‘What are you going to do?’ Shlyapnikov asked.
Half an hour earlier he would have offered up the same solution he and Laverov had arrived at — to play it by ear — but now Teschmaker knew with absolute certainty that there was only one possible course of action. ‘We are going to give the bomb to Rusak.’
The inclusive pronoun didn’t escape Shlyapnikov but sensing the predicament he was in, he chose not to object. ‘If one of these devices falls into the wrong hands, the death of a few hostages will seem pretty insignificant. I hope you’ve thought of that.’
‘Of course,’ Teschmaker snapped. ‘But if we can give Rusak the device and manage to survive, then others better equipped can put paid to any ideas he might have about selling it. Rusak would be hunted into the ground.’
The old man snorted. ‘Do you really think he will leave alive anyone who knows he has the device?’
‘No.’ Teschmaker knew Shlyapnikov was right but he also knew he was not going to sacrifice Jane and her father. ‘I didn’t say this was going to be easy. I just said we were going to do it.’
The Russian grunted and lit another cigarette. ‘Well, it’s your funeral.’
Teschmaker shrugged. ‘At least we’ll be in the right place for it, won’t we?’
Laverov drove slowly, giving himself thinking time. An endgame was not supposed to be like this. His endgame scenario would have had him calling the shots, not some foreigner, some amateur who, like it or not, would also have to be eliminated. He hadn’t warmed to Teschmaker but he did respect the way he had put the pieces together so meticulously. Meticulous . . . yes, it was the right word. There was something fussy about Teschmaker that grated on him. He remembered him cleaning a spot from the table the first time they had met; he had rubbed at it with his napkin and then folded and creased the napkin, pressing it with his hand until it looked unused. Laverov hoped that when the time came he could dispose of Teschmaker neatly, with the minimum of fuss. No, he thought grimly, Teschmaker wouldn’t like it to be messy.
He glanced in the rear-view mirror. A car, a white Toyota Hilux, had been behind him for three blocks. Laverov slowed and turned into a side street. To his relief, the driver of the other car made no attempt to turn, or even slow down. Paranoia, Laverov had long ago decided, was a very healthy condition.
He returned to the main road and took a circuitous route towards Teschmaker’s house. For a moment he considered calling the Russian Embassy for backup, but dismissed the idea. Rusak was sure to have his own people there. No, he admitted grudgingly, it was best to follow Teschmaker’s plan, makeshift though it was. Would this man Shlyapnikov do as he was asked? It was all too flimsy, but he could think of no other way. Damn that Ilya. Why the fuck hadn’t he got in touch when it could have helped? The channels were all in place. And now in hospital. How? Why? At least he was still alive. Whatever good that might do. Laverov realised his mind was racing. Slow down, he told himself, this is not the moment to get rattled. But it was too late. The Professor — it was a long shot to trust the man if he was in the condition that Teschmaker had described. He would be a liability. He corrected himself: they were all liabilities.
Laverov pulled over to the side of the road and let a stream of cars pass him. No sign, no brake lights, no deviation. It seemed he was totally alone. He opened his cigarette case and lit a cigarette. The case that had been Tarasov’s. It was a long way from Kimzha; a long way from home. Suddenly Moscow seemed a very desirable place to be. If I get out of this, Laverov promised himself, I will retire completely. I will go fishing and hunting mushrooms and I will never open another box of files in my life.
After parking the car at the end of Teschmaker’s street, Laverov went for a quiet stroll, only doubling back once he had convinced himself that, as far as he could judge, there was no surveillance in place. And just how good is your judgment, old man? No room for self-doubt now. No time, either. If he wanted to be in position at the cemetery he needed to keep moving. He found the garage open and quickly located the implements they would need. He stowed them in the car and headed for Freeholm. Again there was no sign of a tail.
It took him a few minutes to gain entry but having done so he was relieved to find that Teschmaker’s instructions were accurate. The man’s fussiness may be annoying, but at times like this his attention to detail was a definite plus. A couple of hundred metres from the rendezvous point he drove off the gravel path, then backed across the road blocking it completely. Anyone attempting to escape this way would have to drive right through the Ford.
