The Hunters h-1

by Chris Kuzneski

  Papineau smiled. The colonel had let down his guard for an instant and allowed the Frenchman to know he was strictly old school. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  Borovsky nodded his head, surrendering that point. He waved expansively and stepped back to where Anna was waiting for him.

  ‘Sir, is that it?’ she said, confused. ‘Let me go aboard. I can get off at-’

  ‘No, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘There is no need.’

  He waved and smiled until the train began to leave the station amid the cheering crowd. Borovsky remained in place long after the last of the well-wishers ran past him, cheering.

  ‘Colonel,’ she said, ‘forgive me, but I am mystified. They were never introduced at the reception. We have seen the video.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  She stood straight up, gaining at least two inches. ‘Sir?’

  ‘The Frenchman does not speak Russian. Dobrev does not speak English. They could not have chatted about anything. He lied — but why?’

  Anna considered this and failed to reach any conclusions.

  ‘Mr Papineau had a translator at the reception,’ Borovsky said. ‘She spoke at length to Dobrev. She had to have told Mr Papineau about him.’

  ‘Yes,’ Anna said, still trying to get ahead of her superior.

  ‘She and Mr Papineau were on somewhat familiar terms, laughing, talking, conferring,’ Borovsky went on.

  ‘Again, true-’

  Borovsky shrugged. ‘She has not left the country. Why, then, was someone so trusted and apparently close to him not here, translating? And what about the other members of his staff — those with whom his interpreter occasionally interacted at the party? Where are they? Not one of them was here for the start of the survey.’

  Understanding came quickly. ‘They are somewhere else.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said with a smile. ‘Come. We must find them.’

  39

  Anna Rusinko was angry.

  Some of that anger was because of Borovsky, who had run this operation by not sharing key tactics and information with his partner. Yes, she was a subordinate, but she was here to support a goal that was larger than themselves: finding a killer. He could have told her what he was planning to do, that he apparently suspected — or simply sensed — a larger plot.

  But she was angrier at herself.

  No, not angry, she decided as they weaved through traffic. She was frustrated that she had not been thinking the way he had been thinking. She had always done police work by starting small and working out. This man obviously worked the other way, throwing out a big net and seeing what he dragged ashore. Then he sifted through the fish and debris.

  ‘Do you play chess, sir?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I already sit too much. I prefer darts, among other hobbies.’

  ‘Darts?’ she said, surprised. ‘To relax, or is there some kind of competition?’

  ‘Purely to relax,’ he said as he stared out the passenger window. ‘The brain gets a much-needed rest when you perform a task that is purely a hand-eye challenge.’

  ‘It is a tiny bull’s-eye, Colonel,’ she laughed.

  ‘Oh, I rarely aim for that. If you go for the same spot all the time you fall into a rhythm. You never want to do that in anything. No, I select different bands, different colors, different numbers so I have to keep adjusting.’ He nodded with satisfaction. ‘It’s a good life lesson.’

  Anna felt a little foolish for having offered a statement about the bull’s-eye instead of asking questions.

  It’s okay, she told herself. That’s a good life lesson, too.

  They rode in silence until they reached their destination. The Pushkin State Museum of Fine Arts was across the street from the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour. Its golden dome towered over the Moskva River.

  ‘A nice balance,’ she commented.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Borovsky said.

  ‘Well, sir, one building is full of human outpouring, the other a house of solace.’

  He laughed. ‘Sergeant, those descriptions could apply to either one equally.’

  ‘I know that, sir.’ She grinned as she pulled to the curb.

  He looked at her with admiration. ‘Well done.’

  Now it was his turn to play catch-up.

  They stepped out in unison, but Borovsky waited before moving toward the museum. Anna followed his eyes and sensed a bit of the patriotic pride he must have been feeling when taking in its exterior. It looked like a temple to culture on a high podium.

  Borovsky glanced over to see her staring, and tapped her upper arm with the back of his hand. When she looked over, he pointed and said, ‘Copied from the Erechtheion on the Acropolis. Ionic colonnade. Finished in 1912. Just in time for World War One, and everything that followed. Originally called the Alexander the Third Museum, then the State Museum of Fine Art. Our great poet Alexander Pushkin died five years later, and they added his name.’

