The State Counsellor - Fandorin 06

by Boris Akunin

  'So there's going to be an ex?' she asked, brightening up. 'Really. You are an unusual man after all. I... I'm proud to be helping you. Don't worry, I'll do everything properly'

  Green hadn't expected to hear that, so he found it agreeable. He searched for something equally pleasant to say to her and came up with: 'I'm not worried. Not at all.'

  Green only walked into the tea rooms at five minutes to nine in order to give Rahmet time to feel uneasy and grasp his situation.

  The establishment proved to be rather poor, but clean: a large room with a low vaulted ceiling, tables covered with simple linen tablecloths, a counter with a samovar and brightly painted wooden trays with heaps of spice cakes, apples and bread rings.

  The young men there - most of them wearing student blouses - were drinking tea, smoking tobacco and reading newspapers. Those who had come in groups were arguing and laughing; some were even trying to sing in chorus. But Green didn't see any bottles on the tables.

  Rahmet was sitting at a small table by the window reading New Word. He glanced briefly at Green and turned over a page.

  There were no signs of anything suspicious, either in the room or on the street outside. The back door was over there, to the left of the counter. There were two lads sitting without speaking in the corner by the large double-decker teapot. From the descriptions they had to be Nail and Marat, from the combat squad. The first was tall and muscular, with straight hair down to his shoulders. The second was broad-shouldered and snub-nosed, in spectacles.

  Green strolled across to the table without hurrying and sat down facing Rahmet. He didn't say anything. Rahmet could do the talking.

  'Hello,' Rahmet said in a low voice, putting down the newspaper and looking up at Green with his blue eyes. 'Thank you for coming

  He pronounced the words strangely, with a lisp: 'sank you'. Because his front teeth are missing, Green noted. He had dark circles under his eyes and a scratch on his neck, but his glance was still the same: bold, without the slightest trace of guilt.

  But what he said was: 'It's all my fault, of course. I didn't listen to you. But I've paid the price for that, even paid over the odds ... I was beginning to think no one would come. I tell you what, Green, you listen to me and then decide. All right?'

  All this was superfluous. Green was waiting.

  'Well then.' Rahmet smiled in embarrassment as he brushed back his forelock, which had thinned noticeably since the previous day, and started his story.

  'So what did I think I was doing? I thought I'd just slip out for an hour, finish off that rat and slip back in on the sly. Go to bed and start snoring. You'd come to wake me up, and I'd bat my eyelids and yawn as if I'd been asleep all the time. And the next day, when the news about Larionov broke, I'd confess ... What an impression that would make ... Well, I made my impression all right.

  Anyway, I ran smack into an ambush on Povarskaya Street. But I'd already done for Larionov. Put a slug in the bastard's bladder - so he wouldn't die straight away but have plenty of time to think about his filthy treachery. But the son of a bitch had gendarmes in the next room. Mr Fandorin himself, your twin brother. Well, I broke out on to the street, but they already had the place sealed off. The rotten dogs jumped me and tied me up - just look what they did to my hair.

  'They took me to Bolshaya Gnezdikovskaya Street, to the Okhranka. First the boss interrogated me, Lieutenant Colonel Burlyaev. Then Fandorin arrived as well. They played good cop and bad cop with me. It was Burlyaev who thinned out my teeth.

  See - pretty, isn't it? But that doesn't matter. I'll survive - I'll have gold ones put in. Or iron ones. I'll be an iron man, like you. Anyway, they worked on me a bit without getting anywhere, and then they got tired and sent me off to spend the night in a cell. They have special ones there at the Okhranka. Pretty decent they are, too. A mattress, curtains. Only the bastards cuffed my hands behind my back, so I couldn't do all that much sleeping.

  'This morning they didn't touch me at all. The warden fed me breakfast with a spoon, like a little baby. But instead of lunch they dragged me off upstairs again. And goodness gracious me, who did I find there but my old friend Colonel Pozharsky! The same man who put a bullet through my cap on Aptekarsky Island. He'd come down urgently from Petersburg specially to see me.

