by Boris Akunin
The chaos to which His Excellency was referring had developed in the old capital city following the dismissal of the previous head police-master, after it was discovered that he had taken the meaning of the words 'discretionary secret funds' rather too literally. A protracted bureaucratic intrigue was under way in St Petersburg: a court faction hostile to Prince Dolgorukoi absolutely refused to hand over a key appointment to one of the prince's creatures, but at the same time these implacable foes lacked the strength to impose their own placeman on the Governor General. And in the meantime the immense city had been left to carry on without its principal defender and guardian of law and order. In principle, the role of the head police-master was to lead and coordinate the activities of the Municipal Police and the Provincial Office of Gendarmes and the Department of Security, but the present state of affairs was an absolute shambles: Lieutenant Colonel Burlyaev of the Department of Security and Colonel Sverchinsky of the Office of Gendarmes wrote complaints about each other, and both of them complained of brazen obstruction by high-handed police superintendents.
'Yes, the situation at present is not propitious for joint operations,' Fandorin admitted, 'but in this p-particular case the disunity of the investigative agencies might just, perhaps, be to our advantage ...' Erast Petrovich puckered up his smooth forehead and his hand seemed to move of its own accord to draw out of his pocket the jade rosary beads that assisted the State Counsellor in focusing his thoughts.
The two old men, Prince Dolgorukoi and Vedishchev, well used to Fandorin's ways, waited with bated breath, their faces set in identical expressions, like little children at the circus who know for certain that the conjuror's top hat is empty and at the same time have no doubt that the sly trickster is about to pull a rabbit or a pigeon out of it.
The State Counsellor pulled out his rabbit. 'Allow me to ask exacdy why the criminal's plan succeeded so brilliandy,' Erast Petrovich began, and then paused as if he were really expecting a reply. 'The answer is very simple: he possessed detailed information concerning matters that very few people should have known about. That is one. The arrangements for the protection of Adjutant General Khrapov on his journey across Moscow province were only determined the day before yesterday, with the involvement of a very limited number of people. That is two. One of them, who knew the plan in its minutest details, betrayed that plan to the revolutionaries - either consciously or unconsciously. That is three. All we have to do is find this individual, and through him we shall find the Combat Group and the killer himself.'
'How do you mean, "unconsciously"?' the Governor General asked with a frown. 'Consciously, now - that's clear enough. Even in the state service there are turncoats. Some sell the nihilists secrets for money, some because the devil prompts them to do it. But when they're unconscious? You mean when they're drunk?'
'More likely out of carelessness,' Fandorin replied. 'The way it usually happens is that some official blurts out a secret to someone close to him who has connections with the terrorists -a son, a daughter, a lover. But that will merely add one more link to the chain.'
'Well then,' said the prince, reaching for his snuff again, 'the day before yesterday at the secret meeting concerning Ivan Fyodorovich's arrival (may the old sinner rest in peace), the only people present, apart from myself and you, were Sverchinsky and Burlyaev. Not even the police were involved - on instructions from Petersburg. So do we have to regard the heads of the Office of Gendarmes and the Department of Security as suspects? That seems rather outlandish. A ... aa ... choo!'
'Bless you,' Vedishchev put in, and began wiping His Excellency's nose again.
'Yes, even them,' Erast Petrovich declared decisively. And in addition, we need to find out who else in the Office and the Department was privy to all the details. I assume that can only be three or four people at most, no more.'
Frol Grigorievich gasped. 'Good Lord, why that's mere child's play to you! Vladimir Andreevich, for goodness' sake don't go into mourning yet. If this is the end of your career, then you'll leave the service with full honours, in style. They'll see you off waving and cheering, not with a boot up the backside! Erast Petrovich will have this Judas sorted out for us in a jiffy. "That is one, that is two, that is three," he'll say - and all done and dusted!'