  The colonel pointed left and then right. ‘Three buildings. Two atrium courtyards. Glass roof lets the sunlight in.’

  ‘It’s impressive. I’m ashamed I haven’t visited before now.’

  He shrugged, and they started walking toward the steps. ‘Who has time in this modern age, what with gangs, the black market, the mafia, and a four-year-old daughter?’

  Anna stopped in place, but she caught up to Borovsky, who kept on walking, near the museum’s magnificent entrance.

  He glanced at her. ‘Do you really think I would ask you to assist me without checking your records?’

  ‘No, sir,’ she fibbed. That meant he knew about her marriage and divorce as well. She felt both naked and protected at the same time, exposed to his scrutiny but allowed into his circle.

  ‘Alma was one of the reasons I asked for you,’ he explained. ‘You were eminently qualified, of course, but so are many persons of your rank and station. The younger generation is the main hope of Russia’s future. I want someone who has a reason to preserve that future and work to make it better.’

  Anna was once again surprised by this man. Her heart swelled. Here was a real patriot, not one who used platitudes to control others.

  He looked at her. ‘You did not put your daughter in a child care center. You had your mother move in. I like that. I like it very much.’

  Then they were inside.

  Anna put her personal thoughts aside and focused on the building. The clean opulence impressed her. It was large, light, and airy, with a mix of clean colors and expertly designed moods.

  Borovsky pointed left. ‘Art of Ancient Egypt.’ He pointed right. ‘Art of Germany and the Netherlands in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.’ He pointed ahead of them. ‘Italian art from the thirteenth century, flanked by the Greek courtyard and Italian courtyard.’

  ‘Come here often?’ Anna asked with a smile. She felt as if a level of trust and familiarity had been achieved.

  Borovsky gave her an amused look. ‘You could say that.’

  The sentries and staff didn’t ask for any pass, ticket, or donation. Their uniforms alone would have ensured that, but Anna got the more-than-distinct impression that his face was familiar to them.

  ‘The core of the museum is Moscow University’s collection of antiquities,’ he said. They had circumvented the galleries and reached a hall of clean, crisp, new offices. He pointed at a teak and glass door.

  COINS AND MEDALS DEPARTMENT, she read to herself as Borovsky twisted the doorknob.

  ‘Viktor!’ was the first thing she heard as he entered before her. And the first thing she saw was a young, straight-haired woman in a simple sweater and skirt erupt from her desk and practically leap into an embrace with the colonel.

  He smiled back at Anna and made a ‘what can I do?’ face.

  The young woman gripped his shoulders, pulled back to arm’s length, and took a long, lingering look at him. ‘Viktor Stanislav Borovsky! Why didn’t you warn us you were going to visit?’

  ‘Warn? Am I a threa
t?’

  ‘You are!’ the woman continued, speaking to Anna, not the colonel. ‘He is a storm, a veritable cyclone.’

  ‘She is referring to one of those hobbies I alluded to,’ he said, half turning to Anna with mild embarrassment. ‘There is nothing — nothing-’

  ‘Romantic? Lord Jesus across the street!’ the curator laughed. ‘No, Viktor comes in with questions, more questions, then questions inspired by the answers to those questions. Mostly it’s about the gold of Troy. We have it here,’ the woman boasted. ‘Do you know its discoverer, Heinrich Schliemann? He was quite the character!’

  Borovsky changed the subject. ‘Natalia, this is Sergeant Anna Rusinko.’

  ‘How rude of me!’ The young woman collected herself and offered her hand to Anna. ‘It’s just that we don’t see him as much as we used to. You understand.’

  ‘Much more now than I did before,’ Anna answered with a smile.

  ‘Where’s Olga?’ he asked.

  ‘Where she always is,’ she answered, sweeping her arm toward a door at the end of a row of light brown coin drawers.