  'There's no way he can recognise me, I thought. It was dark that time on Aptekarsky. But the moment he saw me he grinned from ear to ear ... "Bah," he said, "Mr Seleznyov in person, the fearless hero of terror!" He'd found my old file, the one about von Bock, from my verbal description.

  'Now he's going to threaten me with hanging, I thought, like Burlyaev. But no, this one was craftier than that. "Nikolai Ios-ifovich," he says, "you're like manna from heaven to us. The minister's trampling all over me and the director because of Khrapov. In fact, he's in even worse trouble - the Emperor's threatening to remove him from his post if he doesn't find the perpetrators immediately. But who's going to look for them, the minister? No, your humble servant Pozharsky. I had no idea at all where to begin. And then you go and fall straight into our hands. I could just kiss you." What do you think of that line? And it got worse. "I've already written a little article for the newspapers," he says. "It's called 'The end of the Combat Group'. And then under that, in smaller print, A triumph for our valiant police'. About the capture of the extremely dangerous terrorist N.S., who has provided extensive and frank testimony, from which it is clear that he is a member of the notorious Combat Group that has just treacherously murdered Adjutant General Khrapov." I have to confess, Green, I blundered there.

  When I shot Larionov, I said: "Take that, you traitor, from the Combat Group." I didn't know Fandorin was listening behind the door...

  'All right. So, I sit there, listening to Pozharsky. I realise he's trying to frighten me: "You may not be afraid of dying," he says, "but the idea of disgrace will scare you all right." Hang on, you foxy gendarme, I think. You're cunning, but I'm even more cunning. I bite my lip and start twitching my eyebrow, as if I'm getting nervous. He's pleased with that and he piles on the pressure. "You know, Mr Seleznyov," he says, "for making our day like this, we're not even going to hang you. To hell with Larionov. Just between ourselves, he was a real little shit. For von Bock, of course, we'll give you hard labour, there's no way round that. What a great time you'll have out in the camps when all your comrades turn their backs on you as a traitor. You'll put the noose round your own neck." So then I fall into hysterics, and I yell at him a bit and start foaming at the mouth -I know how to do that. And I started moping, as if I'd lost heart. Pozharsky carries on for a while, and then he throws me the bait. "There is another way," he says. "You give us your accomplices in the Combat Group and we'll give you a passport in any name you like. And then the whole world's your oyster. Europe, if you like, even America, or the island of Madagascar." Well, I twisted and turned this way and that and finally swallowed the bait.

  'I wrote a statement, agreeing to collaborate. I'm telling you about that straight away, so I won't have it hanging over me later. But to hell with that. The worst thing is that I had to tell them about who's in the group - their aliases, what they look like. Hang on, Green, don't go flashing your eyes like that. I had to make them believe me. How could I know - they might have had something on us already. If they'd checked and seen I was lying, I'd have been a goner. But as it was, Pozharsky took a look at some piece of paper and he was satisfied.

  'I left the Okhranka a useful man, a servant of the throne, a collaborator with the alias Gvidon. They gave me a hundred and fifty roubles, my first salary. And nothing much to do: find you and let Pozharsky and Fandorin know where you are. They put tails on me, of course, but I lost them on the way through Khitrovka. You know yourself, it's easy to disappear there.

  'So that's my entire Odyssey for you. Now you decide what to do with me. Bury me in the ground if you like, I won't kick up a fuss. Let those two sitting over there in the corner take me out in the yard and finish me off straight away. Or if you like
, Rahmet will leave this life in style, the way he lived it. I'll strap a bomb to my belly, go to Gnezdnikovsky Lane and blow the entire Okhranka to kingdom come, together with all the Pozharskys, Fandorins and Burlyaevs. Do you want me to?

  'Or consider something else. Maybe it's not such a bad thing that I'm Gvidon now? There could be advantages in that too ...

  'You decide - you're the one with all the brains. It's all the same to me whether I'm lying under the ground or walking around on top of it.'

  One thing was clear: turned comrades didn't behave like this. Rahmet's glance was clear and bold, even insolent. And his colour was still the same, cornflower-blue; the treacherous blue tones were no denser than before. And was it really possible that they could have broken Rahmet in a single day? He would never have given in so quickly. Out of sheer stubbornness.