Laverov checked his pistol and, though he hoped he wouldn’t need it, the spare clip. Everything seemed ready. No, he needed another cigarette first. He lit one and set out. Even though he still had half an hour before Teschmaker was due to turn up, he erred on the side of caution, walking on the grass to deaden his footfalls and avoiding the lamplight along the path by detouring around the graves. Within five minutes he had located the rendezvous point. He walked around it, looking for the right spot to position himself, and found an ornate grave that seemed an ideal vantage point. It was in direct line of sight and the tombstone provided not only good cover but a small stone cross on top that was perfect for steadying his pistol. He had no delusions about the accuracy of pistols, but even a first-year cop could have hit his target from this position. He was ready.
For a few minutes he sat on the edge of the grave, clearing his mind of all competing thoughts. He took slow deep breaths and tried to convince himself that his heart rate was coming down. It appeared to be working for his mind focused and reminded him that he had left the other implements in the car. It was as he got to his feet that he heard the footsteps on the gravel path. Laverov took out his pistol and stood still, listening, but the footsteps had stopped. No more than a few metres away. He peered through the dark, but saw nothing. Then came a voice.
‘Comrade Laverov?’ It was male, Russian. ‘Please, I have a message for you.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
They drove in silence, Shlyapnikov lost in his own thoughts and Teschmaker racking his brains to think of some fact, some detail that he’d overlooked which might give him an edge in the upcoming encounter. But no matter which way he looked at it, there seemed to be nothing. He hoped Laverov had made all his preparations and that he could be trusted to play his part when the time came. And Shlyapnikov. Suddenly he regretted bringing him along. There was nothing more the old man could contribute and there was every possibility he would be a liability.
Just before they arrived at Freeholm, Teschmaker pulled the car over to the side of the road. There was a service station half a mile back and if he dropped the old man there he could get a taxi home.
‘It would be best if you were not involved, Aleksandr Yefremovich.’
Shlyapnikov was having none of it. ‘You think you can do this without me? Teschmaker, I started this and I will see it through to the end.’
‘I’d rather not —’
‘You think you are so goddamn clever? I know you well enough to know that you haven’t a clue about how to deal with this Rusak.’
‘You’ve never met him —’
‘That’s not the point. I can show you exactly where to find what you’re after.’
‘I’m sorry, Aleksandr, but you should go home to your wife. This is out of your hands now.’
‘You know this, do you?’ Shlyapnikov growled angrily. ‘You know how I have felt all these years? It is enough that I should have Puzanov’s death on my hands, and now I should have another and another? Yours and God knows who else’s. And I should just go back to my wife and forget all about it? I may be old but I am not dead, Teschmaker. And what do you think that Zoya Nikolayevna would think of me if I walked away from everything we worked to do all these years? She would spit on me and call me a traitor.’
Teschmaker looked at Shlyapnikov in amazement. ‘The Soviet Union is gone, Aleksandr Yefremovich. The Communist Party is dead. It’s a different world now. Your wif
e cares for nothing but her cooking and her life with you.’
But it was as though the floodgates had opened and the pent-up burden and emotion brooked no interruption. ‘No! You have no understanding. For some of us Communism wasn’t about the Party, it was about ideals, and when Zoya Nikolayevna and I go to our graves it will be with an unswerving belief that the ideals were right. A fool can see that the crimes the capitalists commit rival the excesses of Stalin. In the West the gap between rich and poor is growing into a gaping hole while in the Third World millions starve and disease and ignorance spread every year. This is what unbridled capitalism has done. No, I will not betray my beliefs just so you can conveniently get an old man off your hands.’
The vehemence in Shlyapnikov’s voice surprised Teschmaker. ‘Okay. If you want to stay . . .’
‘You have never read Sun Tzu, have you?’
‘The Art of War? I’ve read about it, but no I’ve never actually read it. Why?’