'It's not as simple as that,' said the State Counsellor, with a shake of his head. 'Yes, the Office of Gendarmes is the first place where there could have been a leak. And the Department of Security is the second. But unfortunately there is a third possibility, which I shall not be able to investigate. The plan that we agreed for the protection of Khrapov was sent to St Petersburg for confirmation by coded telegram. It included information about me, as the person responsible for our visitor's safety -with an abstract of my service record, a verbal description, intelligence profile and so forth; in short, everything that is normally required in such cases. Seidlitz had no doubts about the false Fandorin, because the impersonator had been informed in minute detail about my appearance and even my st-stammer ... If the source of the leak is in St Petersburg, it is unlikely that I shall be able to do anything. My writ doesn't run there, as they say ... But even so the chances are two out of three that the trail begins in Moscow. And the killer is most likely hiding somewhere here. We have to look for him.'
From the Governor General's house the State Counsellor went directly to the Office of Gendarmes on Malaya Nikitskaya Street. As he rode in the prince's blue-velvet-upholstered carriage, he wondered what approach he ought to take with Colonel Sverchinsky. Of course, the hypothesis that Sverchinsky, a longstanding confidant of the prince and Vedishchev, could be involved with revolutionaries required a certain liveliness of the imagination, but the good Lord had endowed the State
Counsellor plentifully with that particular quality, and in the course of a life rich in adventures he had come across surprises more bizarre than that.
And so, what could be said about Colonel Stanislav Sverchinsky of the Special Corps of Gendarmes?
He was secretive, cunning and ambitious, but at the same time very cautious - he preferred to stay in the background. A meticulous career man. He knew how to bide his time and wait for his chance, and this time it seemed to have come: as yet he was only acting head of the Office of Gendarmes, but in all likelihood he would be confirmed in that post, and then the most mouth-watering career prospects would be open to him. Of course, it was well known in both Moscow and St Petersburg that Sverchinsky was Prince Dolgorukoi's man. If Vladimir Andreevich were to leave the old capital city for the sunny scrap heap of Nice, the colonel might never be confirmed in his coveted appointment. And so, as far as Stanislav Filippovich Sverchinsky's career prospects were concerned, the death of General Khrapov was a distressing, perhaps even fatal, event. At least, that was how matters appeared at first glance.
The journey from Tverskaya Street to Malaya Nikitskaya Street was no distance at all and were it not for the cold wind driving the slanting snow, Fandorin would have preferred to go on foot: walking was better for thinking. Here was the turn off the boulevard already. The carriage drove past the cast-iron railings of the mansion of Baron Evert-Kolokoltsev, where Fandorin lived in the outhouse, and two hundred paces further on the familiar yellowish-white building with a striped sentry box at the entrance emerged from the white shroud of the blizzard.
Fandorin climbed out, held down the top hat that was straining to take flight, and ran up the slippery steps. In the vestibule a familiar sergeant saluted the State Counsellor smartly and reported without waiting to be asked: 'In his office. He's expecting you. Your coat and hat, if you please, Your Honour. I'll take them to the cloakroom.'
Erast Petrovich thanked him absent-mindedly and looked round the familiar interior as if he were seeing it for the first time.
A corridor with a row of identical oilcloth-upholstered doors, drab pale-blue walls with perfunctory white skirting, and - at the far end - the gymnastics hall. Could state treason really be lurking here, within these walls?
The departmental adjutant on duty in the reception room was Lieutenant Smolyaninov, a ruddy-faced young man with lively black eyes and a dashingly curled moustache.
'Good health to you, Erast Petrovich,' he said, greeting the habitual visitor. 'Terrible weather, eh?'
'Yes, yes,' said the State Counsellor, nodding. 'May I go in?' And he walked straight into the office without any further ado, as an old colleague and, perhaps - in the near future - an immediate superior.
'Well, what news of happenings in higher places?' asked Sverchinsky, rising to greet him. 'What does Vladimir Andreevich say? What are we to do, what measures are we to take? I confess I'm at a loss.' He lowered his voice to a terrible whisper and asked: 'What do you think - will they dismiss him?'
'To some extent that will depend on the two of us.'
Fandorin lowered himself into an armchair, the Colonel sat down facing him, and the conversation immediately turned to business.