  Borovsky smiled broadly and hurried by. Anna followed, trying to interpret Natalia’s quiet smile as she went back to work. A young subordinate worker here who wasn’t romantically involved with Borovsky? Anna guessed he had helped her with something personal. She wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Perhaps her brother needed help getting into the police force? Or he got into trouble and needed help getting out?

  She still didn’t understand Borovsky.

  But this was a start.

  40

  Borovsky and Anna entered the room beyond the row of drawers. It was dark, but it wasn’t a menacing dark. It was welcoming. The only illumination came from a bright light attached to a large magnifying glass on a flexible pole. Behind it was what appeared to be a classic crone from a folk tale. She was lanky, gray-haired, and dressed in a bulky dark brown sweater and wool skirt that looked like they were spun from the fibers of tree bark.

  ‘Close that door!’ she commanded, eyes intent on the glass and what it was magnifying. Borovsky hastily ushered Anna in and closed the door behind them. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘What do I ever want?’ Borovsky answered. ‘Your help.’

  Anna expected the response that he got.

  ‘Viktor?’ the woman said. ‘Viktor, is that you? Viktor!’

  The crone was not much taller standing than she had been sitting. She came forward quickly and then there were more hugs.

  Anna got her bearings after a second round of introductions. Olga Uritski turned on the bright overhead lights, drew up three stools, and gave them each a small glass cup of sbiten — the popular Russian drink of blackberry jam, honey, water, and spices.

  After the urgency Borovsky had expressed to get in here, she was surprised to see him take his time now. Or rather, be forced to take his time. Then she understood the politics: unlike Natalia, this woman required nurturing. It was the difference between the gatekeeper and the one who possessed what you really needed.

  There was general chatter as they sat around a large, square table covered in felt, in the center of a large, square room. All four walls were lined with long wooden drawers designed to safeguard coins. The table had several examining devices attached to it, as well as many drawers of its own. Anna did her best to soak it all up.

  ‘The department was created after World War Two,’ Borovsky told Anna, ‘to house the coins and medals from the Imperial Moscow University.’

  ‘But it soon became much more than that,’ Olga said. She appeared to be older than the colonel, but it was hard for Anna to be sure. She had the flat face and granite-like head of an aged Latvian, as well as a shock of Brillo-like white hair. An incongruous but beautiful pearl necklace was around her sagging throat. ‘Presently we have more than two hundred thousand pieces from all over the world.’

  ‘Olga is the curator of the Russian and Soviet portion,’ Borovsky informed Anna. ‘They have one of the best and oldest numismatic collections in Russia.’

  ‘The world,’ she corrected proudly. ‘And Viktor was quite a friend of the department … the entire museum, in fact.’

  ‘Was?’ Anna wondered between sips.

  Olga smiled at him. ‘Well, you can’t be running off on archeological digs all the time with the Soviet Union disintegrating around you.’

  Anna blinked a few times. It was amazing how wrong she had been about the colonel. The more she learned, the more impressed she became. ‘So you went on digs?’

  Borovsky made a dismissive gesture, but Olga wasn’t having it.

  ‘Viktor often joined us in Tuva, the Crimea, even in the Ukraine and Romania.’ She looked at him with affection. ‘And he never failed to help — at least when he wasn’t wandering off on his own.’

  ‘Enough, enough,’ he grunted. ‘As I said to Natalia, this is official business, Olga.’

  ‘I suspected as much, which is why I made you slow down. I know how you get on cases.’ Olga smiled at him and sighed. ‘So tell me, what kind of official business?’

  Borovsky unbuttoned his uniform coat and reached inside. ‘This kind,’ he said, showing the thin box Anna had found in Andrei Dobrev’s apartment.

  The old woman took the box, pulled it under the adjustable arm’s illuminating magnifying glass, and clicked off the lights from a switch under the table lip.

  ‘Inside,’ Borovsky suggested.

  Olga opened the box and peered at the indentation inside the padding.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  She glanced at him from over the edge of the glass. ‘I’m guessing you know as well as I do.’

  ‘I thought so,’ he said.