‘Master Tzu says, unless you use local guides you cannot get the advantages of the land.’
‘Which means?’
Shlyapnikov softened his voice and smiled at Teschmaker. ‘Without me you will be scrabbling around in the dirt all night.’
There was no arguing with that. Teschmaker drove on.
Five minutes later they reached the turn-off. Teschmaker slowed down and pulled into the Freeholm car park. The place was absolutely deserted and for a moment the thought crossed his mind that Laverov had let him down. Or worse, might have betrayed him. No; if Laverov had walked away it would be for reasons of self-preservation, and Teschmaker knew that if the positions were reversed he too would have had huge doubts about what they were undertaking.
‘What now?’ Shlyapnikov asked.
‘Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.’ Teschmaker reached over and took the flashlight from the glove box. He walked quickly to the gate and saw to his relief that Laverov had not let him down. The chain linking the padlocked gates had been cut. He pushed each of the gates open and secured them. He had never been here after dark and was relieved to see that there were light poles at regular intervals down the road. Through the trees to the left and right other lights twinkled. At least they’d be able to see where they were going. Now, he thought, there was nothing to do but wait. Back in the car he tossed the flashlight onto the seat and switched the interior light on to check his watch. There was just over fifteen minutes before Rusak was due to arrive.
‘You haven’t told me who the hostages are.’
Shlyapnikov lit a cigarette and handed it over. Teschmaker took it gratefully and as he smoked explained about Jane and her father. He was conscious of the fact that he deliberately omitted the details of his relationship with Jane, describing her only as a long-time friend. The truth was, he was confused about his feelings and couldn’t have explained them even to himself. The only certainty was that he wanted her and her father safely out of Rusak’s hands.
‘So, how are you going to play this?’
‘We get Rusak to release Jane and Sydney Morris, and when they are safely out of harm’s way we tell Rusak where the device is.’
‘And then?’ Shlyapnikov did nothing to hide his scepticism.
Teschmaker was about to reply that he had no idea what happened after that when the car was swept by the lights of another vehicle turning into the car park. It seemed Rusak believed he was going to get his hands on the device — the vehicle was a small kombi.
‘We have company. Stay put.’
He got out and waited as the van approached slowly. Rusak was being cautious, flicking the van’s lights to high beam and stopping well back, leaving Teschmaker temporarily blinded. He heard one of the doors open and then a figure stepped between the headlights.
‘Put your gun on the ground, Teschmaker.’
Even though he couldn’t see him clearly, he recognised Rusak’s voice. ‘I don’t have one.’ He patted his pockets to demonstrate.
Apparently Rusak believed him, for he walked forward to where Teschmaker could see him more clearly. He was carrying a nasty-looking machine-pistol. For a moment he thought that there was also a smaller pistol on his belt, but then saw it was a mobile phone.
‘Who’s that in the car?’
‘The man who can show you where the device is.’
‘You didn’t say anything about him on the phone,’ Rusak said suspiciously. ‘Tell him to get out of the car.’
‘We have to drive into the graveyard,’ Teschmaker began.
Rusak gestured angrily with the pistol. ‘Now!’
Teschmaker stood his ground. ‘Where are Sydney Morris and Jane?’
‘In the van, but you won’t live long enough to see them if you don’t do as I say. Now tell whoever is in the car to get out so I can see him.’
Teschmaker walked back to the car and opened the passenger door. ‘He wants to take a look at you.’
‘Fuck him,’ Shlyapnikov said stubbornly. ‘Tell him I don’t get out of the car to greet scum.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Aleksandr, he’s got a gun.’
‘So let him shoot me. He’s not going to get what he wants if I’m dead.’ To emphasise the point he pulled the door shut.
Teschmaker shrugged and went back to Rusak.
‘He says if you want to see him you have to come over.’ He said it as calmly as he could but the reaction from Rusak was anything but calm. He prodded Teschmaker aside with the barrel of the machine-pistol and marched straight up to the car and yanked at the door handle. Shlyapnikov had had the presence of mind to lock it.