  There was still a risk, of course. But it was better to trust a traitor than to spurn a comrade. It was more dangerous, but in the long run it was worth it. Green had quarrelled with party members who held a different point of view. -

  He stood up and spoke for the first time: 'Let's go. There's work to be done.'

  CHAPTER 5

  in which Fandorin suffers from wounded vanity

  Esfir Litvinova's awakening in the house on Malaya Nikitskaya Street was truly nightmarish. When a quiet rustling roused her from sleep, at first all she saw was the dark bedroom, with the diffident light of morning peeking through the curtains. Then she saw the impossibly handsome dark-haired man lying beside her with his eyebrows raised dolefully in his sleep, and for a moment she smiled. Then, catching a faint movement with the corner of her eye, she turned her head - and squealed in horror.

  There, creeping towards the bed on tiptoe, was a fearsome creature with a face as round as a pancake and ferocious narrow slits for eyes, dressed in a white shroud.

  At the sound of her squeal the creature froze and bent over double. As it straightened up it said: 'Goo' morin'.'

  A-a-a,' Esfir heard her own voice reply, trembling in shock. She turned towards Fandorin and grabbed his shoulder so that he would wake up and then wake her as quickly as possible in order to free her from this evil apparition.

  But Erast Petrovich was apparently already awake.

  'Morning, Masa, morning. I'll be right there,' he said and explained: 'This is my valet, Masa. He's Japanese. Yesterday he hid - that's why you didn't see him. He's c-come now because he and I always do our g-gymnastic exercises in the morning, and it's already very late, eleven o'clock. The exercises will take forty-five minutes. I'm going to get up now,' he warned her, apparently expecting Esfir to avert her eyes delicately.

  Esfir didn't. On the contrary, she sat up a little and propped her cheek on one arm bent at the elbow in order to give herself a better view.

  The State Counsellor hesitated for a moment, then emerged from under the blankets and got dressed very quickly in the same kind of white overalls as his Japanese valet.

  On calmer consideration, she could clearly see that it wasn't a shroud at all, but a loose white jacket, with pants in the same style. It looked rather like underwear, except that the material was denser and there were no ties on the trouser legs.

  Master and servant walked out through the door and a moment later Esfir heard an appalling crash from the next room (which she thought was the drawing room). She jumped up, looking round for something to throw on quickly, but couldn't see anything. Fandorin's clothes were lying neatly on a chair, but Esfir's dress and other elements of her attire were scattered about chaotically on the floor. As a progressive young woman, she despised the corset, but even the other items of harness - brassiere, drawers and stockings - took too long to put on, and she was simply dying to see what those two were doing in there.

  She opened the massive wardrobe, rummaged about and took out a man's dressing gown with velvet trimming and tassels. It was almost a perfect fit, except that it trailed along the floor a little bit.

  Esfir cast a quick glance at the mirror and ran one hand through her short-cropped black hair. She didn't look too bad at all - which was surprising really, since she hadn't had very much sleep. A short hairstyle was a wonderful thing. Not only was it progressive, it made life so much simpler.

  The goings-on in the drawing room were as follows (Esfir had half-opened the door, slipped in without making a sound and stood by the wall): Fandorin and the Japanese were fighting, uttering wild yells as they flung their feet through the air at each other. Once the master landed a resounding kick on his half-pint servant's chest and the poor fellow was sent flying back against the wall; but he didn't pass out, just gave an angry squawk and threw himself at his assailant yet again.

  Fandorin shouted something unintelligible and the fighting stopped. The valet lay down on the floor, the State Counsellor took hold of his belt with one hand and his neck with the other and began lifting him up to chest height and lowering him down again without any visible effort. The Japanese hung there calmly, as straight as a ramrod.

  'Not only an oprichnik, but a loony as well,' Esfir declared out loud, expressing her opinion of what she had seen. She went off to perform her toilette.

  Breakfast brought the necessary explanations, for which there had been too little time during the night.