  Anna was dying to know. She did not ask.

  Olga looked at Anna, but her question was for Borovsky. ‘May I?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  The curator motioned Anna forward, pointing through the magnifier. ‘See the outlines within the indentation?’ Through the glass Anna saw what seemed to be an etching in the felt of the hollow box. ‘It’s unique, like a fingerprint,’ Olga said. ‘Romanian, gold, first-series leu, twenty lei, 1868.’ There was a moment of appreciative silence before she looked up through the magnifying glass at Borovsky’s wide eyes. ‘Where did you get this?’

  Borovsky took the box back and spoke before Anna could answer. ‘I’m sorry, that’s privileged information.’

  ‘Ah!’ Olga exclaimed. ‘That means we are done.’ She added sadly, ‘I should have taken more time. When will we see you again?’

  ‘Sooner than you think,’ he said cryptically. ‘Come, Sergeant. We have work to do.’

  Anna was about to follow when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned to see Olga looking at her with a concerned expression. ‘Look after him, will you? He likes to think he’s younger than he is.’

  Anna placed her hand on Olga’s and nodded more reassuringly than she felt. When she went through the outer office, she noted that Natalia also looked concerned at the speed of Borovsky’s departure and the brevity of his farewell.

  Anna caught up with him in the middle of the Black Sea exhibit. It showcased ancient sculptures, vases, urns, and other artifacts — some dating back as far as the fourth century BC — that had been recovered by the museum’s staff. But Anna remained silent despite the questions that had started to pile up like the coins on Olga’s desk.

  As they neared the front door, he said suddenly, ‘I want to thank you for your assistance, Sergeant. I will no longer require your services on this matter. You may take the car and report back to your station, discussing it with no one.’

  Anna felt as if she had been punched in the gut. During their walk she had noticed the change in him, but she attributed it to contemplation. Something had set Borovsky off. His gentle humor and paternal guidance had evaporated — all because a suspicion had been confirmed?

  As his subordinate, she knew she should do as ordered. For one reason or another, he didn’t want h
er help any more. In the past, she would have nodded and gone back to the station. But the new Anna wasn’t going to do that. She was going to risk a big toss of the net.

  ‘No, sir,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you-’

  ‘I mean, “no sir” as in, “I’m not going.”’

  He stopped. ‘You forget yourself.’

  She stopped. ‘Quite intentionally, yes. I believe you still require my services.’

  Now surrounded by stone and wooden sarcophaguses, statues, papyri, vessels, amulets, and stone hieroglyphic friezes, Borovsky’s stern face softened. ‘Go back to your daughter, Anna. Keep her safe. Make her happy. Raise her well.’

  He walked away.

  She caught up to him again outside. He was looking across the street at the church and the Moscow River beyond. ‘How can I do that, sir, if I can’t say to her, “I did what was right, not what was ordered”?’

  She saw regret, then admiration and appreciation fill his features, before he once again settled into the Viktor Borovsky she had come to know.

  He nodded his approval. ‘You are right. A philosophy that is irrefutable.’

  That made her smile.

  ‘Come then,’ he said, ‘we must hurry.’

  ‘Where to?’ she asked as they hustled to the car.

  His answer caught her by surprise.

  41

  Tuesday, September 18

  Kazan, Republic of Tatarstan, Russia

  (523 miles east of Moscow)

  Pavel Dvorkin knew this city well, almost as well as his native Moscow. Since joining the Black Robes a decade ago, he had made hundreds of trips to the capital city of Kazan — trips he usually looked forward to. But that wasn’t the case today.

  Not after his failed mission at the rail yard.

  Dressed in the high-collared black tunic, black pants, black boots, and specially tailored jacket of his sect, Dvorkin noted the eyes of those pedestrians passing him on the bright, sunny street. By now his presence on the streets of Kazan was a familiar sight to many. In them he sensed respect and envy, but also concern. That was only right. That was only fair. They had a reason to be scared. He had served his masters for many years, and he had served them well. That was obvious in his bearing and expression, as well as his clothing.