Rusak seemed to lose control, he kicked the door and shouted in Russian. ‘Poslushay ty mudack!’ For a second Teschmaker thought he was going to shoot Shlyapnikov, but then the car window came down slowly and the old man turned and smiled at Rusak.
‘Ty u menja dovye’ byvaesh’sja sokoro. You keep showing off and you’ll end up in trouble — and don’t call me mother fucker.’
‘Who the fuck do you think you are to talk to me like that?’ Rusak snapped.
‘Someone who’s done more for the motherland than you ever will. I wouldn’t wipe a kulak’s arse with you.’
Rusak ignored him and turned back to Teschmaker. ‘What the fuck did you bring your grandfather along for?’
‘He knows the location of the device. Now can I see Jane and Sydney?’
But Rusak wasn’t listening. ‘How does he know?’
‘He put the damned thing there in the first place,’ Teschmaker said quietly. ‘We had a deal. I want to see Jane and Sydney.’
‘When I see that you can deliver. You lead the way.’
‘Fuck you too,’ Teschmaker mouthed as Rusak turned on his heel. He went back to the car and got in.
‘Thanks for handling that so diplomatically,’ he said bitterly. ‘That really helped.’
‘You want me to be nice to some jumped-up little crook?’
‘I’m out of my depth and over my head and the last thing I need you to do is inflame the situation. I agreed to you coming along because you said you could locate the device quicker than I could. Just keep your cool.’
‘He’s the kind of shit that gives Russians a bad name.’
‘Drop it.’
‘Teschmaker, the man is a criminal. He has a gun and when I show him what he wants to see, he is going to use the gun on everyone he wants out of the way. You and I will be top of the list. I find that an insane enough situation, but you asking me to be nice to him — that is truly crazy.’
It was crazy. But even though he could see no way out of the situation, he was going ahead with it. Fatalism. Did he believe he was invulnerable? It was as though logic played no part in the decision; though he could see every reason to do a U-turn and drive away he knew he wouldn’t, but didn’t know why. For a moment he had the unnerving feeling that he was separating from himself, calmly watching as another part of him started the car and drove slowly through the cemetery gates. Into the valley of death, he thought
morbidly. No, there had to be a way — but if there was, it still eluded him. At least it appeared that Laverov was in place. He wished he’d asked the Russian if he was actually any good with his pistol. He had probably never shot anyone in his life. But at least with him there it wasn’t all one-sided. Maybe they had a chance. But his descent into morbidity was running unchecked. Was this how a condemned man’s mind worked? As his arms and legs were strapped into the electric chair, did he convince himself that the power would fail? Was the last thought on the gallows not of an afterlife to come but the conviction that somehow the rope would break? Teschmaker shuddered, and in an attempt to banish the images from his mind, slowed down and concentrated on driving along the narrow road between the plots. Even at this he failed. I’m driving my own hearse, he thought, and no matter how slowly I approach the grave it is still my destination.
‘Can I have another cigarette?’ he asked.
‘You’ll stunt your growth,’ Shlyapnikov said dryly as he lit it and handed it over.
To his left Teschmaker saw the footpath leading to the small bridge he had walked over earlier — it now felt like a lifetime ago. A little further on the road divided: straight ahead to the newest section of the cemetery, the left fork to the older areas. Fortunately the side road was also lit by a row of street lights. He watched in the rear-vision mirror as the car behind followed him around the corner. In his mind he quickly reviewed the situation. There was no doubt that the odds were stacked against them. Rusak presumably had another of his goons in the car with Jane and Sydney Morris, and they were both armed. On his side there was Shlyapnikov and Laverov. He knew Laverov had a pistol but if it came to a shootout it would be no match for Rusak’s machine-pistol and whatever the other man had. It was not the kind of odds he would have taken a bet on. But Jane and Sydney Morris were also part of the equation, as was the device itself.
Delicate Indecencies Page 39