  'What happened changes nothing in principle,' Esfir declared sternly. 'I'm not made of wood, and of course you are rather attractive in your own way. But you and I are still on opposite sides of the barricades. If it's of any interest, I'm risking my reputation by getting involved with you. When my friends find out—'

  'Perhaps they don't n-necessarily have to know about it?' Erast Petrovich interrupted her cautiously, holding a piece of omelette suspended halfway to his mouth. 'After all, it is your own personal business.'

  'Oh no, I'm not having any secret assignations with an oprichnik. I don't want them to think I'm an informer! And don't you dare address me in such a formal tone.'

  'All right,' Fandorin agreed meekly. 'I understand about the barricades. But you won't shoot at me again, will you?'

  Esfir spread jam (excellent raspberry jam, from Sanders) on a bread roll - she had a simply ferocious appetite today.

  'We'll see about that.' And she went on with her mouth full: ‘I’ll come here to see you. But don't you come to my place. You'll frighten off all my friends. And then, dear Papchen and Mamchen will imagine that I've picked up a desirable fiance.'

  They were unable to clarify the situation completely because just at that moment the telephone rang. As he listened to his invisible interlocutor, Fandorin frowned in concern.

  'Very well, Stanislav Filippovich. Call round in five minutes. I'll b-be ready.'

  He apologised, saying it was urgent business, and went to put on his frock coat.

  Five minutes later a sleigh with two gendarmes in blue greatcoats (Esfir saw them through the window) stopped at the gates. One gendarme remained seated. The other, an erect and dashing figure, came running towards the outhouse, holding down his sword.

  When Esfir peeped out into the hallway, the dashing young gendarme was standing beside Fandorin, who was putting on his coat. The pretty boy officer, with an idiotic curled moustache and features ruddy from the frost, bowed and gave her a keen, curious glance. Esfir nodded coolly in farewell to Fandorin and turned away.

  '... with quite incredible speed,' Sverchinsky exclaimed excitedly. He was concluding his story as they rode along. 'I know about yesterday's arrest and your part in it. My congratulations. But for Pozharsky himself to arrive from St Petersburg on the twelve o'clock train! The deputy director of the Police Department, in charge of all political investigations! A man on his way to the top! He's been made an aide-de-camp. Anyway, he must have set out as soon as he got the telegram from the Department of Security. See what importance they attach to this investigation at the very highest level!'

  'How did you f-find out that he had arrived?'

  'What do you mean?' Stanislav Filippovich asked resentfully. 'I have twe
nty men on duty at each main station. Do you think they don't know Pozharsky? They were watching him when he took a cab and told the driver to go to Gnezdnikovsky Lane. They telephoned me and I telephoned you straight away. He wants to steal your laurels, absolutely no doubt about it. See what a rush he was in to get here!'

  Erast Petrovich shook his head sceptically. In the first place, he had seen brighter stars from the capital than this one and, in the second place, to judge from the prisoner's behaviour of the previous day, the aide-de camp was hardly likely to win any easy laurels there.

  The journey from Malaya Nikitskaya Street to Bolshoi Gnezdnikovsky Lane was much shorter than from the Nikolaevsky Station, and so they arrived ahead of their exalted visitor.

  They even beat Burlyaev there, since the Lieutenant Colonel still hadn't heard about his superior's arrival from St Petersburg.

  However, no sooner did the five of them - Erast Petrovich, Burlyaev, Sverchinsky, Zubtsov and Smolyaninov - sit down to determine their general position, than the Deputy Director of Police put in an appearance.

  A tall, slim gentleman, still by no means old, walked into the room. An astrakhan peaked cap, an English coat, a tan briefcase in his hand. But it was the face that immediately attracted and held their attention: an elongated skull, narrowed at the temples, a hawk-like nose, a receding chin, light-coloured hair, lively black eyes. Not a handsome face, perhaps even ugly, but it possessed the rare quality of initially provoking dislike and then improving greatly on protracted examination.

  They all examined the new arrival at length. Sverchinsky, Burlyaev, Smolyaninov and Zubtsov jumped to their feet. As the man of senior state rank, Erast Petrovich remained seated.