Delicate Indecencies

by Sandy Mccutcheon

  To Teschmaker’s surprise and relief Rusak stepped back as if, despite the obvious advantages of age and weaponry, he was intimidated by the sense of authority in the old man’s voice.

  ‘Get on with it.’

  Shlyapnikov turned back to Teschmaker. ‘You’ll have to use your hands again. The case is directly beneath the concrete lip that supports the headstone. Just in front of it there should be a board protecting the handle and locks. Let me know when you reach it.’

  Teschmaker nodded and stepped back into the hole, careful to keep his feet away from where the spade had breached the decayed lid of the coffin. He realised the idea of the smell was in fact worse than the odour itself. As if he was having the same reaction to it, Shlyapnikov sat himself on the side of the grave, lit two cigarettes, and handed one to Teschmaker who took it gratefully. He stretched his back and shook his legs to ease the growing pain in his cramped muscles then looked towards the car. He could clearly see Jane’s face pressed forward against the window, a pale full moon in the car’s darkness, watching. He waved half-heartedly and returned to the task of clearing away the dirt. The ground beneath the concrete lip, never having been compacted, was far softer and came away easily and it only took a couple of minutes before his fingers touched something solid. He brushed the earth away and peered into the gloom. ‘I’ve found the board.’

  Shlyapnikov stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. ‘Okay. Now, brush the dirt away until you can get your hands around each end.’

  ‘Done,’ Teschmaker replied.

  ‘Now take hold of the board at both ends and pull it out slowly.’

  ‘Why the hell do you have to be so gentle with it?’ Rusak demanded.

  ‘Because the case has been here for a very long time and I don’t want to damage it.’ Shlyapnikov did nothing to disguise the patronising tone in his voice. ‘We’ll slide it out onto the board and then open it up before taking it out of the hole. That way we can make certain it is safe for you to transport. Or do you want something that’s totally useless?’

  ‘Just get it out where I can see it,’ Rusak said impatiently.

  Shlyapnikov cautiously stepped into the grave and, leaning on Teschmaker’s shoulder, down into the hole. ‘We have to ease it out very gently,’ he said quietly and, steadying himself with one hand on the earth, bent his knees slowly until he was crouching beside Teschmaker, who had positioned the board on the bottom of the hole in front of them. Together they brushed away the last of the dirt until the front of the small case was clearly visible. There were locks either side of the handle. Teschmaker reached for it.

  ‘No,’ Shlyapnikov hissed. ‘Don’t touch it. We have to clear the dirt on either side first so we can slide it forwards onto the board.’

  It seemed overly fussy, particularly as the case looked to be robust in both design and condition, but Teschmaker didn’t argue. If that was the way the old man wanted it, then so be it. And the longer they took, he thought grimly, the more time he had to think of some way out of their predicament.

  Rusak peered over their shoulders. ‘How long is this going to take?’

  ‘All night if you don’t get out of the light,’ Shlyapnikov snarled. He waited until the man had moved back and then started working to clear a space along the side of the case.

  ‘You know what I’d like now?’ He didn’t wait for Teschmaker to answer. ‘A great big slice of Sharlolka Malakova. I swear that Zoya Nikolayevna makes the finest in the world. You know, Teschmaker, she is the best woman I have ever known. All these years she has stuck with me. Yes, we argued at times, fought even, but never once did she want to leave. That is something rare.’

  ‘She’s a good woman,’ Teschmaker said, wondering what had brought on this domestic revelation.

  ‘Others would have given up years ago.’

  ‘Given up what? You?’

  ‘No, this damn city. The first few years we hated it. We thought the best thing would be if the place sank back into the swamp. But then, as time went by, we became part of it. After the Soviet Union collapsed I remember asking Zoya if she wanted to go back to Moscow. You know what she said?’

  ‘No.’ Teschmaker cleared away the last of the dirt from his side of the case.

  Shlyapnikov laughed at the memory. ‘Nothing. She just went and made me a cup of coffee.’ He tossed a handful of dirt to one side and looked at Teschmaker. There were tears running down his cheeks. ‘You ready?’

  Teschmaker nodded and as Shlyapnikov worked his hands underneath the case, he took the sides and pulled carefully. There was some initial resistance and then it came free.

