing poetry? That’s a good sign,” Arkady said.
“It’s cheating. Do you think Pushkin used a rhyming dictionary? I doubt that very much.”
“Well, you’re a purist.”
“I don’t mind having him around.”
“You’ve seen no sign of his brother, Bashir?”
“No, thank God.”
“Did you know that Chita is the murder capital of Russia?”
“No.”
“No? I thought you knew everyplace in Siberia like the back of your hand.”
“There are a few places not worth knowing,” Bolot conceded.
“I need my factotum down here as fast as possible.”
“I’ll take the next plane out. Aba can watch my place.”
* * *
Arkady went to the front desk and found the clerk Saran still immersed in Sea Serpents of the Deep. She had a black braid as long and glossy as a bellpull.
“If there aren’t any monsters here, I’d like to extend my stay,” he said.
She didn’t crack a smile. “Do you believe in sea serpents?” she asked.
“And dragon eggs. There used to be maps of them.”
Her eyes lit up. “How did you know that?”
“I saw a map of them at a museum in Moscow. They stopped making maps of them when Chita was declared a ‘secret’ city.”
“You mean when they were making weapons and bombs here. Not now.”
“Well, they don’t advertise it. Do you have any modern maps of Chita?” Arkady asked.
“Why do you need a modern map?”
“Because I want one. Is that an unusual request? I want to be able to walk around the city.”
“I don’t have that kind of map,” she said.
“Why not?” he asked.
She gave him a look.
“Then can you point me to a clothing store?” Arkady asked.
She released a slow smile. “Better than that, I will take you there.”
Clutching her Sea Serpents and grabbing a scarf and quilted coat, Saran led the way. He guessed her age was around twenty-five, but a young twenty-five.
“Okay. Saran is short for what?” he asked.
“Sarangerel. It means moonlight.”
“Are you from here, Sarangerel?”
“Yes, always. I live with my mother.”
“And husband?”
“No husband anymore.” As if it was a bad idea she once had. “It’s my family’s hotel.”
“And the mahjong players?”
“They’re here all the time, all the time, like cows. My mother is Chinese.”
“And your father?”
“He’s Buryat, but he’s dead. What use is that?”
* * *
At the open-air market, merchants took great pleasure in haggling, moving as stiffly as chess pieces in the cold. Arkady and Saran wandered through a colorful maze of fish stalls selling omul, sturgeon, and salmon, all from Lake Baikal. Goat heads, plastic shoes, Star Wars rugs, and DVDs were spread across the floor in wooden trays. When they got to clothing, Saran held out her hand like a traffic cop.
“Everything you want is here. Shirts, blue jeans, even suits, all at good prices. I’ll make sure.”
Arkady knew that she was getting a percentage of everything he bought, which was only fair. He selected shirts, black pants, underwear, and socks, the minimum attire for an investigator on the prowl.
“That’s all? You need another sweater. It’s not even cold yet.”
This was news to Arkady.
* * *
On the way back, Saran relaxed and became more talkative. “You know about shape-shifters?”
“What are they?”
“Shamans. They have the power to become any bird or animal they want to be. And do you know about cosmonauts who went into outer space and never returned?”
“No. What happened to them?”
“They landed in a forbidden zone and had to fight the yeti. You should see the size of their feet.”
“Have you seen the size of their feet?” he asked.
“Pictures of them. And what do you know about the Kraken that lives at the bottom of the sea and scares away all the fishermen? And what about mermaids who rescue fishermen who have fallen into freezing water? That’s what you should really be investigating.”
“I think so too,” he said.
* * *
Boris Benz was standing outside the Admiral Kolchak looking somewhat like a convivial bear.
“Has Saran been bending your ear with her monster stories?” he asked.
“You mean about the sea serpents that live in Lake Baikal?”
“Those are the ones,” Benz said. “By the way, why are you staying in this third-rate hotel? It’s clean—Saran sees to that—but hardly up to the Montblanc’s standards. I can’t believe Tatiana didn’t put you up in a better hotel.”
Saran stalke
d off to the lobby with Arkady’s purchases. “This is not a third-rate hotel. I’ll put your clothes in your room, Investigator Renko.”
“I apologize, Saran,” Benz called out.
“Her husband, Dorzho, is a good fighter,” he said in an aside. “I used to sponsor him at the boxing club.” He shook his head. “She’s so sensitive.”
“And informative,” Arkady said.
“She believes in the supernatural, but she’s cute, isn’t she? Have you had anything to eat? Let’s have lunch at the Montblanc and talk.”
“Don’t you have an empire to run?”
“I always have time for a friend.”
* * *
Arkady leaned back as coffee was poured. Benz offered a silent toast with vodka.
“Let me ask a question first, if I may,” Benz said. “Has Tatiana Petrovna found what she’s been looking for?”
“I can’t say. I don’t know what she’s after.”
“Why did she come to Chita?”
“Again, I don’t know. She keeps me pretty much in the dark.”
“But you’re an investigator. You should know these things.”
“I know less and less about Tatiana.”
“I think you’re being too modest. She didn’t know you were coming to Chita. You surprised her. I think it’s possible you have your own agenda, in which case, maybe we can work together.”
“I thought you worked with Mikhail Kuznetsov.”
“To a degree. I would file you under insurance. I can always use more of that in Chita.”
“I’m an outsider. What do you imagine I could do for you? Apart from telling you what Tatiana’s up to.”
“Many pots are boiling. Take your pick. Maybe you would like to investigate the corrupt public defender system that makes it possible for a prisoner to never see a real lawyer. Of course, it doesn’t matter, since there are not enough real lawyers to go around and the good ones are driven to drink. Or maybe you would like to investigate the assaults on Chinese entrepreneurs. Mainly restaurants. My God, if we didn’t have Chinese restaurants in Chita, we wouldn’t have any decent food at all.”
The Siberian Dilemma Page 9