'Stanislav Filippovich, I shall be frank with you. We have a t-traitor among us, either here, in the Office of Gendarmes, or in the Department of Security'
'A traitor?' The Colonel shook his head violently, inflicting serious damage on the ideal parting that divided his smoothly slicked hairstyle into two symmetrical halves. 'Here?'
'Yes, a traitor or a blabbermouth, which in the given case is the same thing.' The State Counsellor expounded his reasoning to the Colonel.
Sverchinsky listened, twirling the ends of his moustache in agitation. Having heard Fandorin out, he set his hand on his heart and said with feeling: 'I entirely agree with you! Your reasoning is absolutely just and convincing. But I ask you please to exempt my office from suspicion. Our assignment in the matter of General Khrapov's arrival was extremely simple - to provide a uniformed escort. I didn't even take any special measures, simply ordered a mounted half-platoon to be made ready, and that was all. And I assure you, my esteemed Erast Petrovich, that in the entire Office only two men were aware of all the details: myself and Lieutenant Smolyaninov. I had to explain everything to him, as the adjutant. But you know him yourself; he's a responsible young man, bright and very high-minded, not the kind to fall down on the job. And I dare to hope that I am known to you as a man not given to gossiping.'
Erast Petrovich inclined his head diplomatically: 'That is precisely why I came to you in the first instance and am keeping nothing back from you.'
'I assure you, it must be the Petersburg crew or those types from Gnezdikovsky!' the Colonel said, opening his handsome, velvety eyes wide - by 'those types from Gnezdikovsky' he meant the Department of Security, located on Bolshoi Gnezdikovsky Lane. 'I can't say anything about Petersburg, I'm not in possession of adequate information; but Lieutenant Colonel Burlyaev has plenty of riff-raff among his helpers - former nihilists and all sorts of shady characters. That's the place you need to sound out. Of course, I wouldn't dream of accusing Pyotr Ivanovich himself, God forbid, but his agents were responsible for the secret security arrangements, so there must have been some kind of briefing and an explanation - to a pretty large group of highly dubious individuals. Very imprudent. And another thing...' Sverchinsky hesitated, as if unsure whether or not to continue.
'What?' asked Fandorin, looking him straight in the eye. 'Is there some other possible explanation that I have overlooked? Tell me, Stanislav Filippovich, tell me. We are speaking frankly here.'
'Well, there are also the secret agents, whom we refer to in our department as "collaborators" - that is, the members of revolutionary groups who collaborate with the police.'
'Agents provocateurs?' the State Counsellor enquired with a frown.
'No, not necessarily provocateurs. Sometimes simply informants. Our work would be quite impossible without them.'
'How could your spies know the detailed arrangements for the reception of a secret visitor, right down to the description of my appearance?' asked Erast Petrovich, knitting the black arrowheads of his eyebrows in a frown. 'I can't see why they should.'
The Colonel was clearly in some difficulty. He blushed slightly, twisted one side of his moustache into an even tighter curl and lowered his voice confidentially.
'There are different kinds of agents. And the way the authorised officers handle them varies too. Sometimes it's a matter of entirely private ... mmm... I would even say, intimate, contact. Well, you understand.'
'No,' said Fandorin with a shudder, looking at the other man in some fright. 'I do not understand and I do not wish to. Do you mean to tell me that for the good of the cause employees of the Office of Gendarmes and the Department of Security enter into sodomitical relations with their agents?'
Ah, why necessarily sodomitical!' Sverchinsky exclaimed, throwing his hands up. 'The collaborators include quite a large number of women, as a general rule quite young and good-looking. And you know what a free attitude our modern revolutionary youth and their associates have towards matters of sex.'
'Yes, yes,’ said the State Counsellor in a rather embarrassed tone. 'I have heard about it. I really do not have a very clear idea of the activities of the secret police. And I have not previously had any dealings with revolutionaries - mostly murderers, swindlers and foreign spies. However, Stanislav Filippovich, you are clearly pointing me in the direction of one of the Department's officers. Who is it? Which of them, in your view, has suspicious connections?'