  ‘Careful,’ Shlyapnikov said as they moved it forward. ‘Now, let me get my fingers out.’

  Teschmaker held the case until Shlyapnikov had his hands free then lowered it onto the board. It was hard to believe that such a nondescript case could be so important. With the exception of the strongly reinforced corners, it could have been any standard suitcase.

  ‘Is that it?’ Rusak sounded disappointed. ‘I expected something a bit bigger.’

  ‘The device is bigger. This case contains the remote detonation controls.’

  ‘And the bomb? Where the fuck is it?’

  ‘I’ll tell you that once you let the others go.’ Shlyapnikov eased himself into a sitting position on the edge of the hole.

  That was the final straw for Rusak. He lashed out with his boot, kicking Shlyapnikov in the back, sending him sprawling sideways. Teschmaker scrambled out of the grave and helped the old man to sit up. ‘You bastard, Rusak. You heard him — you’ll get nothing if you do that again.’

  ‘Stop playing games, Teschmaker. You and that old bastard have been stringing me along all night. Now, where the fuck is the bomb?’

  ‘Screw your mother,’ Teschmaker said and ignoring the gun being levelled at his head turned back to Shlyapnikov, who was doubled up, wincing with pain. Behind him he heard Rusak swear and he steeled himself, certain that at any moment he would be shot. Unfortunately, as long as Rusak had Shlyapnikov he didn’t need anyone else.

  Teschmaker brought his attention back to his friend. ‘Are you okay?’

  Shlyapnikov grimaced and ran his hands down his side, checking to see if anything was broken. ‘It’ll take more than a kick from that little arsehole to kill me.’

  ‘So open the damn thing,’ Rusak ordered. He was standing just behind them, the pistol aimed at the older man. Beside him Gennadi had drawn a pistol and was covering Teschmaker.

  Shlyapnikov stood up stiffly. ‘You want to do it, go ahead. But if you force it open the contents will be destroyed.’

  ‘Destroyed?’

  ‘Part of the design brief was that if the remote control should fall into the wrong hands there must be a mechanism to render the remote inoperable if forced open.’

  Rusak was unsure whether to believe Shlyapnikov or not. Then it occurred to him that there was someone else who would know.

  The old man was huddled against the headstone, his head on his chest. Rusak shook him. ‘Wake up, Professor.’

  Sydney Morris raised his head and squinted around. He looked very ill and even more confused than previously. Rusak gripped him by the shoulders and pulled his face towards his. ‘These bastards are playing games with me, Professor, so I need some straight answers.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tell me what would happen if we forced this case open?’

  Sydney’s face looked as blank and worn as the headstone he was resting against. ‘Case? I’m sorry . . .’

  ‘The case with the remote control. What happens if it’s forced open? Would the contents be destroyed?’

  Somewhere in Sydney Morris’s brain the connections were made. His eyes suddenly found their focus. ‘Absolutely right. Have to open the thing damn carefully.’

  Rusak released his grasp, letting the old man slump back against the headstone. But Morris had more to say. ‘You know there are other things in there? There’s cash and a pistol. You wouldn’t wa
nt to lose those.’

  Rusak turned back to the others. ‘Oh, very clever. You thought you’d get your hands on the pistol. Now you’re going to get the damn thing open and then you’re going to show me where the bomb is.’

  Shlyapnikov shook his head. ‘No. You release the others and then I’ll open it and show you where the device is.’

  Rusak shrugged. ‘I think not. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to do this, but it seems I’ve no alternative.’ He waved his hand to attract Dimitri’s attention. ‘When I tell you, I want you to put a bullet in that bitch’s head, understand?’

  Dimitri, who had been lounging against the car, straightened up, patted his weapon affectionately and grinned. ‘Sure,’ he said.

  Rusak turned back to Shlyapnikov. ‘Now, are we going to open the case or do I have to kill her first? I’m happy either way, and because Gennadi here gets jealous when Dimitri has all the fun, I’m afraid I’ll have to let him kill the Professor next. Am I making myself clear?’

  Shlyapnikov looked down at the case and then to Teschmaker. ‘You know, when you play chess there comes a time in a game when you just have to lay your king on its side.’

  Teschmaker felt his stomach sink. He didn’t want to understand what his friend was saying but he did, all too clearly. ‘Aleksandr Yefremovich —’

  Shlyapnikov cut him short. ‘Just tell Cinderella that the old man delivered the glass slipper.’ He turned back to Rusak. ‘Okay. I’ll need a torch and the smallest screwdriver or nailfile that you have.’

  Rusak instructed Gennadi to look in the van. The man returned a few moments later with a small tool kit and Rusak nodded at him to show them to Shlyapnikov.

  ‘That’ll be fine, but I still need a torch.’

  ‘You’ll have to make do without one.’

  ‘Teschmaker has a flashlight in the car. Tell your goon over there to let him get it.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘In the glove box.’

  ‘And a gun too perhaps?’ Rusak said dismissively, then called out to Dimitri, ‘See if there is a torch in the glove box.’

  Dimitri looked disappointed that it wasn’t the order to shoot. Keeping his pistol trained on Jane, he opened the door and bent into the car, emerging a moment later with the flashlight in his hand.

  ‘Okay, you can go and get it,’ Rusak said.

  The sick feeling in Teschmaker’s stomach hadn’t abated. He shot a glance at Shlyapnikov, who nodded curtly and waved him away.

  ‘He’s coming over to get it,’ Rusak called to Dimitri. ‘Put it on the ground and keep him covered.’

  ‘Sure, I was about to use a torch to attack a man with a pistol.’ Teschmaker’s sarcasm was as raw as his nerves. He reached out and patted Shlyapnikov’s arm. ‘Don’t start without me.’ But he knew what the old man was about to do, and that he would do nothing to stop him.

  The distance between the grave and where the flashlight lay on the ground at Dimitri’s feet was not far but it felt like the hardest journey of his life. As soon as he stepped off the grave he heard Shlyapnikov also move onto the gravel.

  ‘Even with the torch it will be dark and cramped in the hole. Do you mind giving me a hand to move the case up onto the concrete?’

  Rusak grunted and gestured to Gennadi to assist as well. As the two men stepped into the grave, Shlyapnikov bent down and started to examine the contents of the tool kit. ‘There’s not much here,’ he grumbled.

  ‘But you can open it?’ Rusak still sounded unconvinced.

  ‘Yes.’

  He watched as the two men reached down for the case. ‘Lift it gently from underneath. I don’t want the damn thing damaged at this stage.’

  Rusak and Gennadi lifted the case clear of the hole and lowered it carefully down onto the small concrete lip in front of the tombstone.

  ‘Jesus!’ Shlyapnikov exclaimed.

  ‘What?’ Rusak looked at him, his eyes startled and suspicious.

  ‘I just forgot something. The stupid thing is probably not even locked.’

  ‘You mean you didn’t try it?’ Rusak’s look turned to disbelief. ‘For fuck’s sake!’ He reached down and turned the handle.

  The explosion ripped him apart.

  Gennadi, only slightly sheltered by Rusak’s body, was smashed into the rear of the van; it disintegrated around him. Fifteen metres away Teschmaker had no time to throw himself to the ground before the shock wave from the explosion did it for him. One second he was walking and the next it was as though a bus had slammed into him from behind. Shrapnel whipped over his head and he felt the hair singe on the back of his head.

  Winded and dazed he lay still, enveloped in a cloud of smoke and dust. Then he rolled to one side and staggered to his feet. It only took a glance to see how effective the blast had been. The molniya booby trap had lived up to its name — the area looked as though it had been hit by lightning, not once but several times. Teschmaker struggled to make sense of the chaos that had suddenly replaced the tranquil setting. The main force of the blast appeared to have gone forward and upward, taking out the lamppost and ripping branches from a tree. The remains of a body lay on the ground; something or someone was burning in the back of the van. There was another body sprawled at the foot of the grave, covered with smoking dirt and debris. Then, to his amazement, he saw someone move. Covered in ash and looking less like an elderly scientist than a witch doctor, Sydney Morris rose up from behind the neighbouring grave. Somehow the headstone he had been leaning against had protected him from the blast.