The Colonel maintained his expression of moral torment for about half a minute and then, as if he had come to a difficult decision, he whispered: 'Erast Petrovich, my dear fellow, to some extent, of course, this is private business, but knowing you as I do to be a highly scrupulous and broadminded individual, I feel that I have no right to conceal the facts, especially since this is a matter of exceptional importance, in the face of which all personal considerations pale into insignificance, no matter—' At this point, having lost the thread of his tangled grammar, Sverchinsky broke off and began speaking more simply. 'I am in possession of information indicating that Lieutenant Colonel Burlyaev maintains an acquaintance with a certain Diana - of course, that is her agent's alias - a very mysterious individual who collaborates with the authorities without reward, out of ideological considerations, and therefore sets her own terms. For instance, we do not know her real name or where she lives -only the address of the secret apartment that the Department rents for her. From what we know, she is a young woman, or married lady, from a very good family. She has extremely wide and extremely useful contacts among the revolutionary circles of Moscow and St Petersburg, and she renders the police truly invaluable service ...'
'Is she Burlyaev's mistress, and could he have revealed secrets to her?' the State Counsellor asked impatiendy, interrupting Sverchinksy. 'Is that what you are hinting at?'
Stanislav Filippovich unbuttoned his stiff collar and moved . closer. 'I... I am not certain that she is his mistress, but I think it possible. Very possible, in fact. And if she is, Burlyaev could easily have told her things that he shouldn't have. You understand, double agents, especially of this complexion, are not very predictable. Today they collaborate with us, tomorrow they reverse direction and..."
'Very well, I'll bear it in mind.'
Erast Petrovich began thinking about something and suddenly changed the subject: 'I assume Frol Grigorievich has telephoned and asked you to offer me every possible assistance.'
Sverchinsky pressed his hands to his chest, as if to say: Everything that I can possibly do.
'Then I tell you what. For this investigation I shall require a smart assistant who can also act as my liaison officer. Will you lend me your Smolyaninov?'
The State Counsellor had not spent very long in the yellowish-white building, probably no more than half an hour; but when he came back out into the street, the city was unrecognisable. The wind had wearied of driving white dust through the crooked streets and the snow had settled in loose heaps on the roofs and roadways. In some magical manner, the sky, so recently completely obscured, had now cleared, and the low, grainy ceiling was gone, r
eplaced by a joyous, soaring vault of blue, crowned, just as it should be, by a small circle of gold that glittered like a shiny new imperial. Church domes looking like New Year's tree toys had sprung up out of nowhere above the roofs of the buildings, the freshly fallen snow sparkled with all the colours of the rainbow, and Moscow had performed her favourite trick of changing from a frog into a princess so lovely that the sight of her took your very breath away.
Erast Petrovich looked around and even came to a halt, almost blinded by the bright radiance.
'How beautiful!' exclaimed Lieutenant Smolyaninov and then, suddenly ashamed of his excessive enthusiasm, felt it necessary to add: 'Really, what remarkable metamorphoses... Where are we going now, Mr State Counsellor?'
'To the Department of Security. This weather really is glorious. L-Let's walk there.'
Fandorin sent the carriage back to the Governor General's stables, and five minutes later the deputy for special assignments and his ruddy-cheeked companion were striding down Tver-skaya Street, which was already full of people strolling along, half-crazed by this sudden amnesty that nature had granted them, although the yard-keepers had barely even begun clearing the alleyways of snow.
Every now and then Erast Petrovich caught people glancing at him - sometimes in fright, sometimes in sympathy, sometimes with simple curiosity - and it was a while before he realised the reason. Ah yes, it was the fine young fellow in the blue gendarme's greatcoat, with a gun-holster and a sword, walking to one side and slightly behind him. A stranger could easily assume that the respectable-looking gentleman in the fur cloak and suede top hat was under armed escort. Two engineering students whom Fandorin did not know at all nodded as they walked towards him and gave his 'escort' a look of hatred and contempt. Erast Petrovich glanced round at the Lieutenant, but he was smiling as serenely as ever and seemed not to have noticed the young men's hostility.