  Teschmaker heard a sound behind him. He spun around, suddenly aware that he had forgotten all about Jane and Dimitri. The big Russian had a superficial shrapnel wound to the head; a line of blood ran down from his scalp into one eye. But it was not enough to stop him. He staggered to his feet, shaking his head, groggy from the blow he’d received. He rubbed the blood from his eye and, seeing Teschmaker, let out a roar and scrabbled in the dirt at his feet for the pistol. He found it and brought it up, fumbling with the safety catch. Still unsteady he fell back against the car before regaining his balance.

  Teschmaker knew he only had one hope and that was to charge the man. Dimitri was three or four metres away but it might just as well have been a kilometre for all the chance Teschmaker had of bridging the distance. But it was too late to stop. He launched himself forward as Dimitri brought the pistol up again, this time held firmly in both hands. Teschmaker’s body was expecting a stream of bullets but there was just a single shot. Even at such close range it was an unimpressive sound. An insignificant sound. Teschmaker hit the ground with his eyes screwed shut in fear. He heard a strange sighing next to him and then the pistol fired off round after round. This time the noise was so extreme he was deafened.

  He forced his eyes open and saw Dimitri curled on the ground, one hand grasping his chest as though to plug the gaping hole bubbling blood through his fingers. His other arm was twisted backwards at an unnatural angle, that hand firing the pistol in decreasing bursts along the ground, the bullets ricocheting off the nearby graves. But there was no intelligence behind the shots, just a hand stuck on the trigger. Teschmaker waited until he was sure the last shot had been fired then got painfully to his feet. His hands were bleeding and his trousers were shredded from the force with which he had hit the gravel. With a calmness that surprised him, he walked over to where Dimitri lay twitching in the dirt and bending down, took the machine-pistol from his hand and flung it into the darkness. Then he turned and walked towards the car.

  Jane sat there frozen, hands still on the pistol, staring through the hole in the shattered side window.

  ‘I didn’t have time to wind it down,’ she said.

  He opened the door and took the pistol from her. ‘At least you worked out that I had left it in the side pocket.’

  ‘It took me a while.’ She held onto his arm as he helped her from the car.

  ‘Come on. I think your father needs you.’

  She looked wildly at him, suddenly r
emembering her father. ‘He’s alive?’

  ‘He’s alive.’

  Teschmaker put his arm around her and guided her around Dimitri’s now still body. There was a lot of smoke coming from the back of the van and as they approached it he realised that one of the tyres had caught fire. The designers of the molniya device had done their job well — the scene was one of total devastation, a fact which made the next moment even more remarkable. Teschmaker wondered for an instant whether he had finally gone mad. Through the smoke came Sydney Morris, and by his side an improbable ghost — Aleksandr Yefremovich Shlyapnikov. He looked like something out of a nightmare: his shirt had been torn away and blood was running from dozens of small shrapnel wounds to his chest, arms and face. Despite his obvious pain he was grinning like a madman.

  ‘I thought you were going to —’ Teschmaker began as Jane rushed over to her father.

  ‘I was,’ interrupted Shlyapnikov. ‘But then I suddenly figured that Rusak might be stupid enough to actually try and open it himself, and there might be a way out. I was at the end of the grave and as he reached for the handle I threw myself down behind the concrete surround. I thought I was dead, but I opened my eyes to see the Professor rising from the grave.’

  Teschmaker glanced at the burning van. The thought flashed through his mind that it might not be long before the fire reached a fuel line or the petrol tank. He also knew that even though they were well inside the cemetery and it was surrounded by industrial suburbs, they couldn’t rely on the chance that the smoke and the sound of the explosion hadn’t been noticed. Somebody might be reporting it to the police even now.

  ‘I want to get my father home,’ Jane interrupted.

  ‘Yes, I was just thinking that we’d better be going. But I wonder what to do about Laverov’s body . . .’

  He turned to Shlyapnikov, who was bending over Rusak, retrieving the keys to Jane’s car from the dead man’s pockets.

  ‘We leave it. It will be a good ending for him. If he is found here with the others it will eventually come out that he died in the course of his duties. Maybe he has someone at home who will appreciate his brave sacrifice . . . and his pension.’